“I’m going with you.”
“No. I leave now, you have plausible deniability. I’ll scrape the serial number off your gun so it can’t be traced back to you. No one will ever know you helped me. But if you go with me, you spend the next decade in prison. Assuming you don’t get killed.”
“I don’t care.” He touches my arm. “I understand the risks. But you need help, and the risk of losing you is worse than …” He swallows hard. His eyes fill. “I don’t usually—I’ve never responded to anyone like I do to you.”
I step away from him. “Justin, you know I can’t reciprocate those feelings. I just don’t know—”
“Yeah, I know. But I don’t care. You just haven’t figured out what a wonderful guy I am yet. You will, someday.”
I drop my eyes and smile. Still trying to make this easier for me. Maybe he’s right. Maybe someday I’ll feel about him the same way he does about me. If there is a someday in my future.
“At least tell me where you’re going,” he says.
“No, Justin.”
“Then take my car.”
“No. They find your car and that’s the same thing as you coming with me. You’re aiding and abetting. I’ll walk. Better I stay off the roads, anyway. And I’m in no hurry. I need the sun to go down before I make my move. I’ll wait until midnight, probably.”
“Call me on your cell, then. At least tell me you’re okay.”
“Turning my cell phone off right now,” I say. “So they can’t track me.”
Justin lets out air, shaking his head. “Oh, Jenna. Don’t say good-bye to me. Just—tell me this isn’t good-bye.”
I walk up to him and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. “This isn’t good-bye,” I say, before I head out his back door.
110
MY THOUGHTS ZIGZAGGING in every direction, trying to make sense of it all—Noah, Isaac, Aiden—not to mention the entire Southampton Town Police Department after me, heavily armed and prepared for combat. But something is telling me that the key to this is Aiden Willis. If I can get hold of him tonight, if I can surprise him and subdue him, I can finally put an end to this.
The walk from East Hampton isn’t bad. It’s about seven miles, which under different circumstances would be a typical day’s jog for me, and it’s safer than driving. When you’re on foot, you’re nimble. You can escape into crowds, cut corners, hide among foliage—you can obscure yourself in any number of ways.
The sky overhead is threatening rain, which will royally suck if it happens, but the good news is that in the meantime, it darkens the sky and brings the rough equivalent of nightfall prematurely.
I make it to the beach and kick off my shoes and tromp along the sand, the restless Atlantic Ocean to the south, the carefree breeze playing with my hair. I don’t look like a fugitive, and unless the police are conducting beach patrol, I’m practically invisible to them.
So I sit in the sand, less than a mile from my destination, watching the foamy tide crash ashore and recede, waiting for the moment to arrive. If my guess about Aiden is right, he’s settling in right now, nestled in his hiding spot, his guard slowly lowering.
Somewhere in the house at 7 Ocean Drive.
At midnight, I make the decision—it’s time. Hopefully, he’s asleep, or at least close to it. Not expecting company, in any event.
I step out of the sand onto the parking lot and look up at the mansion. No lights are on. No visible sign of life. Not that I expected Aiden to be hosting a party.
I walk along Ocean Drive until I reach the front of the house, my nervous system catching up now, sending warning signals to me, filling my chest. Justin’s revolver in my right hand, the flashlight in my left.
I try the driveway entrance, expecting resistance, planning to push it open and squeeze myself between the twin gates. But it’s not locked. I push one side open and enter, then close it back up, without allowing my imagination to wonder why the gate would be open.
My breathing erratic, my legs heavy, I walk up the driveway to the fork—to the right, the walk heading up the hill to the house; to the left, the driveway continuing on to the carriage house or whatever it is.
For some reason, I don’t take the familiar path, the one I’ve traveled several times during my investigation, up the sidewalk toward the house.
This time, I stay left, remaining on the driveway, walking toward that oversize carriage house.
Not knowing why. Unable to place it in my brain, but feeling something inside me growing, spreading like poison.
And then a flash through my brain like lightning.
Walking, shoved from behind, forced forward, wondering what it is, a stable, a garage, a separate house, where is it he’s taking me?
Walk. Move! Walk faster, you stupid girl!
I suck in a breath. I should turn around now. I know that. If I had any sense, I’d turn and run. Instead, I shine my light forward, just briefly, to see if there’s anything in front of me, up the driveway toward the structure.