A perfect target.
Jared’s behind her, pulling her arm, yelling something I can’t hear, the shot still ringing in my head. His mouth is open, panicked, his face terrified. I sprawl forward, hook my finger onto the bottom of the door, and slam it shut. More shots. Hitting the closed door.
I scramble into the laundry room on my hands and knees, searching. The box of cleaning supplies is on the shelf. I dump it on the floor, grab at the lemon polish, the spray bottle of cleaner. The door crashes open. He hits me from behind, knocking me onto the floor.
I flip around, kick up hard with my heel, connect between his legs. He doubles over and crashes into the washing machine. The gun hits the floor and spins behind the laundry tub, out of reach. I spray the cleaner wildly, coating Marcus’s body and head. He screams, claws at his eyes.
I shove past him and sprint toward the front door. The living room is ablaze. Heat hits me, almost pushes me backward. I drop to the floor, slide like a snake. Hands, knees.
He’s gripping my shirt, pulling me back. I grab one of the table legs, still holding the spray with my other hand. He’s trying to wrestle the bottle free, bending my fingers backward. The door is open. Fresh air. There’s a roar behind me as flames greedily suck on the oxygen.
He’s too strong. I can’t hold on. My fingers loosen. But then, a large shape moving past me. Angus, leaping through air, snarling and barking. Marcus lets go, yells out something.
I twist my body around while fumbling with the nozzle on the bottle. Angus has Marcus’s leg in his mouth and is growling and biting him. The couch beside them is engulfed in flames.
I get to my feet, arm over my mouth, stumble toward them.
Aim, don’t think. Hold breath.
I press down hard, blast the spray into Marcus’s face, his torso. It ignites in the air. He falls against the couch, and the fire devours him, the cleaning fluid acting as an accelerant. Burning hair, flesh. His body twists, a dark shape, an arm clawing. I hear screaming.
I drop the bottle, stumbled backward, fall to my knees. Heat scorches my skin, sears my lungs. I can’t breathe. Smoke and flames everywhere. Angus is barking and tugging on me. I crawl to the door, but I can’t see anymore. Then there are hands.
“Mom. Mom!”
Someone is picking me up, dragging me, urging me to stay awake, and the air is sweet and the rain is coming down. I turn my face up to it, gasping for breath. My throat burns. Ash washes into my eyes, down my face, mixes with tears. I don’t hear the screaming anymore.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
AUGUST 2017
I carry the box up the stairs, my shoes tapping on the hardwood, and navigate the maze of boxes stacked in the center of the living room. The late August sun is warm as it spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, covering everything with a sheen of gold. The furniture is mismatched, mostly secondhand items, but it goes together in an interesting, if eclectic, way and suits the loft-style apartment, which is the converted top floor of an old department store.
When Sophie, Delaney, and I first toured the place a couple of months ago, we stood by the windows, admiring the city view and pointing out buildings and landmarks we recognized. I’d watched Sophie’s face in the reflection, looking for a hint of joy, excitement, anything, but I couldn’t tell how she was feeling. Then Sophie and Delaney wandered around, poking into the bedrooms, opening closets, cupboards. Finally Sophie stopped in the living room and stared at the sun splashing across the wall. She turned and looked at me. “I want to live here.”
It wasn’t a smile. But it was something.
She’s already hung some paintings on the wall and propped a large canvas with abstract flowers on the mantel. She’s making it a home. Her first one without me. I feel a pang, but quickly shove it away. This is her time. I never had my own place, never went to university. Sometimes I feel like I was never young. I’m glad Sophie’s following a different path.
I set the box on the kitchen counter. “How’s it coming?”
Sophie stands up from the fridge, a sponge in hand, and twists her face into a disgusted expression. “I think someone was creating a science experiment in there.” She’s wearing a pink bandanna over her own hair, which she’s dyed back to a light honey, almost her natural shade. It makes her look even more like Andrew, but the thought doesn’t sting anymore, doesn’t bring with it the memory of fear. It’s just Sophie. Not Andrew, not anyone but my lovely daughter.
“You sure you don’t want help?”
“Thanks, Mom, but you’ve done enough already.” She notices the box and peeks inside. I’ve stuffed it with organic bread, trail mix, several types of vegetarian soup, canned spaghetti sauce, and various kinds of pasta. She gives me a look. “You know I can buy food, right?”
“I wanted to get you a few more basics.”
“Basics? I don’t think we even have enough cupboards for all this. You already filled most of them yesterday.”
I give her a sheepish smile. “What can I say? I’m your mother. I don’t want you living on french fries. Jared will probably eat most of it anyway.”
“True.” She glances at her watch. “He’s coming over tonight.”
“Is he all moved into his place?”
“Yeah. It looks really good.” Jared found a house downtown and is sharing it with a few friends. Even though I’m no longer concerned that Jared is anything like Andrew, I still worried that he and Sophie might get a place together. I wanted Sophie to have the freedom to enjoy her first year of school. I was relieved when she told me they were getting separate places.
