“Sparky, listen to me. The man is absolutely crazy. There’s no telling what he’s capable of. You need the FBI’s help. You can’t do this alone.”
“Can’t I?” I stated bitterly. “I survived Ethan on my own for years, and I can do it again. I don’t need the FBI.”
“This is bullshit, and you know it,” he snapped, his frustration evident. “You can’t possibly expect me to sit here and do nothing. Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”
Despite all of Derek’s usual patience and understanding, this was one thing he’d never understand. Ethan took everything from me. Now, he was targeting Derek, and I’d be damned before I’d let him take Derek away from me, too. If Ethan was given the chance, I knew he’d kill Derek just as surely as he would kill me.
My hand knotted into an angry fist. I couldn’t take my chances with the FBI and the broken system. It was time for me to face Ethan—once and for all.
“I’ve got this. There are things I need to do, and arguing with you isn’t one of them. You need to trust me. Goodnight, Derek.”
I heard him talking but I ended the call before I could make it out his words. It immediately started vibrating again with Derek’s number lighting up the screen. I ignored the call and powered off the phone. A pang of guilt hit me for cutting him off, but it was for the best. I wasn’t sure what the rest of the night was going to bring but knew he would be better off if I left him in the dark.
Plausible deniability.
I looked around the large room and across the row of cots. Lights out was at eleven. It was after midnight now, and all the women taking shelter for the night appeared to be sleeping. As quietly as I could, I reached under my cot and pulled out my canvas book bag. Inside were the clothes I’d grabbed in my mad dash to leave my apartment and a few other things I’d picked up over the past two weeks. I sat on the floor and unzipped the bag to lay out everything I would need—a change of clothes, a notebook and pen, baby oil, rings, and steel-toed boots. I stared at the items for a long while and tried to calm my mounting anxiety with long, deep breaths. I needed to have a clear head if I wanted to properly prepare for what lay ahead.
Once my racing heart returned to a normal rhythm, I picked up the paper and pen first and wrote out three identical letters of instruction. A few days ago, I had concocted a plan to blackmail Ethan into leaving me alone. Given everything Derek told me over the phone, I knew that plan was no longer going to work. Now it was more important the FBI had an arsenal of evidence to put Ethan away for life, but if something happened to me, they’d never have my contribution to their case.
When I was finished, I placed the letters in large manila envelopes I’d already had prepared and addressed. One envelope was addressed to Natalia, and another was addressed to Teddy. I planned to drop those off at the nearest USPS mailbox within the hour. The third envelope had Krystina Cole’s name on it and went back inside the canvas bag. If all went well, I’d be back to retrieve it tomorrow. If not, I was certain someone in the shelter would find it and give it to her.
Looking down at the other items I’d removed from the bag, I continued on with my preparations. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this but knew it was my only way to be truly free again. Changing out of the jeans and bulky cowlneck sweater I’d been wearing, I slipped into a pair of black yoga pants and a tight-fitting tank top. Loose clothing was a liability that would make me vulnerable to an attacker if they tried to grab me.
After lacing up the steel-toed boots, I moved on to the baby oil. I flipped open the top and slathered it all over my neck and arms. I needed to be as slippery as an eel if I wanted a fighting chance at escaping a chokehold—one of Ethan’s favorite pastimes was wringing my neck.
Using a pair of scissors, I sliced an old black t-shirt into two equal parts, then opened a Ziplock bag that held the eight chunky metal rings I’d purchased from a nearby dollar store. They were nothing but gaudy costume jewelry, but they’d do the trick. After slipping one on each finger, I wrapped my knuckles in the black t-shirt strips, leaving only the top portion of my fingers free.
Placing my discarded clothes and the half-empty bottle of oil in the bag, I made sure to position the envelope addressed to Krystina on top and zipped it closed. Sliding the bag back under the bed, I stood straight, slipped the kubotan Derek had given me into the hidden waistband pocket of my pants, and pulled on an oversized sweatshirt. Turning towards the exit, I squared my shoulders.
It was time to face the music.
Thirty minutes later, I unlocked the door to my apartment and cautiously entered. Club Revolution was louder than usual tonight, the thump-thump of the bass matching the pulsing of the blood roaring in my ears. I struggled to block it out and had to really strain to hear any sounds of movement in the apartment.
When I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, I immediately went to the bathroom to see if my suspicions were correct. The toothpaste was on the counter and exactly where I had left it, but the tube was rolled up tight from the bottom.
Ethan had most certainly been here.
Leaving the bathroom, I scanned the other visible areas. My gaze landed on a vase sitting on the center of the kitchen table. Pink daisies were perfectly arranged, the water crystal clear without an ounce of cloudiness. He was sending me a message. Ethan had not only been here—he’d been in here very recently—and if instinct served me right, he was still here. My already hammering heart began to pound double time.
As quietly as I could, I tiptoed to the kitchen. I removed all of the knives from the butcher block and hid them in the oven. Opening the drawer that held the other kitchen gadgets, such as the rolling pin and mallet, I removed any instruments that could potentially cause serious harm and hid those in the oven next to the knives.
After silently closing the oven door, I looked around the apartment for anything else I might need to stash away. I spotted the mop and broom and shoved those behind the refrigerator. For once I was thankful for the overhead lighting. That meant no lamps and avoidance of any blunt force trauma they could potentially cause.
Maybe I was a fool for thinking I could confront him—like the person who goes outside during a wicked thunderstorm and waits for lightning to strike. Ethan was the lightning and I had no insulator for protection. The only thing I had was myself and I was positioning to be the conductor.
But I knew this feeling.
I had felt it with every tick of the clock while I waited for Ethan to get home from work. Years of being married to him taught me how to predict a coming storm. Yet as I pulled the sweatshirt I was wearing over my head and tossed it onto the sofa, I knew this time was different. This time I was truly prepared for it—prepared for him.
“Ethan, I know you’re here.” I fell silent and waited to hear a response or a sound—anything to signal he was near. When there was no reply, I continued talking. “It was you who vandalized the gym, wasn’t it? No need to get Derek involved. He’s a good guy and didn’t deserve that.” Still, no response. I would have to push him and get his temper riled up. Ethan was the jealous type, so I knew it wouldn’t be too difficult.
“How long have you known I was in New York? Days? Weeks? Months? Were you here the morning I fucked Derek? Did you see him in my bed?” I taunted. If he was here, it wouldn’t be much longer before he showed his face. “Derek’s way better than you could ever hope to be. And I’m not just talking about in bed. He’s kind and caring while you’re nothing but a twisted, sadistic coward who gets off on beating women. Rumor has it that you killed a few of them too. You think it makes you strong, but you’re wrong. You’re the weakest man I know.”