Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

PETER

I was at dinner with Gina, staring across the candlelit table at her, when my phone began to vibrate. I flipped it over on the table and stared at the screen. The groan escaped my throat before I had the chance to stop it.

Ainsley. What on earth could she want? We were only fifteen minutes into dinner.

"Everything okay?" Gina asked, leaning back from the table ever so slightly.

I nodded, considering ignoring the call. I didn't know what prompted me not to, but somehow I felt like I couldn't—that had never happened before. "I'm sorry. I need to take this. It'll just be a second." I held up a finger, lifting the phone to my ear as I rushed across the crowded restaurant and left my date alone. "Hey, is everything okay?"

Her response came in sharp, strained breaths. She was crying.

"Ainsley? What is it?" Concern swelled in my stomach. Ainsley wasn't the type to cry easily. She didn't overreact or show emotion often, so if she was crying, something was wrong.

Again, I heard a sharp breath. "Someone's here." Her voice was low, a bit above a whisper. That was when I realized she wasn't crying after all. She was panicking. She was scared.

"What do you mean someone's there?"

"Someone's—" She was walking down the stairs then, I was almost positive. I heard her breathing grow labored, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway that led to our garage. "He won't leave."

"Who is it, Ains? Who's there?" I shoved my hand in my pocket, producing the keys from its depth and rushed back toward the table, no longer caring about anything other than getting home. Something was wrong, I could feel it in my gut, the worry burrowing itself in my bones.

"It's the guy I dated—Stefan. He—"

"Hang on. How did he find out where we live?"

"I have no idea," she shrieked. "Peter, I'm really scared. We messed up. We messed up so badly. He's stalking me, I think. He won't leave me alone. He keeps messaging me, and somehow he found out my real name, and now he's just shown up. Where are you? I don't know what to do. Please come home, Peter. Please."

"Okay, yes. I will. I'm coming home. Have you called the police?"

" No! No, it's more complicated than that. I don't know what he wants. I don't want everyone to know what's been going on. Please just get home and make him leave! He'll back off if he sees you. I don't want the kids dragged into all of this."

"I hear you. I'm coming. Breathe, Ains, just breathe for me." Gina perked up as I reappeared in front of her, but I pulled the jacket off the back of the chair, offered a sorry expression, shook my head, and rushed away, then out the door. As I hit the sidewalk, I realized I'd left her with the bill and no explanation, but I had no time to worry about it. I needed to get home.

I slid into the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm on my way, okay? Where are you now?"

"I'm in the hallway, trying to look out the window by the garage to see where he is."

"Where are the kids?"

"They went out," she whispered, sounding distracted. "Dylan's at Micah's, and Riley is working on a science project with Noah. Maisy went to Noelle's…or maybe Nicole's. I can't remember… Oh, wait… He may have left." She said it while expelling a sigh of relief. "I don't see him outside anywhere…"

"Okay, but I want you to stay where you are. Don't go looking for him. Wait until I can get there."

"I will," she promised. "Thank you for coming home. I'm sorry I interrupted you while you were working. I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important. I just got so freaked out."

I swallowed, trying to fight down the guilt I felt. I was supposed to be home. I should've been home. "You don't have to apologize for that. I'm glad you called." There was silence on the other end of the line, and I filled it by saying, "So, who is this guy?"

"His name's Stefan. He was the one I went out with Tuesday night. He's been contacting me quite a bit since then, and I was ignoring it. But earlier today, he called me by my real name, which I have no idea how he knows, but I thought maybe I slipped up somehow at dinner. So, I just blocked him in the app, and I thought that was the end of it. Then tonight, I heard a knock on the door and I walked over to answer it, and when I pulled it open, it was him. He didn't try to shove his way inside or anything. He said he wanted to talk. But… I was home alone, and I have no idea how he knows where I live or what he wants. I asked him to leave, but he kept arguing that we needed to talk, so I shut the door in his face and ran over here and called you."

Her voice was high and shaking, matching the frequency of my trembling hands on the wheel. Rage began to overtake the worry as I found myself fuming that someone was scaring my wife. That someone was bothering her. That he'd showed up at my house, where my kids live. Mostly, I was angry that I'd willingly put her in harm's way. I needed to fix this.

"I'm so glad the kids aren't here. I don't know what I'd do if they were here… What have we gotten ourselves into? We've put them in such danger."

"Do you think he's dangerous?"

"I don't know what to think. I didn't get that vibe on our date at all. He was sweet and…and…and normal. He's a widower, a bit older than us. He seemed, I don't know how else to describe it… He seemed normal. And, if he wanted to hurt me, he had the perfect opportunity. So why would he wait? Why would he do it like this?"

I shook my head. She was right—none of it made sense. What did he want? "I don't want to do this anymore," I blurted out.

