I don’t bother answering. There’s no point. For him, this was payback.
“Mr. Kent.” Norcut now. I roll over as she moves around him, not stopping until the pointy toes of her pumps are touching my rib cage. I’m expecting a kick, at minimum. But she leans down, kneels next to me with the saddest expression.
“This is going to go badly for you.” Norcut brushes hair away from my face and I shudder. “You know that, don’t you?”
I nod, the side of my head sliding against the polished floor.
“Good,” she says and stands. “Get up.”
I do. Norcut grips my sleeve as I sway, steadying myself.
“We will find her,” she says.
Her. Alex. “No you won’t.”
Norcut’s fingernails dig into my bad arm—finding exactly where Todd rammed in his knife—and I hiss, squeeze my eyes shut against the pain. She presses harder and I force myself to grin.
“We both know it’s true,” I say. “What made Alex the perfect victim will also make her perfect for disappearing. What makes us weak also makes us strong. Didn’t we talk about that once? In therapy?”
I sound really good for someone whose stomach is close to spewing everywhere. The harder Norcut presses my arm, the more my knees want to crumble and the higher my voice swings. The money’s gone. Carson’s gone. These are the kinds of people who will track every lead.
And what will I do when it leads them to Lily?
I won’t be able to do anything.
I’ll have to watch.
“I’m immune to tears,” Norcut breathes, the words curling down my ear canal.
She’s not the reason I’m crying, but I let her think it is. Who cares? At this point, I can barely stay upright. I’ve never been so tired.
So completely and utterly done.
Hart appears at the elevator opening. “We have a problem.”
A wordless something snakes between them and Norcut hauls me forward. I can’t tell what’s going on.
Two seconds later, I’m pretty sure I can guess. Someone’s here. There’s a female voice—high and pissed—coming from farther down the hallway. Norcut stares toward the sound, fingers digging deeper and deeper into my arm as we all try to place the voice.
It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Bascombe and it’s not the caseworker.
It’s Bren and my knees drive toward the floor. I open my mouth, but Norcut yanks me around, puts her face so close to mine we are breathing the same air.
“You owe me eleven million dollars.”
I nod.
“If you don’t deliver, I’ll go to the authorities about Bay. I’ll tell them you did it on purpose. And then I’ll go after your sister and Bren. Do you understand?”
Another nod. It should be exactly the response Norcut wants, but she presses her nails into my scar like she’s digging for bone. I grit my teeth, but a whimper escapes.
“Do not keep me waiting,” she says and releases me. I sag against the wall, tasting bile. I need a moment, but they’re not interested in waiting. Hart and Norcut push me forward, flanking me. We’re all headed for Bren now.
“Smile,” Hart hisses.
I can’t. Because when Bren hears our footsteps, she whirls to face us and I’ve never seen her look so bad. Her hair’s coming loose from its chignon. Her clothes hang so limply on her frame, they look like they’re borrowed from someone else.
Norcut’s hand goes to the small of my back and a single finger touches my spine. Another reminder to behave. Unnecessary. Looking at Bren is an excellent reminder. Thinking of my sister is even better.
All Norcut has to do is count all the things I have to lose.
“Why, Mrs. Callaway,” the therapist says, releasing me and stepping forward to shake Bren’s hand. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t realize you had an appointment.”
“I don’t.” Bren’s gaze skips along my face, my clothes, my sneakers. Does she see the oil smear on my shirt? I got it all over me when I leaned into the elevator doors. “I wanted to see my daughter.”
“And here she is,” Norcut says, motioning me forward. “Mr. Hart, could you give us a moment?”
Hart hesitates, then nods, following Kent down the hallway. Bren watches him before switching her attention to me. Her eyes spear mine and hold. “Get your things, Wick. You’re leaving.”
Norcut stiffens. “I don’t think that’s really wise, Mrs. Callaway.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
“Mrs. Callaway—”
“I don’t care.”
The hallway goes quiet and Bren takes a wobbly step toward me . . . and then another. She’s shaking, but holding it together. “I need you to get your things, Wick. Now.”
Norcut touches one hand to her chin, eyes switching between Bren and me. She’s angry, but not surprised.
“Mrs. Callaway,” Norcut says, edging around me. “Have you thought this through? Wick’s father is still loose and you cannot guarantee her safety.”