Belinda nods, pale and wide-eyed, and leads the child away. I take to the stairs.

When I reach Martin, his beautiful eyes are open and his breathing shallow. Blood has bloomed at his nose and mouth. I crouch to look at him.

Martin is moving his lips slightly, but no words come. I think perhaps his jaw is broken. Half of me hopes he is dying; the other half knows our situation will be that much more difficult if he is. And yet the question on my mind as I bend to look at him isn’t what I shall do if he dies.

“Why in God’s name did you marry me?” I whisper to him. “I have no money. I wasn’t like Annabeth or Candace or Belinda. Why did you marry me?”

The moving lips produce no answer.

“Why did you take Kat from her mother? Why did you tell her Candace was dead? Why didn’t you just leave the child when you left Los Angeles? You don’t love her! You don’t love anyone.”

But he just stares back at me as though surely now that I know everything else, I know the answers to these questions. But I don’t.

I glance over at our travel cases. The documents. The gold. I need a different plan. And I need to get Kat out of this house without her seeing Martin lying here like this.

I grab Martin under his arms and drag him across the foyer and into the kitchen to get him out of sight. He moans, but he can hardly open his mouth. I stop at the far end of the kitchen, and I deposit Martin in the corner by the butler’s table. He groans softly. Dawn is just beginning to peel back the night. A pale moon peeks at me through the window glass above the table, its pearly light already fading. I stand with my hands on my hips to catch my breath and look down on Martin, who is gazing up at me in surprise. He can hardly believe he is not the one in charge of this moment, that I am. I can see the amazement in his eyes.

“This is not the way I had planned it,” I say. “You weren’t supposed to be here right now.”

He says nothing.

“I need to take Kat to her mother,” I continue. “And I need to get Belinda home. ’Tis pretty simple, the way I see it. If luck is on your side, you’ll find a way out of this house after we leave. If it’s on my side, you’ll still be here when I get back. And if you should die before I return I will have kept my promise to Kat. I will have sent you on your way. Straight to hell.”

“Don’t,” he whispers.

“What? Don’t leave you? After all that you’ve done, you think you deserve my help? You killed Annabeth Bigelow, didn’t you? I’m not afraid to leave you here like this, Martin. I’m not. Not after what you’ve done.”