Page 23 of Love What's Left
Henry turns his body to the side and covers Ian’s ear. “We no longer speak of these things in front of children.”
“Henry.” That’s it. Just his name, but in a tone so exhausted he relents.
He murmurs briefly, then passes Ian off to his wife Franki, who gives me a sweet little finger wave. I force a close-lipped smile.
Then she’s gone, and Henry runs a hand through his light brown hair. “They’re calling this open and shut. According to the FBI, Nikolai Markov had a grudge against us with revenge as the motive. Period. End of story. They believe he worked alone.”
“That’s bullshit.” I sneer. “How did he get close to her in the first place? What does any of it have to do with Sydney’s lab?”
“If you hadn’t killed Markov, we could have made him answer those questions. Why did he keep Sydney alive for so long, rather than killing her outright? If it were me, I’d have killed her and sent you the body immediately, not waited more than a month,” Henry muses.
A clatter sounds from the open doorway, and I turn with a jerk to find Sydney watching me. My heart lifts with elation that she came to find me, then plummets when I realize what she heard. “Damn.”
10
Gabriel
My wife’s eyes narrow to slits. Tangled hair, wet from the shower, drapes in messy ropes over her shoulders. A red T-shirt and white drawstring pants hang loose on her once-curvy frame, and a wide-tooth comb lies on the bamboo floor next to her bare feet.
“I assume Sydney heard our conversation and is now in distress.” Henry raises his voice. “I didn’t mean I would killyou, specifically, Sydney. I meant if my purpose was to torment someone’s husband, I would killthat person’swife,” Henry calls. “Hypothetically. But we don’t actually do that. Kill innocent people, I mean.”
“You’re not helping, Henry.” I click End Call and toss the phone onto the desk blotter, then rise to face her.
For long moments, I watch and wait for her to bolt for the front door.Don’t make mechase you again, wife.If I have to follow her, it will undo every bit of progress we’ve made, but it’s not safe for her to leave the property alone.
“You killed the person who took me?” Her voice is scratchy, still damaged and largely unused, but eerily calm.
The echoof another, older, conversation with her rings in my mind. The one that changed everything. “Yes.”
“How?”
“I shot him the night we found you. I killed him to get you out of there.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
“I’m sure. He’s already in the ground,” I say.
Sydney’s eyes, the color of polished mahogany, glint in the sunlight. “Thank you.”
For a moment, I don’t say or do anything at all, too stunned by the realization that I’ve been handling this all wrong. I hadn’t wanted to remind her of what she’d been through. So I told her she was safe and hid every hint I could of our security measures for fear they’d feel like a cage.
Her captivity has never left her. Addressing it must feel like validation. I should have been telling her I’d wear the blood of anyone who ever tries to hurt her again.
“Try not to panic. I want to introduce you to someone. He won’t hurt you,” I say.
She frowns.
I raise my voice and call out, “Dave, can you come into the library?” We’ve been feeding into her fear by him avoiding interacting with her, instead of facing it head on. Maybe what she needs is to understand his role.
Sydney flinches, then shrinks to the side when the dark-haired guard enters the room.
He dips his head toward her, an encouraging smile on his rough-hewn face. “Hey, Syd. It’s good to see you getting around.”
She watches the big man with wary eyes, her gaze flicking from his shoulder holster to his face, then to mine.
“Dave is one of your guards,” I say.
Her mouthtightens.