"Don't want to do what?"

"Any of this. Seeing other people. I don't want to lose you. There are too many crazy people out there, Ains. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you. If someone ever hurt you I'd—" I swallowed, stopping myself from finishing the sentence. I couldn't do it. I couldn't say the words. I was surprised to feel tears in my own eyes at the outright fear in my chest. I was terrified of losing her. I felt vulnerable in a way I hadn't in years. How would I go on without her if something ever happened?

She was quiet for a moment before saying, "I agree."

"You do?" I didn't know why it shocked me so much, but there was no denying the stupor I felt at her words.

Instead of answering, she remained quiet. I pressed on. "Ainsley?"

"He's…still…here." Her words came slowly, their essence barely audible. I could hardly understand her, but I knew what she'd said. I pressed the accelerator, jolting the car forward, my chest tight.

"Okay…is he in the house?"

Silence.

"Ainsley, I want you to stay on the line with me, okay? Get somewhere. Get in a room, a closet, and stay with me, okay?" I begged her to answer, to let me know she was safe, but she remained silent. I could hear her slow and haggard breathing through the line. She was still there. Still alive. I just needed to keep her that way. "I'm coming. I'm coming as fast as I can. Hang on, okay?" The smart thing to do, I knew, would be to call the police, but I couldn't bring myself to end the call. I needed to keep her on the line. I was crying at that point—silent, helpless tears escaping my eyes and blurring my vision. I focused on the sounds of her breathing, loud over the Bluetooth system in the car, and remained silent the rest of the way.

Twenty minutes later, I turned into and drove down our long, forest-lined driveway. I'd always loved living on our own land, far away from the nearest neighbors, but at that moment, I regretted the decision.

"I'm here," I whispered, and her breath came in the form of a sigh of relief. A beat-up red truck sat in the driveway, its engine shut off. Was he inside the truck? Would he come after me? "Can you tell me where he is?" I looked toward the front door, the porch light off, searching the shadows. It was too dark to make out if anyone was there.

"The…porch. The…bat…" At her words, I hurried to the trunk and pulled out the metal baseball bat I'd carried since college, ended the call, and walked toward the front porch. I left the trunk and car door open, taking quiet footsteps across the gravel. As I neared the porch, conscious of my too-loud breathing, I was able to make out the dark figure that awaited me. He was facing the door, and as I got closer, he knocked on it loudly.

"Ainsley," he called. "Open the door!"

I took another step forward, the wood of the porch squeaking under my weight, and he spun around.

"Who're you?" the cold, deep voice demanded.

"You need to leave," I said, fighting to keep my voice from shaking. I wiggled the bat in the air, a warning to him. "I don't know how you found out where we live, but you need to leave."

"Not until I see Ainsley. And put that bat down before you hurt yourself."

His words sent chills down my arms as he stepped forward, and I was able to somewhat make out his face in the moonlight. He was bald, with sharp features and a stocky build. He kept his shoulders squared to me as he moved closer, and I stepped back.

"Who are you?" I asked, keeping the bat resting on my shoulder. "What do you want with her?"

"You must be the husband?" he asked, his voice dry, almost sarcastic.

"I am, yeah. Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?"

He let out a chuckle. "Listen, man, I know she's here. I want to see her. That's all. Open the door, and no one has to get hurt. And, for the last time, lower the bat. " He didn't seem at all concerned that I was standing there, bat in hand, ready to attack. He stood, hands in his pockets, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

I growled, wiggling it. "I'm going to call the police if you don't get the hell out of here now."

"Good luck with that," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets and raising his knuckles to the glass of the door. He rapped on it loudly. "Ainsley! It's me. It's Stefan. Come on. Open up!"

"I'm giving you one last chance to get out of here, or else I'll—"

"You'll what? What are you going to do, tough guy?" He spun around, his hands resting on his waist, where I saw the outline of a gun. Chills ran across my skin at the sight. "You think you're some big shot, don't you? Let me tell you something, fucker, you make a move to lay a finger on me, and I'll have you on your back before you know what hit you. So I suggest you do what I say, take a step back, and think about what you're about to do—"

"Please don't hurt him!" The front door swung open, and I heard her squeal. As she did, he lunged for her, both arms outstretched as he stepped toward the open door. I swung the bat, making contact with his head in one swift motion, and his head bounced off the exterior wall before he tumbled to the ground. He rolled over quickly, reaching for his gun, but he was clearly disoriented and I had the upper hand. I swung again, fury radiating through me as I made contact with his skull again.

Over Ainsley's cries, I heard the sickening sound of the metal bat connecting with his thick skull. It was a crunch I was sure I'd never forget. His hands twitched once more, and I swung a third time. This time, the night fell silent. Ainsley's cries stopped. The only thing left to hear was my own breathing, heavy and rattled.