Sophie begins putting away the groceries. I want to help, but I make myself sit down at our old kitchen table that I gave her when I moved out of our temporary rental and into a small but cheerful two-bedroom house near the ocean. Angus and I walk on the beach every morning. In the beginning, when I was still working through the deep hurt of Marcus’s betrayal and lies, I’d walk for hours at a time.
Corporal Parker kept in touch daily during the investigation and told us what she knew. Marcus and Elizabeth had been married for five years. He was a psychiatrist—that part was true—and he worked at a hospital, where they met when she was a volunteer. They wanted children so badly they’d mortgaged their house for fertility treatments. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell her parents or her sister that she was finally pregnant. I grieved for a long time about that, imagined how excited she must have been, how happy.
After Elizabeth died, Marcus stopped communicating with his family and friends. When he was fired from the hospital for stealing painkillers, he sold off everything he owned except the lake house, took the accident insurance money, and drifted all over the world, moving from country to country, until he turned his rage into a plan for revenge.
The police think he always intended to kill us at the lake house—he’d invited me to stay there twice, suggested it as somewhere we’d be safe. They found a motorbike stored under the house, some other supplies, which is probably why he came outside and hit me with his flashlight instead of waiting for us all to fall asleep. He couldn’t let me find his escape plan.
When they searched his home, they found passports, thousands of dollars in cash, and detailed notes in his laptop on me and Sophie and Andrew. He’d been watching me for months before he started volunteering at my support group. It still horrifies me, thinking how I’d let him into our lives. How I really thought I was in love with him. Corporal Parker tried to reassure me and told me that Marcus was very intelligent, but I still struggle with lingering anger and post-traumatic stress. At any point in all those months, he could have ended our lives.
I never told the police what triggered his attack that night. I wondered sometimes what would’ve happened if I hadn’t told Marcus about the pills. We could have been together for years without my knowing he was a murderer. But then I realized that something else would have sent him over the edge when I couldn’t fill the void, couldn’t erase his grief.
I’ve bee
n seeing a therapist and Sophie has come to a few sessions with me. For weeks after the fire she slept in my bed, reaching out in her sleep for my hand. I did the same thing.
I watch her now as she neatly arranges the cupboards. She looks tired, but her face is relaxed, not as tense around her eyes and mouth. It’s been agonizing, seeing her struggle these last couple of months. On top of finding out that her father was killed by the man her mother was dating, she’s had to deal with all the media and public scrutiny that’s come with that. We were hounded for weeks, our entire lives ripped open for the world to see and judge and comment on.
She still drifts into quiet moods, but she seems a little happier. There’s a new sensitivity to her art, a maturity that wasn’t there before. I am hoping that a different environment, with school and friends, will pull her the rest of the way out of the dark.
“I found a car,” Sophie says, glancing over her shoulder at me. “One of Greg’s friends is selling his Acura. It’s ten years old, but doesn’t have much mileage on it. Greg said he’d check it over and teach me how to change the oil and tire pressure and stuff like that. Nice, eh?”
“Greg?” I’m startled at hearing his name. I’ve thought of him a few times over this summer, saw his truck once or twice around town. He doesn’t do my delivery route now.
“I bumped into him in line at the Muddy Bean. He was asking how you’re doing. Maybe you should give him a call. I think he’s still single.”
“How about you worry about school, and I’ll worry about my own life, okay?” I keep my voice teasing. I’ve spent months sure that I would never date again. But lately, with the help of my therapist, I’ve been feeling hopeful that one day I’ll be able to trust someone again.
Right now I’m focused on planning an upcoming vacation with Jenny—we’re going to Palm Springs for a meditation retreat—and turning my spare bedroom into an oasis for any women from my group who need a place to stay while they recover. I’ll be their safe house.
“I’m worried that you don’t have a life!” Sophie says.
I laugh. “I have Angus, remember? But he’s waiting at home, so I better get going.”
She nods and walks with me toward the door. We hug, and as I pull away, she meets my eyes. “You going to be okay?” I know what she’s really saying. Will you be okay without me? Is it okay that I’m spreading my wings and flying away? Will you always love me?
“I’m going to be just fine, honey. It’s a new beginning for both of us. I’m actually even a little excited. Hey, maybe I’ll go back to school and take some classes.”
“Whoa.” She holds up a hand. “This campus isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I was thinking about the local college. Women’s studies, or design. I don’t know.” I shrug. “The future is wide open.”
“That’s really cool, Mom.” She reaches out and squeezes my hand. Feeling her smooth fingers in mine reminds me of something.
“I almost forgot. I brought you these,” I say, taking a small velvet box out of my purse and passing it to her. “It’s my engagement and wedding rings. I thought you might want them.”
“Really?” Her voice is awed as she opens the box. “I wasn’t sure if you kept them.”
“Of course.” I reach out and touch the engagement ring. I had the rings cleaned and they look shiny against the black velvet. “I was so happy when he gave me this.”
She looks at me. “Do you still hate him?”
“No.” I smile at her. “I don’t hate him.” I touch her face, tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear like I used to when she was little. “How could I? He gave me you.”
