And then the police cars. The details about the smashed back door and Sabine’s blood trailing along the grass. Mark claiming to see Jacob Andrews driving near their home.
And what was I to think? Without Sabine answering her phone, I was terrified something really had happened—someone bad had gone after her. My first thought was Jacob Andrews or someone who wanted their money badly enough had gone after Mark but hurt Sabine instead.
Hours went by with Tish and Amanda at my house, the panic rising through me with every minute of the search, and I know I should have checked the shed sooner. I should have thought to go outside and look. But it was the next day before I finally did—my intuition grabbing hold of me and forcing me to look just in case. It was the one place I’d told Sabine to hide if she ever needed to, the safe space where we kept everything hidden.
And there she was, curled up on the bench, my heart bursting at the sight of finding her safe. She was nervous, disheveled, and shaking, but most importantly, unharmed.
But now, new challenges. I had no choice but to keep Sabine hidden until she recovered. And inside my home, the pressures of comforting Tish and sorting through the ongoing revelations about her dating Jacob. Was Jacob the one who’d smashed in Sabine’s back door? Was Tish also dating a monster?
And then to make matters worse, the part about my passport slipped. Amanda only meant well but it was too late and Monica was shouting it from the rooftops to clear her own name. Sabine couldn’t travel using my document anymore and I could no longer take her to an airport. The new plan: I would rent a car and she’d hit the road.
But not until I dug up a little more evidence first—about Mark Miller disguising himself as Terry Prescott. Sabine insisted that we needed more of a backup plan, an insurance policy to keep Mark from coming after her and making it public about where she was hiding in the future.
I met up with Terry and took pictures of him on the sly, especially that moment his phone rang and he made up excuses about leaving for work. The whole time, the sickness swirling in my stomach I was sitting with Mark Miller, that he would have the audacity to take another woman to lunch when his own wife was missing. Letting tears fall at the press conference. And not far from that restaurant, a full-blown search for Sabine.
I met up with Terry/Mark again during that hike. I listened to that son-of-a-bitch talk about Sabine running through the woods and it was everything I could do not to shove him down the hill and hope the lake waters sucked him under.
But prior to me pulling up to the trail, there was something else Sabine and I had planned. Something to help her. The reason I asked him to leave the house and go hiking with me in the first place.
Another trick up our sleeves. Another way for getting back at Mark.
Forty-One
Mark clicks his teeth, a sickening sound. Taking another step forward, he’s within arm’s length of us in the shed. I swallow the bile rising at the back of my throat.
“And now here we are,” he says, a low snarl. “What’s next?”
“You’re going to let me go,” Sabine tells him.
Mark roars with laughter. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’ll turn away from here and let me leave.”
His eyes flash hard and cold. “Absolutely not. You’re coming home.”
“I won’t—”
“You’re coming home!” he shouts. “We’ll tell everyone it’s been a big misunderstanding. We’ll come up with a formal statement.” He thrusts a finger at me. “And you’ll keep your mouth shut and not say a word.”
“I’m never going home with you!” she cries.
“Oh yes you will. I won’t take the chance of being considered a suspect for my wife’s disappearance when you’re standing right here in front of my face. I won’t let you drag me down.”
“I have proof! They’ll find out how much you hurt me. What you’ve been doing with that campaign money.”
Mark smiles again. “That money nonsense? I’ve figured a way out of it. We’ve destroyed all the documents. Every trail. And that little video camera you set up? That USB drive is long gone, my sweet. The files destroyed.” His eyes travel the length of her body. “And as for you, you don’t seem to have come to any harm. I haven’t hurt you. You look perfectly fine and healthy.”
“You abused me, Mark. You’ve been beating me for years. Cheating on me too. Meeting with these other women. You won’t get away with it.”
He pops out his hands. “You don’t have anything to prove it.”
“We have Erica’s testimony. The man she’s been seeing—you. Proof of you running around in some sick disguise. We’ll track down the other women and get them to talk.”
“Seriously, Sabine? You against me? My attorneys will get me out of everything, you know they will. They always do. We’ll tell everyone you suffered a psychological break. We’ll claim Erica’s a liar. You just need to come home so we can provide you with proper medical care.”
“We planted a new camera,” Sabine says abruptly.
Mark jolts.
“You’d better rethink your plan,” she tells him. “There’s no way I’m going home with you so you can turn around and send me to some hospital.”
But Mark barely hears her. He’s only focused on one thing. “What new camera?”
“You thought we’d only have the one?”
Mark falters, lips parting.
“Another reason Erica dated you was to know when you’d be out of the house, when you’d send the police away so you could leave the house too.” Sabine casts me a conspiratorial look. “She used the alarm code and snuck in. She hid another camera in your office to catch you saying everything else. The additional orders you’ve been directing to your team to get rid of your files. Cover up the money trail. The lies you’ve been spinning to everyone. We’ve got it all.”
Mark’s upper lip twitches.
“You didn’t think there’d be more video, did you, Mark? A new camera?” She grips my hand in hers and squeezes tight. “We played you together, Mark. How’s that for justice?”
