Will and Rob exchanged looks that seemed to say, “Something’s always wrong when Daddy has to speak with Mummy,” but they trotted into the cottage without audible comment.
Stanley, who’d been rubbing his head on Bill’s hip in a bid for attention, now stood on his hind legs and planted his front paws on Bill’s chest. Bill took the hint, picked the cat up, and stood.While Stanley flopped over his shoulder, purring happily, Bill looked down at me. At just over six feet, my husband was nearly a foot taller than I, and he was remarkably fit. His imposing stature usually made me feel secure and protected, but at that moment I felt a strong urge to tuck him into my pocket for safekeeping.
“Bill?” I said.
“Not here.” He turned his head to look toward the hills. “Let’s go inside.”
We passed through the solarium and into the kitchen, where vegetable soup was simmering on the stove and a veal-and-ham pie was baking in the oven. Bill set Stanley down on the floor, near his food dishes, and the cat, satisfied that he’d been given his due, began nibbling. As Bill and I went down the hall to the study, we heard water running in the tub upstairs and Annelise’s voice asking the boys if they wanted bubbles in their bath. Everything in the cottage was completely normal, except for my husband.
Wordlessly, Bill closed the study door behind me, turned on the lights over the mantel shelf, motioned for me to take a seat in one of the pair of tall leather armchairs that stood before the hearth, and sat opposite me. His briefcase rested on the small table beside his chair. He gave it a sidelong glance before leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together.
“Something’s come up,” he said. “I didn’t take it seriously at first, but now I have to, because it involves you and the boys.”
“Right,” I said. It was all I could manage, because my mouth had gone dry. Bill’s fear was contagious.
“Over the past three weeks, I’ve received a number of ”—he hesitated, then plunged on—“a number of threatening messages. They were sent via e-mail, through a complex relay system.We’ve been unable to trace them back to their source.”
“What kind of threatening messages?” I asked.
Bill’s gaze drifted back to the briefcase. Then he squared his shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “Someone wants to kill me.”
I blinked. “Death threats? You’ve been getting death threats?” My thoughts spun wildly for a moment before coming to rest on the sheer improbability of what he was saying. “Why? You’re not a criminal attorney.You don’t deal with violent thugs. You write codicils and clauses and make sure all the wherefores are in place.Why would anyone want to kill you?”
Bill shrugged. “Revenge, apparently. The messages suggest that a former client believes I wronged him in some way. They make it quite clear that he intends to pay me back.” He tilted his head to one side and peered at me earnestly. “I would have told you sooner, Lori, but I thought it was a prank. I thought it would blow over. Instead, it’s gotten worse. Much worse.” He opened the briefcase, removed a sheet of paper, and passed it to me, saying, “This was waiting for me at my London office when I arrived this morning.”
I examined the page. It looked like a standard printout of a routine e-mail message, but the words were those of a madman:
You came like a thief in the night to cast me into the abyss.You chained me in darkness, but no earthly chains can hold me anymore. I have risen.
Behold, I am coming soon to repay you for what you have done. All that you love will perish. I will strike your children dead and give your wife a like measure of torment and mourning. I have the keys to Death and Hades, and I will blot your name from the book of life forever.
Your nightmare has begun. There is no waking.
Abaddon
I looked questioningly at Bill. “Abaddon?”
Bill waved a hand over the note. “It’s a mishmash of quotations and misquotations from the Book of Revelations. Abaddon’s a pseudonym, of course, but an apt one. In Revelations, Abaddon is the king of the bottomless pit. His minions come to earth to torture sinners.”
“It’s good to know that our guy reads his Bible,” I muttered.
“It’s not funny, Lori,” Bill snapped.
“I know,” I said quickly, “but it’s . . . incredible.” I reread the unholy epistle before giving it back to Bill, who returned it to the briefcase. “ ‘All that you love will perish.’ I can’t believe that anyone would hate us enough to . . . to kill us. It’s unreal.”
“It’s real,” Bill said heavily. “Which is why you and the twins have to leave the cottage.”