Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I read the texts over and over again and I know he’s not here. He’s not at the brownstone. Not anymore. This started in Sinistral. He’s taking her back there. Back to the place I hate.
I reverse out of the street, tires screeching as I swerve to merge into traffic. I shouldn’t have left her alone. But how did he know where she was? And how did he get past Hamish?
Those questions don’t matter, not now.
I blow through so many red and yellow lights, I can’t count them. The road is slick with what has become a mix of freezing rain and wet, heavy snow, and it’s worse in Sinistral. It’s always worse in Sinistral.
I pass the hotel on my way to the darker, lonelier streets of the wealthier neighborhood, the larger homes, some gated, spaced farther apart, offering too much privacy. If I call the police, tell them Ethan kidnapped Ophelia, would they go to the Fox house? Ethan is still a Fox, and I am Silas Cruz, the illegitimate troublemaker son. But this isn’t a matter for police. No. This is between Ethan and me. It’s always been between Ethan and me. And that is the only reason I have hope. He won’t hurt her, not yet. He needs her in order to hurt me.
This is what I keep telling myself as I park my SUV on the cul-de-sac where the Hart home once stood.
I look up at the Fox house. It’s dark but for a few lights on downstairs casting a dim glow. I draw a deep breath in and hurry up the driveway to the front door. It’s been left ajar. I push it open and enter the house.
It’s freezing inside. I look into the dark living room, dining room. Sly’s office door is wide open. When he was alive, he’d lock it when he wasn’t in there.
I walk toward the dining room, and when I come around the corner, I see that the sliding glass doors stand open. It’s why it’s so cold inside. The outdoor lights are out. I scan the pool area. The landscaping has changed since I lived here and more bushes create more places to hide, but I don’t see anyone. Beyond it, the lights are out at the cottage Mom and I had shared.
“Ethan,” I call out. “I’m here.”
No answer. Just the whisper of snow falling.
They must be inside. I turn back in, the wind biting, but as soon as I do, lights go on behind me and I spin to find Ethan grinning, walking out of the covered area Mira had nagged Sly to build so it would resemble something she’d seen on a trip to Venice.
I step outside.
“Took your time,” Ethan says.
He’s not wearing a jacket but doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold. I move closer, around the bushes and onto the white stone patio. Lights illuminate the interior of the pool and water glistens a clear, deceptively innocuous aquamarine. I used to love swimming in it when I was younger. I’d do it whenever the Foxes were out.
But now, seeing it, I feel a cold in my veins icier than the wind-whipped snow because sitting at the edge of the deepest end, her legs dangling in the freezing water, her feet tied at the ankles, is Ophelia. Her hands are bound, too, and there’s a thick wad of duct tape over her mouth.
“Ophelia.” I don’t think either of them hear me say her name.
“You didn’t say,” Ethan says, a gun casually held at his side. He comes to stand right behind her, so close all he has to do is give her one tiny nudge and she’d drop right in.
Ophelia’s face is streaked with tears, a fresh trail flowing now. Her hair hangs long and wet down her back. She’s shivering and pale. How long has he had her out here?
I drag my gaze from her to him.
“You didn’t say if she could swim yet,” Ethan finishes.
Ten feet. The pool is ten feet deep where she is.
“What do you want, Ethan?”
I mentally flip through my options. He has a gun in his hand. He could shoot her or me in a split second. He could shoot me and shove her in at once.
“I’m here. Let her go.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s not her you want.”
“No, it’s not. Not sure it ever was, huh, Phee?” He nudges her when she doesn’t acknowledge him.
She makes a sound but can’t speak from behind the tape. I take a few steps closer. I need to get to her. Get her away from him.
“What’s that, babe?” he asks her. He rips the tape from her mouth, and she yelps, bringing her bound hands to her face. “Ouch. That must burn. Sorry, what did you say?”
She looks up at him, then at me. She shakes her head, trying to tell me something, but I’m not sure what.