Chapter 84
Ivy felt refreshed. For the first time in a week, her sleep had been sound and dreamless.
She awoke just after ten.
When was the last time she’d slept in past ten o’clock?
Couldn’t remember.
Not even as a kid. Her late father had always touted the importance of getting up early, having a routine.
Ivy yawned, stretched a little. Laid in bed for a good five minutes before finally getting up.
She took her time in the shower. Finished with a blast of cold water.
It wasn’t until she was making her way downstairs that she remembered that she no longer lived alone.
Ivy had a roommate.
Abs had said that Steve Neely was no longer her responsibility. True. But she still felt obligated to look after the man.
And despite his inability to communicate, their relationship was far from one-sided.
For three years, Steve Neely had acted as a stand-in father to her. And before he’d started wandering, the predictability of the man’s routine had offered her comfort.
He couldn’t talk, but Ivy could still speak to him. And when they were alone, she did just that. Shared things with him, things that only Abby knew. About that night, sure, but about other stuff, too. Her struggles with her work, with balancing everything on her ever-widening plate.
“Gene?”
It felt good to call her father’s name, even knowing that he was gone.
“Gene?”
Ivy ducked into her father’s room. Found the bed not just empty, but made.
This made her brow crinkle. Confused, Ivy headed downstairs next.
“Gene?”
Had Sarah showed up? She’d told the woman to take the morning off. Come in around noon or whenever she felt like it. Sarah Kachinski had been through a lot, too. The woman was kind. Kind and caring.
“Sarah?”
No answer to that, either.
Now Ivy’s brow was so creased that it nearly folded over. The lines on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes felt thick.
Maybe I’ll speak to Abs after all. Get a little Botox.
Yeah, things were different this morning.
“Gene?”
He wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t on the back porch, either.
Where the hell was he?
Ivy knew Abby thought that her looking after the man who had killed her father was odd. And it was a little off base. But Ivy never looked at it that way; she came at it differently.
Steve Neely was part of an equation, a means to an end . . . no, not an end, a means to a solution.
A piece—
Ivy froze. Only her heart continued to beat.
A piece.
There was a chess piece on the kitchen counter. A rook.
A smaller version of the paperweight that Steve Neely had used to cave her father’s head in.
Ivy finally managed to move. She picked up the chess piece, felt the strange texture in her fingers that had long since lost most of their feeling. Ivy squeezed the rook in her palm. The pain of the sharp edges digging into her skin brought some of her senses back.
Her eyes scanned the kitchen counter. Saw nothing.
Saw . . . nothing.
The laptops!
Gene and Steve’s laptops. She’d left them there last night.
Where the hell are they?
Still gripping the rook, Ivy rushed out the front door. The sun was bright, and she squinted as she looked up and down the empty street. Continued to search until a car made its way into her driveway and parked. Sarah Kachinski got out, a big smile on her bigger face.
“Morning!” She took two steps. Halted. “Ivy? What’s wrong? Is Gene wandering again?”
Oh, he was wandering, all right. But it wasn’t Gene.
Ivy cleared her throat. The rook fell from her hand, landed on the porch. Bounced once before resting on its side, a miniature version of the one she’d seen at the fire. It even had a dot of blood on it from where the sharp edges had cut into her skin.
For three years, Ivy had kept a terrible secret.
Turns out, she wasn’t the only one.
Neuroplasticity—Vaughn teaching her something for once.
Ivy had used Steve, told him everything. And in return, he’d used her. Waited for her to do all the legwork.
Find the laptops.
Both of them, together.
And then, the moment she let her guard down—for one fucking night—he’d stolen them both.
Ivy thought she was smart, but Steve Neely, like her real father, was smarter.
Always had been.
“Ivy?”
“He’s gone,” she whispered. “Steve’s gone.”
It was the first time she’d called the man by his real name, but if Sarah noticed, it didn’t register with the woman.
“He’s gone, Sarah.”
And Ivy knew, deep down, that this time, they’d never find him again.
Him or the laptops.
END