“You’re wrong!” I shout as he takes another step and another and another.

“I don’t think I am,” he says calmly. Martin is nearly at the top of the stairs when Belinda appears dressed and brandishing a letter opener that I had on my dressing table. Kat is right beside her. I shouldn’t have shouted at Martin to stop. God, I shouldn’t have. I awakened Kat and she should not be seeing this or hearing this. But I can’t think about that now. Between the three of us and the door to freedom is Martin.

The sight of Belinda, however, is enough to cause him to freeze in his ascent.

I expect him to be taken aback in shocked surprise at seeing Belinda standing there, but he merely cocks his head.

“I thought I might find you here,” he says to Belinda. “I was in San Rafaela yesterday. Your dear friend Elliot told me you asked for a ride to the train station so that you could go to San Francisco. He said you were looking for me, that you found an address in my coat pocket and that you were worried about me.”

It is as he is on the last stair, just inches from me, that I see his coat and shoes are mud spattered and his hair is mussed. He’s been traveling by foot to get back here. I can’t puzzle out why. Belinda raises the arm that holds the letter opener.

“You!” she says, her voice trembling at the same speed as her shaking hand. “How could you do what you did to me? What you did to your daughter? How could you tell your little girl her mother was dead?”

Martin stares at Belinda for a moment, as if her questions are too trivial to answer.

“It was easier,” he says finally.

“Easier?” Belinda echoes desolately.

“It is easier to remove obstacles that complicate my endeavors than to tolerate them,” he says calmly, evenly. But his eyes narrow a bit, and I can see that right now, in this very moment, Belinda and I are obstacles. I can see, so very clearly, that, yes, he did do something to cause Annabeth to be thrown from her horse, and, yes, he would easily find a way to dispatch Belinda if he no longer needed her, and, yes, he would do the same to me. I mean nothing to him. Neither of us does. Would he harm Kat, though? His own flesh and blood? More than he already has?

As if reading my mind, he tells Kat to come to him.

“Stay where you are, Kat,” I say.

“Kat,” Martin says coolly, motioning downstairs with his head. “Go into the kitchen and shut the door.”

I move to block her from his view. “Kat stays where she is. Go, Martin. Go now.”

Martin’s mesmerizing eyes turn dark with purpose. I don’t think he will harm Kat. He needs her for some reason. It’s why he didn’t leave her in Los Angeles. But Kat’s presence on the landing is what is keeping Belinda and me from harm in this moment. My mind races for a way out, but I am not quick enough to envision one.