“It’s one thing to play a game when all the players know it’s a game,” he said. “It’s not a game to her. She’s dead serious.”

Chapter 55

55

The gate to the property stood open. Lauren immediately recognized the car parked in the driveway. Greg Hewitt. Confusion shorted out her thought process for a moment. How had he gotten the gate open? More to the point—why? Why would he be here? Had he decided to watch out for Leah after all? Just as he’d taken it upon himself to follow Ballencoa, even though she’d told him she didn’t want his help.

Even as she had one good thought about him, she was just as quickly irritated. She’d told him she didn’t want him anywhere near her daughter. Now not only was he in the vicinity, he was on the property.

He had opened the gate. Did he think having sex with her entitled him to do as he pleased? Had he come to press her for the money to take out Ballencoa?

Leah hadn’t answered the phone. Even if she had gone to bed, she was a light sleeper and there was a telephone on her nightstand. She should have answered.

When the answering machine had picked up, Lauren had dropped the receiver of the pay phone outside 7-Eleven and abandoned her thoughts of Ballencoa. Leah was home alone, not answering the phone. Ballencoa could wait. She had his journals. She needed to know her daughter was safe.

At the most basic instinctive level, fear had already built to a nearly intolerable degree. She could hardly wait for the car to stop before she was getting out of it. She ran to the front door, fumbling with her keys.

The door stood ajar.

Lauren barreled through it, not taking the time to wonder why or wonder what she would find on the other side.

“Leah? Leah!”

She saw Greg Hewitt first. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek. His expression was ugly. Lauren’s brain was spinning. What was he doing here? Why did he look like that? None of this was making any sense.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?” Lauren demanded, a split second before she saw Leah, then there was no time or inclination to think, only to act.

Her daughter was sitting on a chair, bent over, her face purple and swollen, her expression pure anguish.

“Leah! Oh my God!”

“Mommy!!”

Hewitt grabbed Lauren by the shoulders before she could get past him. Acting on instinct, she dropped down almost to her knees, wrenching free of him, twisting away from him. He grabbed for her hair. She brought her elbow high and sideways and broke his nose.

Blood spewed everywhere, splattering the pristine cushions of the sofa. Hewitt made a sound of rage, muffled by the hand he clamped to his face.