The man they arrested glares at me, hatred foaming from his pores. “You murderous bitch!” He spits out the words, spittle flying. “They don’t see you for what you are, but I do.”
I shudder, taking a step back out of his range.
“They don’t see you for what you are, but I know better,” the man said, an Aussie accent shaping his harsh tone. “You stole the information. Didn’t you?”
“Let’s just say it’s an insurance policy,” my husband replied, sounding equally pissed.
“Against whom?”
The memory flickers out as the man who tried to break into my garage continues screaming his tirade.
“That’s what we plan to find out,” Officer Hunt says, ignoring the man’s rant. “We’ll be in touch with you soon.” He and Noah escort the man to their cruiser, leaving me standing in my driveway, stunned at the memory, stunned they’ve possibly caught the man who’s been leaving the death threats.
If that’s the man who threatened me, it means my life is no longer at risk. If something happens to me while he’s out on bail, he would be the cops’ first suspect. He wouldn’t get away with it. Which hopefully means he now won’t try to end my life. That nightmare is over.
Relief bubbles inside me, and I feel a little lighter.
The emotion is quickly snuffed out. He ignited the fuse that brought everything crumpling down for Troy and me, but he wasn’t the detonator that destroyed my relationship with the man I love.
That was me.
But I did it for a good reason. Nova deserves to be part of a loving family, with Troy as the adoring father.
I check the damage to my garage door. Noah was right. The man tried to pry the door open with some sort of tool. The door is splintered near the doorknob. I unlock it and put away my bike.
I open the back door to the house to find Bailey waiting for me in the mudroom. The alarm isn’t going off, so whoever that man was, he hadn’t tried to get into the house…just the garage.
Restlessness churns inside me. At the memory? At the man trying to break in? At losing Troy? Or from it all combined?
I need to get out of here.
* * *
As Baileyand I walk along a residential street on our way home from the dog park, the prickly sensation at the nape of my neck from the other day is back. Stronger. More insistent.
The street we’re on is busier than most, with the elementary school nearby. But the school isn’t close enough for me to worry about a mob of angry mothers stoning me, because they believe I’m a danger to their children. My nervous system is just working overtime again. My medication hasn’t diminished my hypervigilance.
A man is standing on the street corner. There’s something familiar about him. Tall. Good-looking. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Then it hits me why he seems familiar. He’s the guy who was searching for his wife and daughter last month on Main Street. The man who I thought could be on the cover of a romance novel.
Our gazes connect for a beat, long enough to tell me he recognizes me. He looks away, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he has since learned I’m someone to condemn and not treat like a human being. He must be here to pick up his daughter from school.
Bailey and I continue past him and eventually turn onto our street.
Anne’s car is parked on my driveway. She never mentioned anything about coming over. I haven’t heard from her after I gave her all the items I found in the secret room and the novel I wrote based on the journals. That was five days ago.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been wondering about her reaction to finding out Iris was her grandmother. And learning her grandfather was a German soldier during World War II.
Anne isn’t in her car. Maybe she went for a walk while waiting for me to come home. She probably thought I was at work. I never mentioned when I saw her on Saturday that I no longer work for Troy. I avoided all topics involving the man I’m in love with.
Seeing him the other day was murder—but I’m glad he came.
If I do get a job that enables me to stay in town, maybe one day he can be my friend again.
Maybe one day, it won’t ache like this.
On the off chance Anne is in the backyard, I walk up the driveway and open the gate. The hinge squeaks, letting the woman sitting at the patio table know I’ve returned.
Anne looks up from her phone and rises to her feet, smiling. She gives me an exuberant hug, an uncontained excitement buzzing in her. It leaks inside me, feeding the excitement that grew in me from the moment I started reading her grandmother’s journals.
