Nell
PRESENT
I sit bolt upright in my bed, my heart pounding. Something woke me.
Sliding the knife from under my pillow, I peel the bedcovers back and get quietly out of bed, suppressing a shiver when my feet touch the cold wooden floor.
Moving to the window, I part the curtain slightly, hoping to see a light on in one of the houses farther up the street so that I won’t feel alone.
As I look out, my eyes are automatically drawn to the house across the street, the one Marcus has bought.
I breathe in sharply; I can’t see anyone but the prickling down my spine tells me that someone is there—and that they are looking right at me.
My instinct is to pull the curtains shut and call Superintendent Moss.
But by the time the police arrive, they’ll be gone.
More than that, I’m tired of being afraid.
So I push down the fear and stay where I am, my body perfectly still, my eyes focused on the same spot, holding their invisible gaze. Is it Marcus?
I’m not sure why I do it. Maybe it’s because imagining that it’s Marcus standing against the wall of his soon-to-be home, his eyes unblinking behind his blue-framed glasses, makes it less frightening than imagining it’s a stranger.
But for whatever reason, I find myself parting the curtains a little more, so that whoever it is can see me clearly, and I raise my arm, showing them the knife I’m holding in my hand, its long blade pointing downward.
I’m waiting for you, I mouth silently. I wait a beat, then step back from the window, close the curtains, and sink onto the bed, my limbs trembling, not for fear but from exhilaration.
I have shown whomever it is that I’m ready to fight, that I won’t cower before them.
It only takes a few moments for doubt to creep in.
What if it was Marcus? What will he think of me, threatening him with a knife?
What if it was someone sent by Damon Parker, or someone connected to Alex, because it’s still there in my mind that he might be a spy and that Ariane, and maybe Caitlin, were killed because of his job.
What if I’ve antagonized them? What if they’re crossing the street at this very moment?
Leaping from the bed, I go to my dressing table and push it in front of the door. If they get into the house—but surely my new locks will make it impossible?—and I hear them coming up the stairs, the barricade will buy me enough time to call Superintendent Moss.
I stay awake with the knife in my hand and only sleep when morning comes.
By the time I wake, half the day has gone.
Alex phones to tell me he’s preparing to leave for Paris, and while we’re speaking, all I can think is that if he is working for the French secret service, someone might be listening in.
“Only another week and we’ll be together,” he murmurs. “And when we come back from holiday, our new life together will begin.”