You've Been Warned

I’m steps away from Dakota’s room. I don’t intend to go in, and yet that’s exactly what I do. I feel the need to look at her, to see her sleeping peacefully, and thanks to the glow of a small heart-shaped night-light by her bed, I can. Nestled under her pink covers, she looks so angelic.

I love Dakota and Sean. Who wouldn’t?

Farther down the hallway, I slip into Sean’s room. No such luck with a night-light; he doesn’t like them.

Squinting, I can barely make out his tiny silhouette in the darkness. I edge closer and closer to him when—disaster—I kick something. Legos!

The sound of crashing plastic rips through the room as one of Sean’s fantastic creations splatters against a wall.

He stirs and I freeze, holding my breath, my heart thumping out of control.

“Mommy?” he mutters.

Shit.

What now?

I’m about to panic when it comes to me.

“Yes, honey,” I whisper. “This is just a dream.... Go back to sleep now, okay?”

He seems to think it over for a few agonizing seconds. “Okay,” he says finally.

Phew.

I figure if he were really awake he’d recognize my voice. Still, it’s a little too close for comfort.

I should take the hint and escape from the apartment as fast as possible. All I have to do is turn left out of Sean’s room and never look back.

Instead, I turn right and keep going down the hallway.

To Michael and Penley’s room.

Chapter 53

THE DOOR TO MICHAEL and Penley’s bedroom is half closed, and there’s not enough space for me to squeeze inside. Here’s praying for well-oiled hinges.

Slowly I push my way in. No squeak. Instead, just the sound of Michael’s breathing. It’s not quite a snore, more like a low-pitched hum. I recognize it immediately from the few times in which our “sleeping together” actually involved sleeping.

I inch toward them, my footsteps deadened by a huge Persian rug. There’s a scant glow of moonlight filtering in through the curtains. As my eyes adjust, I realize what I’m reminded of.

My darkroom.

I stand at the foot of their king-size bed, staring, feeling nervous. Penley’s on the left, closer to the bathroom. They’re not cuddling, nestling, or spooning—in fact, Michael couldn’t be any farther away from her without rolling off the mattress. Nonetheless, the sight of them sharing a bed immediately irks me.

I know they’re husband and wife, that this is completely normal, even if their marriage isn’t. I simply never thought about it this way. I never see any intimacy between the two of them.

Now here I am looking at them together in bed.

What a weird feeling, so uncomfortable, unsettling. It’s not so much that I’m jealous. It’s more like I’m angry.

I don’t think it’s possible to hate Penley any more than I do right now, and she hasn’t really done anything wrong, has she?

I’m no longer staring at both of them. Just her. I see her bony shoulders jutting out from the puffy duvet, and the turned-up little nose that she wrinkles when something bothers her—which is always. Even asleep she looks like a bitch! Penley could star in Wicked—without makeup.

My eyes drift.

Scattered on the bed are more pillows than two people could ever possibly use. I focus on one propped against the headboard, untouched. My brain ignites, and like sparks, the ideas come flying. All of them evil.

How easy it would be to lean over Penley and grab that pillow, place it on her face with my elbows locked and smother her. If I did it quick enough, she wouldn’t even struggle, would she? There would be no violent kicking, no muffled screams. She’d die a quick, silent, 100 percent goose down death.

Could I really do it?

Hell, I can’t even believe I’m thinking it.

It occurs to me: maybe that’s the connection—why Penley’s picture has the same ghosting effect as the body bags from the Fálcon. It’s because she’s in danger.

From me?

I feel dizzy. A rush of cold air hits me and I gasp, only to look over at the curtains and see them billowing. The window over the terrace has been open all this time.

A little shiver travels up through my spine and head, jarring my thoughts in an entirely new direction.

I know exactly what I have to do now.

Shoot Michael.

Chapter 54

CAREFULLY, I REMOVE THE LEICA from my shoulder bag, double-checking to make sure it’s loaded. My hands steady, I aim right for Michael’s head.

Don’t think, just shoot.

“Mommy!”

My head whips around. Oh, jeez, it’s Sean calling from his room.

“Mommy!” he yells again.

I look back at Michael and Penley. They’re waking up. Quick, hide!

I glance at my camera. No, wait. Snap a picture—then hide!

Sean calls out a third time, his little voice screeching like a siren. He not only sounds louder, he sounds closer. Is he out of his bed?

I drop to the floor in a panic. Ten feet away, over by the bathroom, is a small sitting area with a sofa.

I begin crawling toward it on my hands and knees.