Her words send chills up and down my spine, a rush of adrenaline that shoots to my fingertips. The satisfaction we’ve pulled one over him. We’re getting to him.
Again, no movement from Mark. But behind his eyes, a terrorized flicker—his brain racing to conjure what’s been caught on that video.
“The file is waiting for us to hit send,” Sabine says. “Recordings of you telling your team to hide the cash. Do whatever it takes to cover up the truth. I may not be able to get you for abuse, but I can sure as hell hold this over you instead. We’ll send it to every media outlet. The police. Everything is prepared.” She squeezes my hand again. “You’d think us idiots not to have another plan in place.”
Another twitch above his jaw, a steady grind of his teeth.
“Your career will be ruined, Mark. Your attorneys can try to get you out of this but not when there’s video of you plain as day authorizing your scheme. Everything, captured in your very own words.” She laughs. “You won’t be able to dodge this.”
Dumbfounded, Mark stares into space. Then he turns and says simply, “You got me, Sabine.”
And I’m thinking, that’s it? But I should have known better. He’s flying forward, his face twisting as he fires his hand across her face—the movement so explosive, so quick, a rush of air barrels past my cheeks until Sabine is launched backwards, a vicious blow to her head as she slams against the wall, her body crumpling against the bench. Her phone drops from her hand.
“Sabine!” I scream and reach for her shoulders, scooping her in my arms as she lets out a hollow moan.
A blow strikes my head next, a firework of stars, a scattering of pain erupting behind my eyes. I’m crashing against the wall too, a searing ache to my skull followed by the sensation of falling. Sliding. My body collapsing until all I want to do is squeeze my eyes shut against the throbbing. But I can’t. I must grab hold of Sabine and rescue her.
>
My arms swing out, but something stops me—a pocketknife. Inches from my face. The blade brandished from Mark’s back pocket and glinting in the light.
He jabs at us both. We’re crumpled on the floor. “I’m not going to let you get away with this!” He grabs hold of Sabine’s arms and drags her as she’s kicking and flailing.
I throw an arm on the bench, hoping I can use it to push myself up. But I can’t see—something thick and warm is oozing down my face and dripping into my eyes, blinding me. The distinct smell of something tangy fills my nose.
Drawing my hand down my face, I feel blood. It’s coating my fingers and I wince, the dizziness shaking me.
Sabine stretches across the floor to reach me. She yanks on my legs, desperately clinging to heave herself up, another hand swinging to grab hold of my elbow next. I push against the reading bench and lunge forward to help, but Mark tugs her away again. Sabine is shrieking.
“You’re coming home with me!” he screams.
Swiping to clear my eyes of blood, I blink rapidly until I can see. But when I step forward, I fumble into the back of Sabine.
The knife swoops close to my face again—the rush of air inches from my nose. He’s stabbing at me, the pointed end of the knife terrifyingly close. My God, he’s going to slice me open. He’s going to plunge that blade right into my neck.
He’s going to stab Sabine…
A hideous cry from my friend. The vicious sound of her hair ripping.
She kicks something in the shed, a large bang, her body flailing until she’s skidding over the nails that are scattered across the floor.
Mark hurls Sabine up by the waist as I thrust my arms forward. He hoists a foot and catapults me backwards, the air knocked from my lungs, his boot slamming against my chest until I’m afraid he’s cracked my ribs. I can’t breathe. A choked moan escapes my mouth. A labored gasp for air.
But a loud whack strikes against the side of Mark’s head. It comes from above and I wrench my eyes up.
His body flings sideways as he fights to remain on his feet. But thankfully, it’s enough of a blow he lets go of Sabine and sways, ready to crash against the shed. I watch him fall.
Sabine whirls around to see who it is. I do too.
I never would have thought, but thank God they’re here—
Forty-Two
A shovel smashes down again on Mark’s face, metal with sharp edges. He cowers with an oomph.
Our savior reaches up, her arms lifting once again, preparing to thrash at him repeatedly. Yes, thank God! Someone is rescuing us!
My eyes land on my best friend’s face. Tish.
“You bastard!” she screams, her eyes filling with rage. “Don’t you dare touch them!” And she strikes again with the shovel.
Mark crumples to one side and hollers with pain, his hands cradling his bloodied head.
Tish towers above him. “Leave them alone!” She grits her teeth, fear and anger pulsing from her body with every powerful swing.
I lock eyes with my friend, the hair that is falling across her face, her breath coming out in sporadic bursts as she turns to hustle us to our feet. “You guys need to get out of here,” she breathes.
Dizzy, I try standing up. Sabine does too but she is knocked down again. Mark is yanking at her legs.
“No!” she cries.
He flips her over. Holding the knife to her throat, he presses hard against her chest and pins her down. Tears streak her face, her eyes wide open and unblinking, and I crumple to my knees. I can’t shriek even though everything in my brain feels as if it’s setting on fire.
I brace for what will happen next. The slice of the knife. The spill of her blood. He’ll stab her first before stabbing the rest of us too.
Sabine chokes hysterically on her sobs.
