up and move around. She didn’t know why she didn’t just fall to the floor.
Because she couldn’t. Because there wasn’t anyone else to do her job. She had to get up. She had to do what she had to do. She had to make sure the house was secure and they were safe from their unwanted watcher.
She got up and went to the console table, to her purse, and took the Walther out. The gun felt unusually heavy in her hand. She didn’t know if she had the strength to raise her arm with it, yet she went to the kitchen door with it to check the locks again. She checked the locks on the doors, the locks on the windows.
She almost expected to see Ballencoa staring in at her through the glass. In her mind’s eye she could see him standing right outside, his long narrow face expressionless, his heavy-lidded eyes as black and empty as the night.
Was he there? Or was she imagining things and telling herself they were real? Or was he really there, and she was trying to convince herself she was imagining things? How would she know either way? Her mind swam in the conundrum.
Her heart beat faster as she made the rounds of the house again, checking every door, every window. He might be circling the house. He might be circling the house one door ahead of her. He could be standing inside the last door as she came to it.
She could hear his voice as if he was right beside her, whispering the words in her ear, his mouth so close the heat of his breath scalded her skin.
She bent her head and shrugged her shoulder against her neck, trying to wipe away the moisture.
“You bastard.”
“No. I didn’t miss you. I miss the beautiful daughter you took away from me. I miss the husband I loved like he was a part of my own heart. I miss the family I will never have again because of you. I miss me.”
“I didn’t miss you,” she said bitterly. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”
She wanted him to be gone. She wanted him to be dead. She raised her arm, pointed the gun at his chest, and pulled the trigger.
The explosion she should have heard sounded like her daughter’s voice crying:
“MOM!”
“Where is she?” she demanded. “Where is she, damn you!”
He looked past her with his blank eyes as a slow, reptilian smile turned the corners of his mouth. Was it a trick?
She turned suddenly, arm still raised, gun in hand.
“MOMMY, NO!!”
The look on her daughter’s face was horrified, stricken, lost. Her own mother had just turned on her with a loaded weapon.
Leah woke to the sound of her mother’s shouts—
Terrified, she came awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, her heart banging against the wall of her chest like a huge fist.
Who was in the house? Who was her mother fighting with? What was she supposed to do? Should she call 911 ? Should she get out of the house? Should she run downstairs and try to do something ?
She ran to the head of the stairs and listened, straining to hear over the roaring of her pulse in her ears. She held her breath, her hands pressed over her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.
She expected to hear another voice shouting. She expected to hear a man’s voice. The man who had taken Leslie, maybe. But Leah couldn’t make out the other voice. Then her mother shouted again: “Where is she?”
Where is who? She had to be talking about Leslie, and that meant she had to be yelling at Roland Ballencoa.
The tears spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. She still didn’t hear another voice. Maybe they were on the phone. If her mother was on the phone, then they weren’t in any danger.
There was only one way to find out.
Fighting her fear, Leah made her way cautiously down the stairs. The sun was coming up, giving everything in the house a strange gray-yellow cast. Her heart was in her throat.
“Where is she, damn you!” her mother shouted.
No one answered. Who would she be on the phone with at this hour? That didn’t make sense.
“Mom?” she asked, her voice tentative and not loud enough to be heard in the next room. Her mouth was dry as dust as she tiptoed across the dining room.
She peered around the doorway into the great room. She couldn’t see anybody—not her mother, not Roland Ballencoa. The room was empty.
Confused, she took a step into the room, then another.
“Mom?”
Suddenly her mother came up off the sofa like some fierce wild animal, the look on her face terrifying, one arm outstretched in front of her. She stared at Leah like she had never seen her before.
Leah screamed and jumped back. “MOMMY, NO!!”
As if she was coming out of a spell, her mother blinked several times quickly. At first she looked disoriented, then suddenly aware of her surroundings.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. She looked down at her hands, expecting to see something that wasn’t there. “Oh my God,” she murmured again, pressing a hand to her chest. She was breathing hard. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Leah moved toward her then. Her heart was still fluttering like a trapped bird beneath her ribs. “Are you all right? I heard you yelling. I came downstairs. I didn’t know what to think.”
“I guess I was dreaming,” her mother said. She looked sick. She was pasty white and sweating. The loose gray T-shirt she wore was soaked down the chest as if she’d been working out for hours. She raked her hair back from her face with both hands and sank back down on the sofa in a way that made Leah think she didn’t have the strength to continue to stand.
“Are you okay?” Leah asked again.
Her mother nodded and tried to smile, and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit, sweetheart. I need to tell you something.”
Leah was instantly afraid all over again. That sentence never came before good news. It was always followed by something terrible.
It seemed to take her forever to get to the sofa. Her knees didn’t want to bend so she could sit down.
“Leah,” her mother began. “The man who took Leslie . . . He’s here.”
Leah’s stomach did a backflip. She jerked her head around, expecting to see him.
“Not here in the house,” her mother corrected herself, patting Leah’s hand. Her fingers were like icicles. She was still breathing hard, as if she had been running. “He’s here in Oak Knoll. He’s living here.”
Leah didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know whether she should be afraid or angry or what. Why was he here? Had he followed them here? Why couldn’t he just fall off the earth? Why couldn’t he just die? She would never
