Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [147]
Danielle heads for Evan’s room. I scoot toward the staircase, scissors clenched like a weapon in my fist.
I can’t hear Andrew anymore. No voice booming down the hall. The silence is unnerving. What’s Andrew doing? Where is he hiding? What’s he plotting next?
My hands are trembling. I want to stop, huddle like a small animal caught in the open by a bird of prey.
I won’t do it. My house, my child, my ex-husband. I started this mess. I’ll finish it.
Here’s the home court advantage—I have spent years learning how to navigate these stairs so that I won’t wake Evan in the middle of the night. I know each squeaky step, each groaning floorboard. Unfortunately, my stab wound isn’t doing so well. I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding, and beneath the ache I feel an itchy burn. Infection, most likely. I grit my teeth, picture my family, and push forward.
I hit the bottom step and pause to get my bearings. Daybreak lightens the glass panes beside the door. I can just make out each corner of the foyer, the empty space behind the ficus tree, the yawning archway leading toward the kitchen. No Andrew. I slip away from the stairs, hugging the wall for support, heartbeat quickening.
I hear a groan from the living room. Michael. I want to rush to his side. I force myself to take small, measured steps, listening carefully. The silence terrifies me.
Then I hear rustling from down the hall. Maybe from the downstairs lavette, maybe the front study. I dart into the family room, ducking beside the entertainment center. From here, I can see the sofa. Michael is sprawled on the floor in front of it. His wrists and ankles are bound. His head is moving fitfully, as if he’s struggling to wake from a nightmare.
For one second, I’m tempted to leave him. He’s better off unconscious, not knowing what’s happening to his wife and child, never seeing the bullet coming.
A glow appears in the hallway. Flashlight, coming toward the living room, on course to pass directly by me.
I bolt, racing to the other side of the entertainment unit, where I cover myself with the curtains. One of Evan’s favorite hiding spaces.
“Danny boy,” Andrew is crooning as he appears in the living room. “Oh Danny boy.”
He stops, studying Michael’s prone body on the floor. When Michael doesn’t move, Andrew continues on to the foyer. “Time’s up,” he calls out. “Know where the gun is yet, Danielle? Because I do.”
Andrew starts to climb the stairs, carrying something down by his right leg. A knife, I realize. A very large butcher knife.
And he’s heading straight for my child.
I rush into the living room, collapse on my knees beside my husband, and quickly cut the zip ties. He moans again. I kiss him once. A foolish notion from a foolish woman still learning to let go. Then I slap him, hard.
“Dammit, Michael, wake up. Our son needs you.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
“Victoria’s not here,” Greg reported ten minutes later, gasping slightly from his run around the hospital. Alex was three beats behind the MC and breathing harder.
“Nurse says Victoria must have left her room shortly after midnight,” he filled in. “They haven’t seen her since.”
“A woman who was stabbed disappeared from her room and they did nothing about it?”
“The nurse found the hospital gown on a chair, and noticed that the fresh set of clothes brought by Victoria’s ex-husband was gone. She assumed Victoria checked herself out against doctor’s orders. They put in a call to her ex, who I guess was handling everything, but they haven’t heard back from him yet.”
“Her ex was here?”
Alex nodded. “Michael dropped off some stuff, spoke with the doctors, yeah.”
D.D. scowled, turned instinctively back to the nearest bush, which was now filled with five hyperactive boys. Another MC—Ed—had come over to assist. It was possible that D.D. wasn’t prepared to handle three crazy boys. It was possible