Page 204 of Broken Bonds

“Is today convenient?” I continue. “I don’t mind coming back tomorrow if it’s not.”

Her eyes pop open again, tears already spilling. “Today’s fine.” Her voice sounds normal-ish, I guess? “Please, come in.” She steps aside to admit me. She’s already blinking back tears, and I hate that it’s probably a survival skill she’s become quite adept at over the years by necessity.

I keep the smile on my face and hand her a brochure. It looks normal, but I point out the first line. It’s in the same font as the rest of it—damn, Morning really commits to the bit—and says:

Are there cameras in here? We need to talk where they can’t hear.

She reads it and nods. “The master bath’s this way,” she says, leading me upstairs, hopefully acting normal enough that if there are cameras, they don’t pick up anything unusual.

I follow, making the right comments. “This is a beautiful home, Mrs. Sterling.”

Upstairs, I’m the one who has to remember to keep moving because I smell Mal’s scent, strong, as we pass one of the closed bedroom doors.

“Thank you so much,” she says. “It’s older, but I really love it and the location.” She sounds more confident. “The master bathroom layout is lovely, but it’s dated, and the cabinets really need to be replaced. So I’m not looking to make structural changes, just a basic overhaul so it’s not dated.”

We walk into the master bathroom, and I have no trouble guessing the sour, musky smell that pings my nose is Sterling’s scent. Freya, in comparison, reminds me of a meadow and baked bread.

In the bathroom, she turns and I show her the tablet screen.

Can we talk softly?

She nods. “No cameras up here. Who are you?” She sniffs me again. “You smell like Mal.”

“I’m a friend. I’m here to get you out. Right now.”

She slowly shakes her head. “If I leave, my husband will hunt me down and kill me.”

“Not where we’re taking you. And we need to do this today.” I arch an eyebrow at her, not wanting to say too much. “As in right now. Are there cameras inside the house?”

“None up here, but there are two in the living room, both pointing at the sliders. They have microphones.”

“Can they see people walking from the stairs through the kitchen and to the utility room?”

“No, but we’ll be heard if we’re not careful.”

“And there’s still a blind spot in the garage?”

“Yes. How do you know all of this?”

“Time?” I ask, and she starts to answer, but I hold up a finger.

Morning softly speaks in my ear. “Still good,” Morning tells me.

Her mouth shuts with a click, meaning she obviously heard.

“When we head downstairs,” I explain, “we’ll talk about an estimate for garage cabinets and I’ll walk out there with you. I’ll help you carry the big bags so we don’t have to roll them. But we need to make as few trips as possible. It’ll look weird going back and forth a lot.”

“Is he alive?” she asks, her lip trembling.

I didn’t want to go nuclear out of the gate, but considering her mood, I think it’s exactly what’s needed. “He looks at the moon every night, and he tried not to look back, but he loves and needs you.”

She claps both hands over her mouth, muffling her cry as more tears spill down her cheeks.

Whatever that means, it worked, because then she reaches out and grabs my arm, fingers digging in. “How long do we have?”

“This happens now. Clothes aren’t important, but anything you can’t bear not to see again? Grab that.”

She bolts out of the bathroom, her speed and agility surprising me. But she doesn’t stop in the bedroom.