KATRINA

Katrina

THE DAY OF

It took a couple hours for Ahmed to get back to me. If he'd noticed the texts' content, he didn't say a word.

It's an actual burner phone. Not an app.

Ok. That's a dead end, then?

Not necessarily. I can do a little more "digging." I think I've got someone who might have better access. If I can get a point of purchase, will send ASAP … You're welcome. And you owe me.

An actual burner phone purchased in an electronics store with security cameras? Darden security would never make such an amateurish mistake. Phil Beaumont had made this point back in Mark's office and it had stuck with me. Darden would surely use some kind of app, which would be far harder to crack than a physical phone, even a disposable one.

What if Phil had been telling the truth? If Darden hadn't been sending me those messages, then who—Kyle? He was furious, but he didn't have the savvy or the commitment to dig that deep into my past. Which left … whoever was in the hall that night at Haven House. Silas presumably. What I'd suspected from the start. But why now, after all this time? Something about the timing didn't make sense.

Or maybe the timing did make sense—but not for Silas.

Aidan. I'd been trying to avoid even considering the possibil ity. Quite a coincidence that the amount the blackmailer was demanding was almost exactly the amount Aidan needed. And while I'd never told him the details, I'd alluded to how they'd shuttled me out of Haven House like smuggled contraband. It wasn't all that difficult to imagine a scenario in which a desperate and frustrated Aidan could have gone poking around, and eventually tracked down Silas or whoever had been on the scene that night and found out the whole story, or enough to threaten me with it. He was lazy, but he could be surprisingly resourceful when it came to getting the things he wanted. But threatening Cleo, even as a ruse? That would be a new low.

I could barely contain my relief as I looked down at the old-school burner Jimmy handed me when he showed up in Park Slope unannounced a few hours later. A burner meant no cloud, no Find My iPhone app. Just as I'd hoped. "Thank you. And thanks for the house call. I really appreciate it."

"There's something you should know, though," he said, pausing halfway back down the steps.

"I feel like I probably would rather not."

"Guy woke up on my way out," Jimmy said, ignoring me. "I had a mask on, but he saw me. He said, ‘I'll fucking kill that bitch.'"

"Shit." Did he mean—me or Cleo? She was a much easier target.

"Listen, who knows who or what he was talking about. He was half asleep," Jimmy went on. "And I did grab a couple other things—some cash, gold chain on his nightstand. It's possible that when he notices that, he'll think it was a robbery. But I got to be honest; my feeling was he knew it was you."

I spent the afternoon at the Central Park Precinct, trying to convince them to let Ben Bleyer, wayward CMO of Play Up, go. He'd broken out of rehab in the Hamptons and made his way back to the city. He'd been arrested for public intoxication (and urination) near the John Lennon memorial in Central Park—all before 11:00 a.m. He was so different this time when I saw him—exhausted and disheveled and also sad. His eyes were red-rimmed as we stood on the sidewalk outside the police station, listening to kids playing raucously in the park nearby.

"Thank you." Bleyer sounded so sincerely remorseful that I had a hard time making eye contact. I needed to extricate myself.

"No, problem," I said.

"That's the thing," he said. "I think I finally see how big a problem this is, how big a problem I am. I always thought if I got worse, I would stop drinking. No one warns you that when you feel ashamed enough of the things you've done, the opposite can be true."

"You know what, Ben? I think you may be right," I said, not liking how dry my own mouth felt as I turned to go. "Absolutely right."

The late-afternoon sun cast a warm gold light over the rooftops as I turned down our block. It made me feel safe, almost hopeful for a moment. But when I reached the house, my feet were rooted in place. We had a security system, a good one—I would have received an alert if someone had gone in. But I couldn't shake a feeling of unease.

I shaded my eyes—was that a figure in Cleo's bedroom window? But no, it was only the sun. I started at a sound behind me, turned around quickly. It was George, angrily dragging his neighbor's trash cans up to their gate. I felt a surge of relief. George might not be the most reliable watchdog, but he was much better than nothing. And despite his prickly exterior, I had a soft spot for poor George, especially these days. I knew what it was like to be lonely, how it changed you.

"Hi, George," I said brightly.

He squinted, like he was trying to place me. It wasn't clear whether he'd been successful. "Hello," he said warily as he came to a stop at his own gate.

