18
Curtis can see the panic in his wife’s eyes, can see her struggling to take a deep breath. He doesn’t want her going off the deep end over this. There has to be an innocent explanation, and he says so.
“Like what?” Sydney asks.
“A hobo,” he says, though he’s pretty sure that’s no longer a politically correct term. “Or an itinerant worker passing through.”
“Why would they leave their machete here? And their gloves?”
“They must have forgotten them.”
“So they sat here and smoked six cigarettes? Why?”
Curtis scrambles to come up with a logical explanation, but he’s flailing. “Maybe they stopped here six times. It’s a nice spot for a smoke.”
“Or maybe they’ve been watching us. Just waiting for a chance to break in and kill us all in our sleep.”
“Don’t go off the deep end,” Curtis says gently. “We’re perfectly safe.”
“We can’t just brush this off.” Syd’s voice is tight, brows knit together. “Could this have something to do with Collette?”
Curtis laughs. It’s ridiculous. “You think Collette flew all the way to Spain to stand behind our tree smoking cigarettes? With a machete?”
“Does she smoke?”
“No. I mean, not that I know of.”
“Does she have a jealous boyfriend? Or a husband?”
“She said she was divorced.”
“She blocked me on Facebook, Curtis. Why would she do that?”
“You’ve been checking her out online? You know what Ellen said in therapy.”
“Yeah, I do. And Ellen was right. Every time I look at Collette’s photo, I feel sick. And angry. But I can’t stop myself.” Syd’s voice is getting louder. “And her biotech firm hasn’t even opened. How can they afford the lease?”
“I have no idea!” he says, his face burning. “That’s Simon’s problem now. I sold my half of the company for you, remember?” He needs to steer this conversation away from his affair. “What about Teddy Drew?” Curtis suggests. “You sent his son to jail. He’s already made threats against you.”
Syd chews a knuckle. “I’ll call Brian at the office. Maybe he can find out if Drew’s left the country.”
They stand in silence for a moment, lost in their own speculation.
Curtis becomes aware of the throbbing in his head, the tension pressing against his temples.
His plan to remove them from all the ugliness in New York had seemed foolproof.
What are the odds that trouble would follow them across the ocean?
It seems implausible. But there’s a tightness in his chest, acid in his throat. Because if it did…
A thought occurs to him then. “What if this has something to do with Damian and Bianca?”
Syd meets his gaze. “How?”
“Maybe someone’s after them?”
“You think someone followed them from Australia?” Sydney rolls her eyes. “Now who’s being over-the-top.”
“What if they’ve got enemies in Europe?” he suggests. “They just showed up here out of nowhere. What do we know about them?”
“They’re a couple of Aussie travelers whose van broke down.”
“Did it, though? I mean, they could have made the van break down.”
Syd shakes her head. “Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. That’s my point.” Curtis crosses his arms. “You invited two complete strangers to move in with us.”
“We invited them,” Syd retorts.
“Well, maybe it’s time they leave.”
“If someone is lurking around our property, I feel safer with Damian here,” Syd counters.
“You’re my wife. I can keep you safe.” It comes out more caveman than Curtis intended, and he sees Syd bristle. But he’s sick of being emasculated by the big loud Aussie, tired of him acting like Sir Lancelot while Sydney swoons like a damsel. He softens his tone. “I’ll fix the security cameras.”
“Why? So we can watch a replay of our murders?”
“Let’s not get hysterical.” Curtis keeps his voice calm. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable…” But he trails off, because he hears something. It’s coming from the house, faint but unmistakable: an argument.
“Did you hear that?” Curtis asks.
“What?” Syd says, and they both listen. But it’s all quiet now.
“Damian and Bianca were fighting,” Curtis says. “I wonder what about?”
“Can you imagine if we’d been cooped up in a van together?” Syd says. “We’d be…” But she trails off, because the Australian couple are now moving up the hill toward them.
“How ya going out here?” Damian calls.
“Not good,” Syd mutters as the pair joins them. “These aren’t my cigarettes. And we found these.” She points at the gloves and the machete, still nestled in the tall grass.
“Oh…” Bianca bends over, peers at the items. “That’s creepy.”
“Not really,” Damian says confidently. “It’s probably the guy from the next farm checking his fence line. He must have stopped for a few smokes. No big deal.”
“With a machete?” Syd asks.
“For clearing away brush,” Damian responds. He crouches, picks up a glove. “This leather is good for working with barbed wire.”
“Go to the next farm, Curtis,” Sydney demands. “Take the machete and gloves back to the farmer. Make sure they’re his.”
Curtis scoffs. “I don’t even know him. And I barely speak Spanish. I can’t just walk onto their property carrying a machete.”
“So we do nothing?” Syd snaps. “We’re just going to wonder if some psycho has been out here watching us?”
“There’s no psycho, Sydney,” Curtis says, enunciating each word, but he’s suddenly unsure. His head swims, and he feels confused, unmoored. The intensity of the sun, the knock on the head, and this creepy discovery are all overwhelming him. A clammy cold settles on him, and he wobbles on his feet.
Bianca touches his elbow. “Let’s get you inside. I’ve got the first aid kit in the kitchen. We should treat those scratches, so they don’t get infected.”
He looks down at his arm, at the dried blood, the remnants of the jellyfish stings.
He’s going to need a couple of painkillers for his head, too.
He’s a wreck. And now, someone could be watching them.
Maybe even planning to hurt them. Could it be someone from Curtis’s past?
If it is, he’ll be no match for them in his current state.
He won’t be able to protect his wife or himself.
“Okay,” he says hoarsely, because he doesn’t know what else to do. He and Bianca start toward the house. They’ve gone a few yards when Curtis realizes his wife and Damian aren’t following.
Looking over his shoulder, he sees them standing close, heads bent in conversation.
Damian is talking in a low voice while Syd nods receptively.
What the hell is he saying to her? Is he reassuring her?
Offering to keep her safe from the cigarette-smoking bogeyman because her husband is so weak and pathetic?
Curtis stops abruptly. “Coming?” he asks pointedly.
Syd and Damian look up, their expressions sheepish. Slowly, they move to join him.