Page 78 of Our Little Secret

Her insides churned.

She had to find some way to stop him.

Before all of their lives were destroyed.

“Just try to keep a cool head,” Neal advised.

“Okay. Great. Fabulous advice.” She opened the passenger door and the interior light of the car switched on again. “From now on I’ll try to get a firmer grip on my sanity.” She was about to step out, but he grabbed her arm.

“You really saw someone outside the house?” His face was creased with concern.

“Yes.” Irritated, she said, “Why would I lie about that?”

“You tell me.”

She noticed the questions in his eyes. Ignored them. “If you don’t believe me, ask Leah.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I trust you.”

Her heart wrenched, but she said, “Good. I hope so.” Yanking her arm from his grip, she shot out of the car and up the stairs to find Shep wiggling and wagging his tail as he greeted her.

“Hey, I missed you too,” she said.

Barking his exuberance, Shep greeted Neal too. While he walked through the kitchen, Shep dashed to the French doors in the kitchen. She got the hint and let him outside. Eagerly, the dog padded across the deck and down the steps to the backyard. “Good boy,” she said as she heard the door to Neal’s den click closed.

Good.

She was tired of fighting with him. Of lying to him. She stood at the French doors, watching the dog wander across the shadowy lawn and wondering just how she was going to get rid of Gideon.

There had to be a way to ensure she would never see him again.

Whatever it was, it would have to be final.

She would do it.

And she’d never look back.

The dog was taking his sweet time, so she left the French doors ajar for Shep, then made her way to the second floor. In the hallway she tapped lightly on Marilee’s door.

No answer.

She rapped louder.

Still no response.

Opening the door, she poked her head inside. “I think we need to talk,” but her daughter was at the desk, back toward Brooke and wearing earbuds. Marilee had her iPad on her lap, her computer monitor glowing on her desk, gaming controller and cell phone in the clutter of fingernail polish bottles and books and clothes.

“Marilee?” she said loudly and her daughter physically started.

Pivoting in her chair, she said, “Get out.”

“What?”

“This is my room.Myspace. Get out!” Marilee’s face was twisted in imperious disgust.

Brooke bristled. “This is my space too. I live here. I own the house.”

“Daddy owns the house.” She angled up her chin defiantly.