"I'm worried there might be something of a situation inside my house. I'm sure it's nothing, but it could be … dangerous." I needed to keep my request simple enough for George to understand but sufficiently serious to trigger a moment of clarity. But George's face was still a total blank—neither alarmed nor intrigued. "Could you keep an ear out?"

George pointed at my house. "If this is some kind of danger to the rest of the neighborhood," he said a little aggressively, "then we should get the police out here right now."

Alerting the police would be a very bad idea. Amateurs were even more dangerous when they panicked.

"No, no," I snapped nervously. "No police. Please. They can't be trusted in this situation." I felt guilty for preying on George's paranoid tendencies. But I wasn't sure what else to do.

"Hmm." He nodded, eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "I see. Okay. Okay."

But wait. I did want him to call the police if there was somebody inside waiting for me, didn't I?

"How about don't call the police unless I scream ‘Fire!' Okay?"

"Fire," he repeated, then looked up toward the house.

"Yes, then do call the police."

"I suppose I can do that."

"And if you hear something else … maybe check it out?" I added, and then immediately regretted confusing the issue.

"Mmm," George grunted, decidedly less committal.

"Oh, also, please don't mention this to anyone, okay?" I added. "Even Cleo or Aidan. I don't want to scare them." The last thing I needed was to give Aidan more ammunition in a divorce proceeding. Or for Cleo to have another reason to be angry.

George gave me another blank look. I smiled as I started up the stairs to the house, not wanting to muddy the waters any further. "Okay, great. Thanks, George. I really appreciate it."

George stayed there watching as I made my way up to the door. I decided to take this as a good sign.

Inside, I flipped on the lights and headed straight for the butcher block on the kitchen counter. Pulled out the largest carving knife. I felt oddly more vulnerable with the knife in my hand as I moved quickly, checking the rooms downstairs first—in the closets, behind doors, under the desk. All clear. I relaxed a tiny bit as I looked up the steps, only two more floors to go.

Upstairs, I checked under our bed—my bed—and in the walk-in closet, then up to the rooms on the third floor, including Cleo's, my chest loosening a little with each place I cleared. Nothing was out of place anywhere.

Are you on your way? I texted Cleo when I was back downstairs.

OMFG! I'm headed to the train! CALM. DOWN.

I'd never been so happy to be told off. Almost home. Almost safe and sound. Everything might be fine if Cleo could just get here in one piece.

Okay! See you soon!

I quickly texted McKinney, back on Cleo watch himself, who confirmed that he would stay on her until she arrived at the house.

Shit, food. Cleo was supposed to be coming for dinner. It would make what I had to tell her seem less alarming: Look, I cooked dinner. How bad can it really be that someone is threatening to kill you unless I pay them off because once upon a time I murdered someone?

A quick rummage in the refrigerator turned up a roasting chicken and some green beans. I set the water to boil and grabbed a box of couscous. As I ripped open the top, the doorbell rang. Too soon for Cleo, I was pretty sure. I put down the box and made my way over to the living room window. Janine was standing on the stoop.

"I was beginning to worry you weren't home," she said when I opened the door.

"Oh, hi," I said. "Thank you again for the other night. That was really above and beyond."

"No problem," she said. But she looked stressed.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, though whatever this was, I had no time for it now.

"Do you have—could I come in?"

"Cleo is actually coming home for dinner. She should be here any second." I was hoping she'd take the hint.

"Only until she gets here, then?" Janine's tone was a little manic. "I sort of need to avoid going home myself."

"What's wrong?"

"It's kind of a long story …" Her eyes were brimming. "I really won't stay long, I promise. I'll vanish as soon as Cleo shows up."

Crap.

"Sure," I said, forcing a smile. She'd spent hours sitting in the dark, helping me watch Cleo. "Come in and have a seat." I gestured toward the kitchen counter. "I'm glad for the company. But if you could maybe kind of slip out as soon as Cleo gets here? I barely got her to come. I don't want to set her off." I also couldn't run the risk of Janine mentioning our little dorm-side vigil to Cleo.

"Say no more," Janine said, snapping her fingers. "I'll vanish. And don't worry, I will not breathe a word about the other night." She made a locking motion near her lips. "As far as I'm concerned, that never happened."