"Peter, what did you do?" she asked, her shaking voice carrying across the dark porch. I put my hands over my mouth, feeling vomit rising in my throat as the scent of blood reached my nose. I hurried across the porch, barely making it to the edge before I began to spew the drink I'd had at dinner. It burned my throat and nostrils, my vision blurring with tears as I heard her cry out from behind me.

"What did you do?" she asked again, though I was in no position to answer her. When the retching ended, I turned back around, dropping the bat that I still held in my hand and staring at the body in horror. She flipped on the porch light, giving us a better view of the mess I'd made. His skull had cracked open, blood spilling out across the porch in every direction. "Oh, Peter. Oh, no!" she cried, staring at me, then the body, then back to me. "How could you?"

"He was trying to hurt you," I said breathily, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "I-I had no choice."

She stared at him in horror, shaking her head with her palm firmly over her mouth. She was fighting back tears as she spoke again. "Oh my God. What do we do? What do we do? The kids will be home soon! We have to move him, Peter. They can't see this! The kids can't see this! We have to call the police! We have to do something! "

"Are you kidding? We…we can't call the police. Look at him. Look at what I did. They'll arrest me—"

"He was trespassing! He had a gun! He was going to shoot you! He was going to kill us both. "

I slapped my forehead, rubbing the sweat from my temple as I tried to think. I'd killed him. I'd done it. He was dead. The kids would be home soon. If we were caught, I'd go to prison. If Ainsley called the police, I'd go to prison. Would the police believe me? I stepped forward, looking for the gun again to be sure I'd seen correctly. As long as it was there, maybe I'd stand a chance. When I saw it, there in his hand like I expected it to be, I swallowed. Next to the holster where it had been, hung a pair of silver handcuffs.

"What the hell?" I moved even closer, looking the body over. He was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved navy blue shirt, now spattered with blood, but at his waist, he wore a tactical belt, a gun holster, and what appeared to be high-quality handcuffs. "Is this guy a cop, Ainsley?" I pointed, but she'd seen what I had.

"I-I don't-I didn't—"

"Is he?" I demanded. My heart was pounding so ferociously in my chest I could hear nothing else. My vision blurred at the edges as I looked back out at the driveway. He'd come in a red Toyota truck, not a cop car, but if he was off-duty that wouldn't matter, would it? "Check his pockets…" She shook her head, unmoving. "We have to do it," I said.

"You do it, then."

I gritted my teeth, moving toward him cautiously. Though I knew it would be impossible, I kept waiting for him to reach out and grab my leg. I bent down, sticking my hand in his back pocket and pulling out a wallet. I opened it, staring at the photo ID long enough to catch his name and address: Stefan De Luca of 118 Roberts Drive. He hadn't lived far from us. Just across town. I shuddered as the thought rolled over me. A flap of leather covered his cards, and when I flipped it over, I dropped the wallet. The golden badge shone up at us in the glare of the porch light.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" I paced the porch, pounding my hand into my forehead as I tried to think. "Fuck, Ainsley! What do we do? What did you do?"

"Peter, I swear to you, I had no idea he was a cop. He didn't tell me that. We didn't talk about our careers. Maybe it's a fake badge. I don't know… We didn't talk that much… I barely know him…" she trailed off, her voice breathy and shaking. "What do we do?" She was trembling, both her body and her voice, and when I turned to face her, she wouldn't meet my eyes. She kept staring at the body in horror. I couldn't bring myself to look as my stomach continued to rumble.

"We can't call the police and tell them I killed a cop, Ainsley. There's no way I'm getting off after that. We have to get rid of the body," I told her in a moment of stunning clarity. "It's all there is to do. We have to make it look like he was never here, and then we pretend like this night never happened."

"How can you say that? How can we possibly do that? We don't know the first thing about cleaning up a dead body."

"We're going to have to figure it out," I said. "It's our only choice."

"But…"

"Come on," I begged her, " please. We have to get rid of the body and his truck. It's the only way."

"It's tampering with evidence—"

"It's fucking murder, Ainsley. We can't chance it. We can do this, okay? We can clean it up. We can fix this. You're always saying you're the fixer, right? So you have to fix this, babe. You have to." I watched as she contemplated what I was saying, hoping and praying she'd agree with me. We couldn't call the cops. It was too much of a risk. To my relief, when she looked up at me again, she nodded, wiping her hair out of her face as she accepted the assignment. She breathed out a heavy breath from her O-shaped lips. "You're right. It's…it's the only way. Let me think for a minute."

I paced the porch, watching her as she tapped her fingers on her lips, formulating a plan I wasn't yet allowed to know. After a few moments, a familiar look filled her face. She'd figured it out. Everything was going to be all right.