nearly sent her running for her grandfather’s shotgun. “Get a grip,” she told herself, feeling like a fool. “This is ridiculous.”
Pulling her wits about her, she heated the slices of pizza in the microwave, threw the salad into a bowl, poured herself a glass of red wine from the bottle she’d opened three days earlier, and carried it all to the den, where she clicked on the television again and told herself this was the life she’d always wanted after she’d divorced Jeffrey.
She glanced out the window to the darkness beyond.
There was no one lurking in the shadows, just beyond the veil.
She was safe here. Home at last.
Or so she tried to convince herself as she shuttered all the blinds and refused to look beyond the frosty glass.
But in her heart, deep in the darkest of places only she recalled, she knew that she’d run away. Not only from a cheating husband, a doctor with a God complex, but also from the past, and the one night she tried never to remember.
The problem was, she couldn’t run away.
Wherever she went, the memory of that night chased her down, nipping and snarling at her heels, the pain and terror never quite leaving her alone.
From the knoll, he trained his long-distance binoculars on the cottage, but even with the high magnification, he saw little through the curtain of snow. Yes, there were images of her in her den and kitchen, and the bathroom light came on for a few minutes, but her figure was indistinct, her face completely blurred, and when she finally pulled the shades, he could watch no longer.
He had the audio, of course, tiny microphones hidden in her house, in spots she would never find, but he’d never been able to install a remote camera, and that bothered him for he would have enjoyed watching her surreptitiously, from a distance, learning more about her, about her routine, about what really made her tick.
His fascination was obsessive, he knew, as he stood shivering in the thicket of aspen and spruce that grew at the edge of a field near her house, but he couldn’t help himself.
Sliding his binoculars into their case, he took off the way he’d come, through the surrounding forest to a back road that he’d taken after following her home from the clinic where she practiced. Telling himself he had to be patient, he broke a trail through the snow.
It wouldn’t be much longer.
CHAPTER 7
“ You’re sooo grounded.” Pescoli glared at her daughter as Bianca slunk through the front door.
“Why?” Bianca asked as she headed to her room and Cisco, who had been sleeping on a pillow on the couch, jumped down and began wagging his tail frantically.
“Are you serious?” Pescoli had had it with her kid. “You skipped school.”
“I told you I didn’t feel good.”
“Well.”
“Whatever.” Yanking off her gloves with her teeth, Bianca deigned to pat the dog on his head, then headed straight for the refrigerator. She tossed her gloves onto the table with the mail and opened the refrigerator, only to stare inside. “Isn’t there anything to drink?”
Pescoli followed after her and slammed the refrigerator door shut with the flat of her hand.
“Hey! Watch out!” Bianca said, stepping back quickly and facing her mother. She was pale, dark circles showing under her eyes as she pulled off her stocking cap and tossed it onto the table next to the gloves. “What’s your problem?”
“Exactly what I was going to ask you.”
“I said I’m sick. Duh!” She glared at her mother as if Pescoli were as dense as tar and certainly not as interesting.
“You didn’t call me, and you didn’t come home.”
“I hung out at Chris’s.”
“Instead of going to school?” Pescoli stepped back, allowing Bianca access to the refrigerator again.
“I was
“And when you are sick, the protocol is to phone me and let me know that you need to A”—she held up a finger—“come home, or B. .” She held up a second finger. “Go to the doctor. There are no other options.”
“I could call Dad.” Bianca took a swig from her can.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cuz it wasn’t an option, I guess.” Another swallow of cola.
“Nor was going over to your boyfriend’s house. Were Chris’s parents home?”
“No. Duh. They work.”
“Precisely.”
“It’s not like I need a babysitter.”
“I’m not sure,” Pescoli said. “So what did you do?”
Her daughter’s eyebrows drew together. “Hung out. What did you think? Oh, God, I know. You think we were having sex or something.”
Pescoli’s insides curdled. “Yeah, I think that when you’re alone with your boyfriend for hours, lying to everyone about where you are, that you could be getting yourself into some serious trouble!” She heard the accusations in her voice and dialed it back a bit. “Okay. . listen. . tell me, what were you doing? I know, I know, about the ‘hanging out’ part, but let’s get a little more specific.”
“We watched TV, played video games, rented a movie…. It was no big deal.”
“Except that you were supposed to be in school,” Pescoli said, keeping her voice low and serious. “It was a big deal, Bianca. A very big deal. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Chris, but I do know that whatever it is, it’s not worth cutting school and getting behind in your classes.”
“You’re so ridiculous! I just watched some movies!” She started huffing her way out of the kitchen, trying to act like she was affronted. Pescoli caught her elbow as she passed and spun her around.
Nose-to-nose with the fifteen-year-old, she said, “We’re not talking about me, Bianca. Don’t try to deflect. This is about you, your behavior, consequences, and yeah, the rest of your life. Because you seem intent on messing it up.”
“Just get off my case!”
“Nuh-uh. Not for a few more years.”
Bianca yanked her arm back. “I could call Child Services on you! You can’t touch me.”
“Is that what Chris told you?”
“You can’t touch me!”
Pescoli reached for the phone, grabbed the receiver, and held it close to her daughter’s face. “Take it. Call. See what happens. If they believe you, they’ll remove you from this home, and where will you go? To your dad’s? To a foster family? Is that what you want?”
“Maybe!”