“That’s true. I am pretty awesome.” Her voice is teasing, but her eyes are overly bright, like she’s trying not to cry.
“Well, you have a pretty awesome mom—and a dad who loved you a lot.”
Her face turns sad. “He wasn’t lying, Mom. He was trying to protect us.”
“I know, honey. I think about what might have happened if I’d just given him a chance to explain. But he’d be happy to know the truth came out in the end. He never let you down. It was important to him that you knew how much he loved you—and it’s okay that you loved him. I really loved him once too. Your father wasn’t evil. He was just broken.”
She closes the box and holds it against her heart with a smile. I pull her closer and rest my cheek against hers, inhale her fresh scent. I think about that night so many years ago when I leaned over her bed, whispered in her ear, and stole her away from her father. I think about how she asked me if I would have done anything differently, and I finally know the answer. No. I had to take that risk. I had to run away. If I’d lost Sophie, I’d have lost everything. I’m truly at peace now, I realize, remembering Andrew. He was searching so hard to find forgiveness, and so was I. But I’ve found it. It was with me all along.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
DECEMBER 2017
Dear Mom,
Okay, so you’re probably wondering why I’m writing you an actual letter and not an e-mail, or maybe you’re thinking, “Why didn’t she just pick up the phone? She doesn’t call home enough!” I do! I call all the time but you’re never there. Seriously, Mom. Stay home once in a while. You’re having more fun than me. Don’t you know you’re supposed to be spending all your nights making healthy food for my freezer? Just kidding. I’m glad you’re happy.
Time for the real stuff. When I sent that letter to Dad last year, I didn’t lie. It really was a school project. It was supposed to be to someone who had the most impact on us. But I should have written it to you. You did so much for me, raising me all on your own. I always knew you loved me, more than anything, no matter what. Maybe that’s why I was a smartass sometimes. Okay, okay. More than a few times. I just knew you wouldn’t leave me.
When anything happens, bad or good, you’re the first person I want to tell. I want you to be proud of me, proud of my choices, proud that I’m your daughter. Because I’m so proud that you’re my mother. You’re the bravest woman I know, which kind of sucks sometimes because you’re a lot to live up to. But I’m going to try my best.
Mostly I just want you to know that I’m okay. I really am!! I know sometimes I’ve said I was and maybe I wasn’t all the way there yet, but it’s different now. It’s like the air and everything feels better, lighter or something. Even my food tastes better (send more!).
I know that you feel bad sometimes, guilty or whatever, like maybe you think you messed me up or damaged me somehow, but you didn’t. I think all my best, strongest parts have come from you. I might look like Dad on the outside, but on the inside, I’m all you.
Thank you, Mom. Thank you a million times over for loving me and letting me love my dad and for telling me how much you used to love him too. It helps, knowing that when you had me, you were truly happy. I didn’t want to be a mistake! Ha. Thank you for pushing me and encouraging me and letting me explore the world. Thank you for being so cool about Jared. But, and this is my BIG secret, don’t let me go just yet, okay? I still need you. Like water.
Love always and always,
Sophie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As usual, I have so many people to thank, but I’d like to start with two wonderful friends who held me together during the process of writing this book, Carla Buckley and Robin Spano. You ladies make me laugh on the good days and understand on the bad days, and I really couldn’t have done it without you.
Jen Enderlin, my editor at St. Martin’s Press, who teaches me something new about writing, and about life, with every book. The fantastic Sally Richardson, Lisa Senz, Nancy Trypuc, Kim Ludlam, Brant Janeway, Elizabeth Catalano, Katie Bassel, Kristopher Kam, Caitlin Dareff, and the entire Broadway and Fifth Avenue sales force. Thanks again to Dave Cole and Ervin Serrano. In Canada, many thanks to Jamie Broadhurst, Fleur Mathewson, and the wonderful group at Raincoast.
Mel Berger, my agent now for over eight years, and th
e first person in the publishing world to believe in me. I can’t imagine ever working with anyone else. My gratitude also to David Hinds, Simon Trewin, Anna DeRoy, Erin Conroy, Tracy Fisher, Laura Bonner, Raffaella DeAngelis, Annemarie Blumenhagen, Covey Crolius, and the rest of the team at William Morris Endeavor Entertainment in New York and L.A.
Constable J. Moffat, Virginia Reimer, Dr. Ken Langelier, Renni Browne, Shannon Roberts, Bert King, Doug Torrie, Joanne Campbell, and BJ Brown for their professional advice. BJ, I hope we get to meet one day so I can thank you in person.
My husband, Connel, and my daughter, Piper, who hopefully won’t write a book about me someday. Thank you for filling my life with so much love and laughter. You are the best kind of adventure.
ALSO BY CHEVY STEVENS
Those Girls
That Night
Always Watching
Never Knowing
Still Missing
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHEVY STEVENS grew up on a ranch on Vancouver Island and still lives on the island with her husband and daughter. When she’s not working on her next book, she’s camping and canoeing with her family in the local mountains. Her debut novel, Still Missing, won the International Thriller Writers Award for Best First Novel. Please visit her at www.chevystevens.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS