I don’t miss the gun of an engine, the way his voice dips with both warning and promise, how his answer isn’t really an answer at all: “Hang tight, Jade. Be there as soon as I can.”
“I can’t believe it. He’s got the money.” The man’s voice is incredulous. He hoists himself off the recliner, grinning down from behind the mask. “That worthless piece of shit husband of yours has actually got the money. He actually did the impossible.”
I press my lips together and say nothing. Not so worthless now, is he?
Outside the playroom windows, darkness is falling fast thanks to the thick cloud cover. Automatically, my gaze wanders to the clock on a far shelf, a fussy mantel model that looks out of place with the rest of the mid-century decor, its hands permanently stuck on ten past five. A tiny eye embedded in the base of the hour hand watches our every move.
I don’t dare glance at the other two cameras, a wall speaker with a sweeping view of the couch, and the dummy fire alarm above my head. Between the three of them, every inch of this room is covered by top-of-the-line, high-definition cameras with motion sensors and enhanced night vision, every movement and sound recorded and stored on the cloud for thirty days.
Whatever happens in this room, there will be proof. Indisputable, undeniable evidence. Three digital witnesses documenting every move.
He slides my phone back into his pocket and exchanges it for the Android, tapping a finger to the screen, pressing it to his ear. “You’re not going to believe this but—” A pause, and his grin widens. “See? I told you this was going to work. You thought I was wrong but we actually pulled it off. Dammit, we’re good.”
The same person he was talking to downstairs, I’m guessing. The coconspirator from the kitchen, the one checking the levels. Distracting enough for me to check in with my daughter.
I shift to the recliners, perching at the edge of the seat next to Beatrix. “You okay?”
She shakes her head. “How much longer? I really don’t like this.”
On the other side of the coffee table, the man’s phone call continues. “How are the numbers?”
“I know, baby.” I wrap a hand around the back of her head, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Thanks for being my bravest girl. You’re the cleverest, most determined kid I know.”
Beatrix frowns. “What about Baxter?” My daughter is not the only person she holds to high standards. She’s always demanded perfection from everyone else, too, the responsible firstborn, the big sister taking up for her younger brother. She’s a kid who takes her job very seriously.
“He’s the sweetest and funniest. Of all the babies in the world, I got the two of you, and that makes me the luckiest, proudest mom ever.”
I’m fighting tears I hide with a nuzzle to Beatrix’s shoulder, looking up as the man says, “Shouldn’t be long now. Any chatter on the scanner?”
Beatrix stares at him, too, grabbing on to the cuff of my sleeve, gripping the fabric in a tight fist. She waits until he turns away to lean close and whisper, “She took my signs.”
It’s the same words she said to me earlier, when I was taping her hands to the chair. She took my signs, she said angrily, urgently, and I still don’t understand what she means. When I asked her who took them, our whispering caught the man’s attention. He demanded to know what we were talking about. When I lied—wait, I said, rather than who—he ordered us to be quiet.
Now, though, he’s staring out the window down the roofline and into the backyard. Too giddy with success and whatever this person is saying to hear me whisper the question again to Beatrix, “Who did?”
She shifts her weight, her gaze flitting behind us into the hallway. “Mrs. Lloyd.”
No. That doesn’t make sense. Mrs. Lloyd is Tanya. The nosy neighbor from across the street.
I still don’t understand. Tanya took Beatrix’s signs?
I glance at the man standing like a statue with the phone pressed to his ear. The outline of his gun presses up from one of his pockets. “How’s she doing?” Whomever she is, the answer is not good. It drops the smile right off his face. “That’s awful low. Is she acting okay? What did our cousin say?”
I wrap my arm around Beatrix and lean in for a hug, whispering, “What signs?”
She presses her lips into my hair, her breath hot on my ear. “I made signs asking for help and taped them to the window on the front door, but they’re gone. I think Mrs. Lloyd took them.”