I exhaled louder than I'd intended to. "Thank you," I said. "Can I get you anything?"

"A glass of water would be great," she said, looking around. "God, your house is always so spotless. And you work. I don't know how you do it all."

"You should see my office," I said, which would have been funny were it not for the mess Darden's men had left behind.

"I find that hard to believe, but okay," Janine said, a tightness to her voice. Like I'd stuck my foot in my mouth somehow.

Janine still looked uneasy as she sat on the edge of one of the stools. Like maybe she regretted coming, that bond we'd formed in Washington Square Park dissipating in the light of day. Friendships grounded solely in motherhood did tend to be extremely fragile. I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and filled them from the spout in the refrigerator. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had anything to eat or drink.

"I'm sorry. I'm really on edge," Janine said as I handed her one of the waters. The prickly edge was gone again from her voice, like some kind of storm had blown through. She sounded sad now, and vulnerable. "Things at home are just … Liam and I got into this huge argument a second ago—like out-of-control explosive." She shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "He's got a temper. People don't realize that about him. Anyway, I confronted him about something and … He completely flew off the handle."

"I'm sorry," I said, and I was. I was also aware this might not be a throw-someone-out-when-Cleo-gets-here kind of situation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Liam has been having an affair, for years. I just found out. I told him that I want a divorce." I stared at her in shock. Liam may have been a cold fish, but he had always seemed so devoted. "And, you know, he had the nerve to refuse to leave? So there he is, over there at the house … And there's … Well, I guess there's nothing I can do about it. It's his house."

"Did you buy the house while you were married?"

Janine nodded. "Yes. But he earns all the money."

"It's still half your house," I said. "Half of everything is yours. It doesn't matter if you contributed financially … Half of everything I have is Aidan's."

She looked at me quizzically.

"Aidan and I are getting a divorce," I said. And what a relief it was to tell someone. "He cheated on me, too."

"What?" It was Janine's turn to look stunned. "Why would he do that?" Like she genuinely couldn't imagine.

I laughed. "Well, the sex, I'm guessing … And the wide-eyed admiration."

Janine laughed, too. "Men are so ridiculous. Funny how you can see the absurdity of it so clearly when it's somebody else." She gestured to me. "Aidan is insane." She set her glass down on the counter. "You know what? I think I need to call my lawyer. Could I use your office? I raced out without my cell phone."

"Of course." Letting Janine use my office for a few minutes to call a lawyer was something that I could absolutely do. I wanted to. I led her down the hall and pointed to the open door. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Is it okay if I close this—so you don't have to hear me. I'm a phone shrieker, according to Annie."

I could indeed hear Janine as I quickly prepared Cleo's favorite chicken recipe from memory—rosemary and olive oil. The familiar repetition was profoundly comforting in this moment: one thing done right, done so many times, for so many years. Maybe in the end that was the most important part of being a mother: being there to do the expected thing again and again. I had gotten some of that right at least. I thought of Janine back in my office, on the phone with a divorce lawyer. Annie, the daughter she was so close to, using the same drugs that Cleo had sold. Maybe no relationship was perfect. Maybe nothing was what it seemed.

Janine's voice was still echoing down the hall as I turned toward the stove with the chicken. She was shrill—Annie was right about that. It made me like Janine a little more, this awkwardness in her otherwise flawless fa?ade.

The wave of heat unexpectedly hit me full in the face as I slid the chicken into the oven. "Shit." I reached for a paper towel, dampening it and pressing it to my eyes.

When I tossed it in the garbage, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the floor next to the trash. It hadn't been there that morning—you noticed such things once you lived alone.

I picked up the paper and uncrumpled it. KM. It had been torn from the monogrammed pad in my office. There were two long rows of numbers in Aidan's handwriting. He'd been in the house? In my office? He still had keys—I'd been avoiding a confrontation about getting them back. But we'd agreed he wouldn't come in without letting me know first.

I walked down the hall toward my office, listening to see if Janine was nearly done. I didn't want to interrupt her, but I needed to see if Aidan had left any other evidence behind of what he'd been up to.

It was quiet on the other side of the door. I pushed it open very slowly, ducking my head apologetically in case I had misinterpreted the silence and Janine was still listening to someone talk on the other end.

