House of Glass by Sophie Littlefield

Author:Sophie Littlefield
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: MIRA
Published: 2013-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Dan and Livvy had only been gone a few minutes when Ryan came down into the basement. Jen jumped up off the couch, glad for the coffee table that separated them.

“Your husband won’t shut up and he smells like shit. If I’m going to be stuck here another day I don’t want him keeping me up all night. We’re going to bring him back down here.”

“We can’t move him now,” Jen protested. The more they disturbed his arm, the worse it would be for the wound, not to mention painful for Ted.

On the other hand, she didn’t want Ted alone with Ryan. So far he’d shown no trace of human emotion or compassion. He seemed to care nothing for anyone else, including Dan. Wasn’t that the mark of a psychopath? Since shooting Ted, he hadn’t shown any remorse. What would stop him from hurting Ted again, just because he felt like it?

“We are moving him,” Ryan said, shoving the table against her legs, bumping her knees painfully. “He’ll be fine. Now get your ass moving and help me.”

Jen knew that arguing would get her nowhere, so she started up the stairs, with Ryan following close behind. When she opened the door to the bedroom, the smell hit her first, the metallic sweetish scent of blood mixing with Ted’s sweat and the mustiness of the room. Ted grunted and his eyes fluttered open, but Jen couldn’t tell if he saw her.

Ryan went around the bed and started working at the knots that secured his good hand to the headboard. “You got scissors or something up here?”

Ted coughed. “Wire snips in the box on the bathroom floor,” he rasped. “In my toolbox.”

Relief took the edge off Jen’s nerves: Ted’s mind was still clear. As Ryan headed into the bathroom, she thought that now would be a great time to get the gun from the bedside table, if they were those kind of people. She scanned the room for something she could use, something heavy or sharp or otherwise potentially deadly. But the familiar landscape of their bedroom held nothing useful: the polished ebony jewelry box, the wicker clothes hamper, the cashmere throw draped on the chair on her side of the bed. The leather tray...

The little slip of goldenrod was still there, undisturbed since she first noticed it. Thx tons, Thursday 2pm Firehouse xoxoxo. Jen looked from the note to the hamper, remembering the missing clothes, the gym bag in the closet. The fact that he still hadn’t explained where he’d gone Wednesday, or last weekend when she’d gone to Murdoch with Tanya.

Betting on some game wouldn’t have kept him out all night. And besides, he swore he was finished with gambling. So what was he doing last Saturday? And he had still never said where he went Wednesday, when he’d said he was getting the car fixed. Two times in one week that he hadn’t accounted for, even after coming clean about the money. A faint tendril of doubt worked its way into Jen’s mind, clouding her sense of purpose.

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