Erin pressed her face against the slate. As she scrabbled for something to hang onto, her hand whacked against a metal spike. Lightning rods. The roof was lined with them.
Stern fired and missed. She grabbed a rod and then another, pulling herself along, inch by painful inch. Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a symphonic clash of thunder. The metal rods tingled in her hand.
Stern climbed out the window, leaving the gun behind. Better if she fell, he must be thinking. It would look like an accident.
Move. The ground was far away, but she forced herself forward, one inch, two, risking a glance over her shoulder. Stern, tethered to a rope, was closing the gap between them.
A thump was followed by the crack of splintering wood, and a sharp cry. Erin, spreadeagled against the shingles, looked back in time to see Stern tumble off the roof, the loose rope flailing in his hand.
Tim leaned out the window, his eyes wide in fright, as the rain streamed down his face.
Stern grabbed for the gutter, legs flailing. But the metal groaned and pulled away, sending him cartwheeling through the air. The crack of his skull on the flagstones was like a gunshot.
Tim looked terrified.
She called out to him. ‘Grab the sheet off the bed and throw one end to me.’
He disappeared from view. She pressed her face against the roof, desperate to keep her grip as the rain streamed down. A thud sounded behind her. Tim had tossed a rope out. Better than a bed sheet. Lying flat, a starfish splayed against a rock, she stretched forward and grabbed the rope, already sodden and slippery from the rain. Tim leaned out the window to haul her in. Too tired to do anything but hold on, she went limp as he dragged her over the sill, where she flopped onto the carpet, gasping for breath.
Relief lasted only a moment, until panic seized her. Where was Stern? Did he die in the fall, or was he still out there, about to come after her again?
Heaving herself upright, she gasped. ‘Timothy. Your father? Is he…?’
Tim leaned out the window. ‘He’s not moving.’
‘We need to call for help.’
He hobbled to the far wall and slid to the floor. ‘I think he’s dead.’
‘We still need to call.’
They eyed each other across the distance, before he dropped his head on his knees and mumbled something.
From where she lay, flat on the floor, her ears pricked up. ‘What did you say?’
When he lifted his head to stare at her, the light dawned in his eyes. ‘I didn’t kill them.’
‘No, Timothy,’ she said. ‘You didn’t kill them.’
‘I didn’t do it.’ His eyes, perfectly clear, locked onto hers. ‘It wasn’t me.’ He dropped his head in his hands and burst into tears.
48
Dobbs Ferry, New York
September, Present Day
Ray was waiting for her at the café by the river. Their café, as she’d once thought of it, where they’d had dinner on the terrace on a sultry summer evening in June. But as Erin crossed the street, she looked away to avoid his smile. How easy it would be to get sucked in again by Ray’s good looks and charm, when what she needed was to stay clear-headed and in control.
As she approached the table, he leaned in to kiss her tenderly on the lips. She submitted without flinching, but when she pulled away, rather abruptly, he gave her a puzzled look.
Friday afternoon, and the riverside terrace was teeming with the happy-hour crowd. Animated laughter rang out over the water. Faces were flushed with wine and sunburn, as the jubilant patrons, sprung from their office drudgery, got a jumpstart on the weekend.
‘Shall we go inside?’ Erin said. ‘It’s a bit noisy out here.’ Without waiting for an answer, she stepped through the door and headed to a table in the back. The dining room was empty.
No one wanted to sit inside on a day like today, with the sun suspended above the river like a jewel.
A waitress hefting a tray of drinks glanced at them in surprise. ‘Be with you in a minute,’ she said.
Erin pulled out a chair and sat, holding her bag on her lap.
‘Why don’t I go out and give her our order,’ Ray said. ‘Faster that way. I don’t know about you, but I’m parched.’ ‘Could you get me an iced tea?’ She patted her face with a napkin.
‘No wine? Nothing to eat?’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t stay long.’
His smile faltered.
The waitress brought their order and clip-clopped away in her wood-soled sandals.
Too hot in her long-sleeved tunic, Erin was desperate to push up her sleeves and get some air, but the bruises on her arms would raise questions she had no wish to answer. Not yet. Let’s see what he had to say for himself first.
Ray raised his glass of sangria. ‘Salud. I like what you’ve done with your hair.’ He appraised her new look. ‘Very edgy. It suits you.’
The day she was released from hospital, she’d gone straight to a salon to have her hair cut. Shoulder-length and two shades lighter, she wouldn’t call it edgy, just fresher. She’d been long overdue for a change.
‘It was nice to get your message,’ he said, fiddling with his glass. ‘When I didn’t hear from you…’ He looked away. ‘I hope I didn’t do anything to upset you.’
Erin savoured the pleasure of the cold tea as it slid down her throat. When had it ever felt this good to be alive? Edges were sharper, colours more vivid, as if the thin membrane between her senses and the physical world had been ripped away. For a moment, her feelings towards Ray softened. She had lied about who she was, and he forgave her. For all she knew, he had a good reason of his own for hiding his relationship with Stern.
‘I have some bad news.’ She set her glass on the table. ‘Tim’s father is dead.’
The shock in his eyes was genuine.
‘I thought you’d want to
