Chương 4
Marcus said, “Sarah took the children while I was arranging help for her. She has barely slept in a month. She thinks people are watching the house. She thinks documents are messages. She accused our pediatrician of changing the babies’ weights to build a custody case.”
“Did she?”
“Did she what?”
“Accuse the pediatrician?”
“Yes.”
“Were the weights changed?”
Marcus made an impatient sound. “No.”
“Did you verify that?”
“Of course I did.”
“How?”
“I called.”
Nathan thought of how quickly he had believed the dispatcher’s question was part of Marcus’s story. That did not mean the story was false.
“Send me the pediatrician’s name,” he said.
“Open the gate.”
“Send the name.”
“I am their father.”
“And Sarah is their mother. She is missing.”
“She is hiding from the consequences of what she’s done.”
“What has she done?”
Marcus did not answer.
Something scratched at the mudroom door.
Nathan raised the skillet.
A face appeared behind the lower glass.
Sarah’s face.
He dropped the skillet. It struck the tile with a crack that seemed to shake the room.
“Nathan?” Marcus said through the phone.
Nathan ended the call and unlocked the door.
Sarah fell inward before he could catch her properly. Snow covered her hair and shoulders. One boot was missing. Her right sock was dark with mud and water. She gripped a canvas document case to her chest and fought him when he tried to take it.
“It’s me,” he said. “Sarah, it’s me.”
Her eyes found his after two attempts.
“Lock it.”
He shut the door and engaged the dead bolt.
“Did he see me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are the kids?”
“Safe.”
“Did you open the envelope?”
“Yes.”
She sagged against the wall.
Her lips were pale. Her fingers had lost the color they should have had. Nathan’s professional mind began listing priorities before his brother’s mind could do anything useful.
“Can you feel your foot?”
“What?”
“Your foot. Can you feel it?”
“Yes.”
“Any chest pain?”
She gave a strange, breathless laugh. “You really can’t help yourself.”
“Sarah.”
“No chest pain.”
“Did you fall?”
“Several times.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I’m not one of your patients.”
“At the moment, you’re worse. My patients answer questions.”
He helped her onto the mudroom bench. She refused to release the canvas case.
“Marcus says you’re in a mental health crisis.”
“He would.”
“He says you took the children while he was arranging help.”
“I did take them.”
“He says you’ve been paranoid.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Are you asking whether I’m crazy?”
“I’m asking what happened.”
“You’re asking it the way he does.”
Nathan pulled a folded towel from the shelf and wrapped it around her bare foot. “Then tell me a better way.”
“I don’t have time to teach you how to be a person.”
“That has always been your favorite excuse when you don’t want to answer.”
She stared at him.
The storm rattled the door.
From the study, faintly, a baby cried.
Sarah tried to stand.
Nathan blocked her. “Rosa has them.”
“I need to see them.”
“You need to warm up.”
“Move.”
“Sarah, you may be hypothermic.”
“And you may still be an arrogant ass, but somehow the evening continues.”
There she was. Not well, perhaps. Exhausted, certainly. But the sister he knew existed inside the shaking body and wet clothes.
He took her elbow. “You can see them. Slowly.”
They moved through the kitchen. Sarah saw Lily’s coat on the counter and stopped.
“You cut it open.”
“Marcus asked for it.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“The key.”
“I have it.”
“And the words?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
Nathan waited.
When she opened them, she said, “You called the police?”
“Yes.”
“We have to leave.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You keep saying that instead of explaining.”
“Because explanations require trust, and you haven’t trusted me since I married him.”
Nathan felt the old argument rise between them, perfectly preserved. Their father’s funeral. Sarah insisting she was not a child. Nathan telling her grief was making her reckless. Marcus standing ten feet away, silent and useful.
“I trusted you enough not to interfere,” he said.
“That wasn’t trust. That was abandonment with good manners.”
A light blinked on the wall panel.
East service entrance open.
Nathan saw it. Sarah did too.
“Is there another way into the house?” she asked.
“The old service corridor.”
“You said it was sealed.”
“It was supposed to be.”
“By the same company that did the cameras?”
He took out his phone and called Rosa.
She answered in a whisper. “What?”
“Sarah is inside.”
There was a pause, then a quick exhale.
“Lock the study. Do not come out. Someone may have opened the east service entrance.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate that answer.”
“So do I.”
He ended the call and opened the security application. The system showed the east service door as open, but the camera feed remained unavailable.
Sarah gripped the document case. “Marcus has Wesley with him.”
“Who is Wesley?”
“His operations director. Former police. He installed the system.”
“Why would Marcus bring him?”
“To get the key.”
“Does he know it’s here?”
“He saw me sew it into Lily’s coat.”
“When?”
“This afternoon.”
“Why were you sewing evidence into your daughter’s coat in front of him?”
“I wasn’t in front of him. I thought he was upstairs.”
Nathan stared at her.
“He watches the nursery cameras,” she said. “All the cameras. He told me it was for security.”
“And you still brought the children here?”
“I had nowhere else he wouldn’t expect me to go.”
“He expected you.”
“He expected me to run to you. I expected him to go to the front gate. Both things can be true.”
The hall lights went out.
Emergency lamps came on a second later, washing the walls in dim amber.
Sarah’s hand closed around his wrist.
“Do not let him take the key.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because it opens the archive.”
