using a penlight.

Stepping past a kitchen doorway, he hugged the wall and worked his way into the living room, which was partially illuminated by light from the street.

He could hear Worthington out front, still on the phone.

But as he neared the stairs, The Ghost paused, slightly unnerved by the sudden sensation that he wasn’t alone down here.

He turned quickly, surveying the room, but saw no one. Empty shadows. He was again tempted to use his penlight, but decided against it.

He stood there a moment, waiting, and nothing changed. The living room was still and quiet.

False alarm, he thought, then started up the stairs to the second floor.

“ We need a brighter light and a pot full of coffee,” Pope said.

He was feeling claustrophobic. Needed to get out of here.

The sight of the notebook, the drawings, the scratchy, handwritten passages, served as a reminder of how little he’d known about Susan and how he’d failed her. And Ben.

She’d had an obsession that afforded no room for outsiders. And despite his animosity toward her, he couldn’t help feeling as if he was invading her privacy. Peeking in on a part of her life that she’d never intended to share.

It would have to be done, yes, but not here. Not in this house. He needed to be far away from this place and the memories it held. The guilt he felt.

He suddenly realized McBride was staring at him.

“What?”

She closed the notebook. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

He just looked at her.

Was she a mind reader now?

“What are you talking about?”

“What happened to your son. It’s not your fault.” She held up the notebook, shook it. “It’s his. He did this to Susan. The damage was done long before you even entered her life.”

Pope shook his head. “I should’ve known what she was capable of. I should’ve stopped her.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I could’ve paid more attention. Gotten her help. Not allowed myself to get so wrapped up in my work.”

“She was hiding from you, Danny. Don’t you get it? She didn’t want you to know about her dark side. She didn’t want anyone to know. And even if you had known, there’s no way you could’ve gone back and erased what happened to her and Jillian.”

“Doesn’t matter. I should’ve protected him. I should’ve protected my boy.”

“From his mother?” Anna said. “Think about that. There’s no way you could have known she’d harm her own son. You did what a husband and father are supposed to do. You loved them unconditionally. No one could ever blame you for that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple. But your blame is misplaced. It’s not your fault.”

Her words hit home and Pope felt tears in his eyes. He started to turn away, but McBride reached up, touching his cheek.

“It’s not your fault,” she said again.

Then she surprised him by leaning toward him and kissing his tears. And before he realized what he was doing, he turned into the kiss, pressing his lips against hers.

They stayed that way for a long moment, savoring it. And despite all the women he’d been with-the tourists, the showgirls he’d used to numb his pain-he’d never felt anything like this, the odd sensation of familiarity, as if this weren’t the first time he’d kissed her. As if they were long-lost lovers, reunited at last.

When they pulled away from each other, McBride seemed embarrassed by her impulsiveness.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

Then he took the notebook from her, set it atop a nearby box, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her again. He lost himself in it, all of his troubles melting away, taking the room, the house, and the not-so-simple world with them. A feat that, until this moment, he’d thought impossible.

After a while, he said, “We need to get out of here. Find a nice, bright coffee shop and get to work.”

McBride nodded, kissed his cheek, then pulled away from him and picked up the notebook, carrying it down the steps.

Pope turned, taking a last look around the room, staring at a part of his own past life. A life he could never go back to. Then he doused the light and followed her.

But when he reached the bottom of the steps, McBride was nowhere in sight.

“Anna?”

No answer.

“Anna, where the hell did you-”

“Over here, Danny.”

But it wasn’t McBride’s voice.

Pope swung around and froze when he saw two figures step out of the shadows near the bathroom.

The Ghost.

Holding a gun to McBride’s head.

3 5

“ I’ve always liked you, Danny. I don’t think I need to tell you that this wasn’t my idea.”

Pope’s mind was racing, but to his surprise, McBride seemed cool and collected. There wasn’t even a hint of fear in her eyes.

“Let her go,” he said. “I haven’t told her anything.”

“That doesn’t really matter at this point, does it? Normally, she’d already be dead, but I heard your little exchange upstairs and I’ve got a feeling love is in the air. And because I like you, I wanted to give you a choice.” He smiled. “Who goes first?”

Pope stared at the gun in The Ghost’s hand and felt helpless, wishing he still had Jake’s Glock. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do with a miniature flashlight.

“How much is he paying you?”

“More than you can afford, I’m afraid, so don’t even go there.”

“You won’t get away with this. My cousin’s right outside.”

“Thanks for your concern,” The Ghost said, “but he’s next on the list. Now, come on, Danny, decide. Or I’ll decide for you. Time’s wasting.”

“You motherfucker. You’re enjoying this.”

“Not at all. Either you watch her die or she watches you. It’s your choice.”

Pope looked at McBride. She was blinking at him, furiously. Then her gaze shifted to the flashlight in his hand.

It took him a moment to figure out what she was trying to tell him.

He looked at The Ghost. Tried to see the eyes behind those orange glasses. “I can’t do it,” he said. “I won’t do it.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to decide for you.” He paused, then took the gun from McBride’s head and pointed it at Pope. “You first.”

Several things happened at once. Just as The Ghost started to squeeze the trigger, Pope brought the flashlight up and shone it directly in his face. The Ghost made a noise, squinting against the light, and the shot went

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