Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [93]
Until there was nothing between them at all.
Chapter Seventy
Ellen woke up naked, her limbs intertwined with Marcelo’s and her head resting on a musky patch of his chest. She wondered what time it was, disentangling herself. Marcelo had turned out the lamp at some point, leaving the room dim except for the glow of a streetlight, bleeding through the slats in the window shutters. She propped herself up on an elbow and squinted at her watch. Nine o’clock. Her life rushed back at her like a freight train, full of noise, power, and something else. Fear. Suddenly she knew what had happened, all at once, as if she had seen it in a nightmare.
Amy was murdered. So was Karen Batz. Rob Moore is killing everyone who knows that Will is really Timothy.
Ellen sprang from the couch, looking for her clothes. She wiggled into her skirt, slid into her sweater, jumped into her boots. Marcelo slept on, his snoring soft and regular, and she didn’t wake him to explain. She didn’t have a minute to lose. She grabbed her coat, found her purse, and fumbled for her car keys, her heart beginning to beat fast. She crossed to the front door, and something was telling her that she had to hurry home.
Right now.
Chapter Seventy-one
Ellen shut Marcelo’s front door behind her, clutched her coat closed, and hurried down the stoop into a snowstorm, keeping her head down. Flakes fell like hail, driven by an angry wind, biting the flesh of her cheeks as she hustled down the sidewalk. Snow covered the sidewalk, and she almost slipped on the way to the car.
She chirped the door open, jumped inside, and turned on the ignition and windshield wipers. Ice clung to the windshield in patches, but she wasn’t waiting for it to thaw. She cranked the defrost, backed out of the space, and reached into her purse for her BlackBerry. She pulled it from her purse and pressed speed dial for Connie as she pounded the gas. The car zoomed down the dark street, and the call connected.
“Connie? You hanging in?” Ellen asked, trying to keep the nervousness from her tone. She didn’t even know what she was nervous about. She just knew she had to get home.
“Sure. I’m watching TV. You said you might be late.”
“Not this late.” Ellen felt a twinge of guilt, but tried to pay attention to her driving. She switched lanes to pass a truck, took a right, then a left in slow traffic, everybody cautious in the snowstorm. Her windshield wipers flapped madly, a frantic beating that reminded her of her own heart.
“Take your time, El. Chuck had to work late, too.”
“How’s my boy?”
“He’s out like a light.”
“Good.” Ellen waited for the familiar easing in her chest when she heard that everything was fine, but there was no easing tonight. She steered around a sluggish Toyota and switched lanes, heading for the cross street to the expressway.
“Oh yeah, the cat’s throwing up, so I had to put him out back for a while.”
“Okay. I’ll be home in less than an hour.”
“Drive safe. It’s really coming down out here. We already have six inches.”
“I hear you, ’bye.” Ellen pressed End, tossed the BlackBerry aside, and flew around a pickup truck pulling into a parking space. She fed the car gas to the intersection, where the traffic light was turning red, then blasted through the intersection, heading home.
By the time she reached the highway, she knew exactly what he was going to do.
Chapter Seventy-two
Ellen hurried to her front porch in a full-fledged snowstorm, keeping her head down and barreling into the wind, her heels punching footfalls into the freezing, wet snow. She’d thought about calling the cops but didn’t want to blow her cover. She was on her own.
She ran up the snowy porch steps and willed herself to get calm, arranging her face into a mask of normalcy. She plunged her key into the lock and twisted, opening the door onto