Chapters (40)
- Praise for Our Little Secret
- Title Page
- Dedication
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Prologue
- PART ONETHE GUARDER
- ALEXANDRA
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- PART TWOTHE RUNNER
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- PART THREETHE THIEF
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- ALEX
- RUTH
- DISCUSSION GUIDE QUESTIONS
- Also Available by Roz Nay
- AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
“Okay,” I whisper. “Can we go and get the drugs ourselves, though? Rather than call the police? It just seems so much less intrusive that way. And, honestly, Ruth’s a bit of a flight risk.” I’ve come this far. I have to finish this myself.
“It’s not really procedure, Alex, but for you I’ll make an exception. We can do this subtly, keep our footsteps light. We don’t want her disappearing. That’s the worst-case scenario for the child.”
“Exactly.” Exactly what I knew you’d say.
“You’ve done the right thing in coming to me.” He stands. “I applaud your commitment.”
“Thank you.” I open the door and walk out in front of him, concealing my smile with my tissue. I check my watch. It’s just after ten. If I read Ruth’s text message right last night, she should be meeting Eli now. The house will be empty, unless Chase is there, but I can deal with him. “Should we get going now, Morris?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Let me just tell Minerva we’re popping out for an hour or so.”
Morris drives at a measured pace, following the mirror-signal-maneuver rules of the road, hands at two and ten. Every now and then, he gives me a sympathetic smile. Neither of us speaks. We don’t turn on the radio.
When we park in front of the apartment building, I notice that the bay window of the loft is open, but that doesn’t mean anything. Chase leaves it open day and night through the summer whether he’s home or not.
“Will anyone be in?” Morris asks.
“Ruth’s on bed rest, so yes,” I lie. “Chase might be keeping her company.”
“Well, I’ll take the lead. You can let me do the talking. I’ll keep things vague.”
Perfect. I walk Morris in through the main entrance and up the stairs to our front door.
“Deep breath,” he whispers as I slide the key into the lock. But as the door swings open, it’s obvious there’s nobody home. Ruth’s couch sheets are neatly folded, and both her and Chase’s shoes are gone. I was right. And he must have gone with her.
Morris looks around, raises his eyebrows for a second as if surprised by the designer loft on my social worker’s salary.