It took me a minute to process what I was seeing.

Janine was seated at my desk, bent toward a drawer on the right-hand side as she rifled through it. There were other drawers open, too. Lots of them. No headphones or earbuds anywhere in sight. Then I spotted Janine's cell phone sticking out of her bag on the floor.

"Yes, yes, I understand," she said quite loudly—as though she was on the phone, instead of looking through my things.

Then she froze. She'd noticed me, finally. Her mouth lifted slightly as she looked up. Her stare was cool as she slid closed the open drawers, one at a time. I waited for her embarrassment to surface— I was only looking for a pen; I was curious; I'm so sorry. For her to seem flustered or contrite. Something. Instead, she leaned back in my chair and crossed her arms.

"I need that phone, Kat," she said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. But it hit me fast: Kyle's phone.

"Look, Annie was arrested the other night. Obviously, it's all some kind of misunderstanding. The lawyer I've got on the case says they'll have to dismiss all the charges—unless they come up with some kind of corroborating evidence. Like the photos on Kyle's phone."

"Why would I have Kyle's phone?" Denial: always the best first line of defense.

"I need to be able to protect Annie, Kat," she pressed on, undeterred. "And, of course, I'll make sure Cleo is protected, too. But I need that phone."

Luckily, the phone was now on a high shelf in the closet in my bedroom, inside my Mark Cross pocketbook. The small blue square one that Cleo had always loved as a little girl.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

But Janine had been about to ask about something when we'd been at Washington Square Park, hadn't she? Right before we'd been interrupted by Tim Lyall's call. She'd been about to ask about the phone.

"I know you have it, Kat." Janine's voice was trembling now with rage. "Aidan told me."

Aidan? I'd only just told him. As I stared at her, a not-quite smile played on Janine's lips. Aidan. Aidan and Janine. All that time they'd spent together over the years when Aidan was home in the middle of the day. The way they loved to make fun of Liam and me and our corporate selling out to pay the bills they ran up—all their inside jokes. God, I was so stupid.

"You're Her, " I said. "You're with Aidan."

" With is an overstatement," she said, smirking. " That was never true."

The texts I'd read—about the feel of Aidan's mouth, the one that said I was ruining Cleo—had been from Janine. I gripped the doorframe as anger flooded me. But I needed to stay focused. Janine was not today's problem.

"Get out of my house, Janine," I said calmly, then turned for the doorway. "Right now."

In the kitchen, I began chopping the beans. I was going to give all my attention to what mattered, the hard conversation I needed to have with Cleo. I was going to make dinner.

Janine appeared a moment later. She came to stand alongside me at the sink. I kept my eyes on the beans. Kept chopping.

"What do you think you're doing, Kat?" she asked. "I mean, you're a mother. You know as well as I do: I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect Annie." Chopping, still chopping. I was hoping if I kept ignoring Janine, she would go. If she didn't, things were going to escalate—I wasn't giving her the phone, and I was angry about Aidan. It was an insulting, disrespectful betrayal. "Hello, Kat? I know you're going to do the right thing. That you're a good person, despite where you came from."

I stopped chopping. Turned to look at Janine.

"Where I came from, huh?" I asked quietly. I'd never told Janine about Haven House. Aidan must have. "You need to leave, Janine. Right now. I am not giving you that phone. Not now. Not ever."

"Kat!" she shouted, smacking a palm down on the counter. "If you don't give it to me, I'll go looking." She gestured toward the stairs. "I bet it's upstairs in your bedroom."

My eyes flashed up in that direction before I could think better of it. "Leave, Janine. Now."

She'd caught the tell—Janine was not stupid. "You know, if I were you, I'd probably put it in something. Like a pocket of some kind …" She started for the stairs.

I moved fast, heading her off, the knife still in my hand, gripped at my side. I raised it an inch. "Get out now, Janine." She looked down at the knife for a long moment. Finally, she met my eyes again, and shook her head.

"Seriously?" But she'd taken a small step back, lifted her hands.

I crossed my arms so that the knife rested menacingly against my forearm. "Maybe you were right—what you texted to Aidan … Maybe what I need is a really good therapist. Until then, you should leave. While you still can."