But Tish isn’t ready to give up. She’s charging toward Mark but he rears back and throws an elbow against her ribs. With a fist, he barrels against her shoulder and Tish staggers against the shed howling with pain. He throws himself once again at Sabine, tools and flowerpots crashing from the shelf, a loud screech of metal as the lawnmower bangs against the wall. There’s not enough space. Everyone is toppling over one another and crammed in the shed with no chance of escape.
I look at my friend, Sabine’s hair covered with dirt as her blonde strands are splayed against the floor.
She’s out of reach—Mark is in my way. The path to the one and only door is blocked. We’re going to die in here…
But Tish is raining down with that shovel once again, a strength I’ve never seen in her before as every bit of rage and horror from the past few days culminates in this very moment. She’s been wanting to bash against something—and at someone—for days.
She whacks the shovel hard across his back, his shoulders juddering as he lets go of the knife, the blade ricocheting out of reach and skittering across the floor.
I leap across his shoulders and hold him down. Tish drops on top of him too, the pair of us using our body weight for as long as we can, as much as we can muster. But we’re not strong enough. Keeping Mark restrained isn’t going to last long.
“Run!” I scream to Sabine, but her mouth forms a terrified O. “Get out of here! Hurry!”
Tish pulls a set of car keys from her pocket and tosses them at her. She catches them with a startled jerk. “Take my car! Get away as fast as you can!”
Beneath us, Mark is moving. His back is bucking as his groan gets louder.
Sabine clutches the keys. She’s hesitating—she doesn’t want to leave us behind.
“Go!” I plead. “Now!”
Tears spring to her eyes. She looks at me one last time—a terror and a thousand apologies scrawled across her face—before she bolts from the shed, the door slamming behind her.
Mark shifts and with a giant heave he pushes against us. Tish falls to one side and I nearly do too but manage to slam a knee into his kidneys. Take that, you asshole. Another groan as he crumples into a ball. My eyes race across the floor. I’m hoping this will buy me enough time to find the knife. I’ll use it if I have to. I’ll stab him if it comes down to that.
I spot the blade—it’s in the corner and wedged beneath the shelf.
I scurry to one side and reach for it but Mark throws back an arm, whacking me hard. Blood bursts from my lips. He stiff-arms Tish before scrambling to his feet. He’s unsteady but moving and heaving himself out of the shed. He’s going after Sabine.
I watch in slow motion, the terrifying sight of him lumbering into the sunlight. We need to chase after him. We must stop—
But stars return to my eyes. Everything hurts.
Tish is injured too, her pale face dripping with sweat at her temples. The wind has been knocked out of her and she grimaces terribly. But she throws out her hand. “Come on! We’ve got to go.”
My eyes tear toward the door. Mark will be approaching Sabine by now. He’ll be chasing her in the driveway. We don’t have a second to lose.
If we wait too long—our worst fear—he’ll catch her.
Forty-Three
Sabine is gone. Tish’s car is no longer parked out front.
By the time we stumble from the shed, she’s nowhere to be found. Mark’s car is missing too.
A race from the driveway is what we imagine as Sabine used Tish’s car to escape. Please let that be the case. Please let her have eluded him.
But the sound of another set of tires squealing moments earlier flares worry inside my chest—Mark peeling out of my driveway and going after her.
Will he close in?
Did she get enough of a head start?
Or will he ram his car into the back of hers until she grinds to a stop and he drags her home? Will he do everything he threatened?
Wincing, I raise my hands to my eyes and shield them against the sun. Leaning against Tish, we hobble a few more steps before she stops and sinks against my shoulder. We’re crying, the pair of us out of breath and peering into the distance, terror ripping t
hrough our minds wondering what is happening down the street. Visions of both cars hurtling out of the neighborhood with Sabine careening onto the bypass before flooring it—we hope—her heart in her throat but gaining some distance. Every muscle in her body gripping the steering wheel and slamming on the gas, willing for her to get the hell out of there.
She’s getting away, that’s what I tell myself. She’s losing Mark. And within hours, she’ll find a way to message us. She’ll notify us she’s safe. She found a back road instead of taking the interstate. Or she ducked behind a strip mall and pulled around to where he couldn’t see her. When the coast was clear, she turned the car and went the other way.
Bloodied and bruised, Mark will decide not to call the police. He won’t make any demands they search for Tish’s car because how will he explain it? How will he tell them why he’s so beaten up?
But sheer panic seizes my heart. With every passing minute, thoughts rage of what will happen if he does catch up with her.
I should call the police, I know I should. I should tell them what’s happening. They can go after them and stop Mark. They can prevent a fiery crash from taking place before it’s too late.
But if I notify the cops, they’ll know about Sabine. She won’t be able to escape undetected like she planned. If there’s a chance she’s losing Mark in her rearview mirror—that she’s outsmarting him and he’s eventually giving up and pulling over—me calling the police will ruin everything we’ve tried to do. The last weeks of Sabine’s planning will be wasted. Her time holed up in my shed for nothing.
So I wait. I don’t make the call, and it’s excruciating.
The Missing Woman: Utterly gripping psychological suspense with heart-thumping twists Page 24
