They won’t come after me, anymore.
Hecan’t come after me anymore.
Which means… I’m finally free.
Of them.
Of him.
Of this clusterfuck.
Of this whole life.
I stumble backward into the side of the house, needing something solid to prop me up as my mind spins in circles. I’m horrified by my own thoughts — by the deliverance I’m experiencing in my husband’s most desperate hour.
No doubt about it: you are going to Hell, Shelby Hunt.
My eyes lift to Conor and I see he’s watching me, something like resignation etched all over his features. His hand tightens on mine, just once more.
“I will get him back for you,” he says in an oddly thick voice.
And if this were any other time, I’d probably notice the strain in his shoulders when he makes that strange vow. The tension in his face when he forces out the words. The flash of unguarded emotion that moves through his eyes when he takes a deep breath and finally releases my hand.
Any other time, I’d notice the moment he lets me go.
But right now, I’m far too caught up inside my own head to wonder what’s going on in Conor’s.
Paul is gone.
I am free.
My hand falls limply to my side. My eyes stare unseeing at the street as two ambulances slam to a stop by my front curb, followed closely by a fleet of police cars, lights strobing a medley of blue and red that draws all my curious neighbors from their beds to their front windows.
Jaw ticking with tension, Conor turns on a heel and walks away to greet the arriving officers, not once pausing to look back at the woman leaning against the side of her house, her stricken face flashing blue-red, blue-red, blue-red as the whole world shifts beneath her feet.
Free.
Chapter Nine
HOTEL MOTEL HOLIDAY INN
I scowlat the locked door for an hour or so, willing it to open.
It doesn’t.
Desperate for a change of scenery, I shove to my feet and stride to the front window. Flicking back the corner of the curtain, I peer out at the parking lot.
Steam is rising off the pavement in the midday sunshine. It’s one of those muggy July afternoons, when the air is so thick you practically need gills to breathe properly.
The air-conditioning unit gives an ominous rattle, struggling to beat the heat. It’s on its last legs. I can only hope it doesn’t stop working while I’m still a guest here at the lovely Budget Inn.
Oh. Did I say guest?
I meantprisoner.
The black SUV is still parked directly across from my door. Even from here, I can make out the two federal agents watching me through the windshield, their faces show clear disapproval as soon as they spot me. With a sigh, I let the curtain fall back into place and step away from the dust-streaked window.
Stay out of sight,they barked when they shoved me in here ten — or was it twelve? — hours ago.Gallagher’s orders.