Chapter 55

Holly returns to the office just after lunch. She instructs Tanya that if Aaron shows up at the office she’s not to let him in. “And if he insists, Tanya, please call 911.”

Her assistant blanches with fear, practically vibrating in her seat.

But as the afternoon wears on, there is no sign of Aaron. He even stops phoning and texting. Holly suspects that Detective Rivers must have already spoken to him.

She manages to plod through her schedule, but Aaron is at the forefront of her thoughts and suspicions. The evidence against him is impossible to ignore or to explain away. He threatened JJ on the day she died. And Holly no longer buys his explanation that Liisa’s phone call to his office, on the day of her disappearance, was a mere coincidence. If Aaron had been willing to confront JJ, why wouldn’t he have done the same with Liisa or even Elaine? And just how far had he taken it?

Aaron must have intervened out of some twisted sense of protectiveness over her, but it doesn’t make the act any less egregious. Whatever he did, he did for himself. To subjugate her to his wants and needs. He has always known how to capitalize on her vulnerability. And his plan has already begun to pay dividends. Holly thinks, shamefully, of how easily she ended up back in his bed, despite her determination to move on with her life after their latest separation.

Why does she keep doing that? Why is she so weak?

At five p.m., Tanya heads home, reluctant to leave Holly alone. Holly stays behind to finish charting. But she can’t stop reflecting on her marriage.

What business do I have treating clients when I’ve been blind to the manipulation of my own husband? What else have I gotten wrong?

Another intrusive mental image of that stretch of highway where her father died pops into her mind. They’ve been recurring all afternoon. And again, she has to fight off the urge to go visit the crash site. Why now of all times? Why is Aaron’s duplicity—his unimaginable betrayal of our trust—triggering all these thoughts of my dad?

Shortly after six, Holly gives up on trying to finish her paperwork and heads down to the garage. As usual, at this time of the evening, there are only a few cars still parked there since the doors to the building automatically lock at six p.m.

Aside from the hum of an overhead fan, the garage is otherwise quiet, but Holly feels oddly apprehensive, as if exposed. She reaches into her bag for her keys as she hurries toward her car, parked nose-out in her corner stall beside the pillar.

As she nears the driver’s door, Holly catches movement out of the corner of her eye. She jerks her head up to see a tall figure slide out from behind the pillar on the passenger side of the car.

Her breath catches, and she involuntary backpedals a step or two.

Even before she makes out the interloper’s face, Holly recognizes him by his slouched stance and the belly that presses against his black hoodie.

Graham steps out of the shadow, keeping his hands tucked in his pockets. “Evening, Holly.” His oily voice oozes insincere friendliness.

Her whole body tenses. “What are you doing here, Graham?”

He shrugs. “I haven’t seen you at Dad’s lately.”

Her breathing quickens, but she manages to keep her voice under control. “You think it’s all right to ambush me in a dark garage?”

“Ambush?” He chuckles. “I just want to talk.”

She eases her hand into her purse, until her fingers wrap around her canister of pepper spray. “You realize how inappropriate this is?”

“What is appropriate these days, Holly?” he asks. “It’s kind of hard to judge.”

Holly steps up to the driver’s door. “I’m leaving.”

“You might want to hear me out.”

She grabs the handle. “Not here I don’t.”

“Two dead, and one ‘missing.’ But come on? We both know what that really means.”

Holly’s hand freezes on the handle.

“That’s right. I know all about Elaine, JJ, and now Liisa. Wow. That’s some track record for a therapist.” He whistles. “I wonder what the media who gushed over your miraculous treatment of Simon Lowry would make of all this death and tragedy in your practice. Especially that one local reporter. Katy Armstrong, isn’t it? I hear she’s skeptical about your methods. Wonder why?”

“How did you…?”

“Or what the cops would think of all those coincidental deaths.”

“Did your dad—”

“Dad didn’t tell me shit!” Graham yanks a hand from his pocket, and Holly instinctively recoils. But it’s only a phone. “I’ve been listening.”

“Listening?”

He nods toward the car. “Your calls.”

“You bugged my phone?”

“It’s a lot easier to bug a car.”

The glasses case!“You broke into my car!”

He laughs again. “Is it a break-in if you already have the key?”

“You’re deeply damaged, Graham.”

“You want to talk damage?” He snorts. “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to my life?”

Holly has no words.

“As a kid, I never bought the whole evil stepmom thing in fairy tales. But then I met you.” Graham shakes his head. “All you ever cared about was being dad’s protégée. The center of his universe. Of course, Nate put up with your selfish bullshit because he gets enough attention on his own. He loves everyone, and everyone loves him. But not me. I always saw right through you. You never had two seconds for me. Treated me like a failure and a disappointment from day one. Always wedging yourself between me and Dad. You’re so fucking needy.”

“I’m the issue?” Despite how unsafe and exposed she feels, Holly can’t contain herself. “All the toxicity that swirls around you. Do you ever hold yourself accountable for any of it? Do you ever recognize yourself as the common denominator?”

“You poisoned Dad against me!”

“As if!” she snaps. “If you’re having trouble with your dad, it’s only because he finally woke up to the truth. I’m happy to hear it, actually. That Aaron is no longer deluding himself about what a disappointing, entitled brat you are. It’s been staring him in the face for years. Don’t you see it? You cause chaos and destruction wherever you go. And then you act like you’re the victim. You’re nothing more than an emotional arsonist.”

His face reddens. “I’m not my dad. I don’t fall for your manipulative bullshit. And talk about chaos. Will any of your clients survive your treatment?”

She yanks the door open. “I’m done with you. And your father.”

“You better fucking well be!”

“Or what?”

“You’re gonna get hurt,” he growls. “Badly.”

Still holding the pepper spray, Holly drops into her car seat and slams the door shut. Hands trembling, she jerks the car into gear and hits the accelerator, screeching the tires and forcing Graham to jump aside as the vehicle hurls forward.