Chapter 5 - The Husband Who Came HomeNathan arrived at 6:47 a.m. wearing the same navy suit he had left in.
Not a travel-wrinkled suit.
Not a slept-in airport suit.
Clean. Pressed. Perfect.
He had not flown in from Chicago.
He had been nearby the entire time.
I watched from Mrs. Bell’s front window as his black SUV pulled against the curb. Two police cruisers still sat outside our house. Yellow tape crossed the front porch like a warning from God.
Nathan stepped out, rain misting his dark hair, and immediately put on the performance of a lifetime.
He ran toward Sergeant Molina.
“My wife,” he said. “My daughter. Where are they?”
The concern in his voice was so convincing that Mrs. Bell actually gasped.
But I saw his eyes.
They kept flicking toward the house.
Toward the folder.
Toward the officers.
Not toward me.
Never toward Ava.
Sergeant Molina blocked him at the walkway.
“Mr. Whitaker, we need to ask you a few questions.”
“My family was attacked and you want to question me?”
“Routine.”
Nathan’s jaw tightened.
Then he saw me through the window.
For one second, the mask dropped.
Hatred.
Not anger. Not panic.
Hatred so pure it stole the last broken piece of my heart.
Then he raised one trembling hand against the glass, playing the grieving husband for anyone watching.
“Claire,” he mouthed.
Ava woke on the couch.
“Daddy?”
I turned away from the window.
She rubbed her eyes, confused and exhausted.
“Why is Daddy outside?”
I knelt in front of her.
There are lies parents tell children to protect them.
Santa. Tooth fairies. Monsters are not real.
But I would not lie to my daughter about the monster wearing her father’s face.
“Daddy has to talk to the police,” I said carefully.
“Did he catch the bad man?”
I swallowed.
“No, baby.”
She looked toward the window.
“Then why are the police standing in front of him?”
The question broke me.
Before I could answer, Nathan’s voice rose outside.
“You have no right to keep me from them!”
Sergeant Molina remained calm.
“Sir, lower your voice.”
“I want my daughter!”
Ava flinched.
Mrs. Bell moved closer to her.
That was when I saw something in Nathan’s hand.
A small black remote.
He held it low by his thigh.
My stomach tightened.
Across the street, our garage door began to open.
The officers turned.
Nathan lunged past Sergeant Molina.
Not toward me.
Toward his SUV.
“Stop!” she shouted.
He jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.
An officer reached the vehicle just as Nathan reversed hard into Mrs. Bell’s mailbox. Metal screamed. The SUV spun, tires spraying water across the pavement.
Then Nathan drove straight toward our open garage.
For the blue folder?
No.
Something worse.
Inside the garage, behind the Christmas boxes and Ava’s old bicycle, sat Nathan’s locked steel cabinet.
May you like
The one he told me held hunting equipment.
But Nathan had never hunted a day in his life.
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