Page 7 of The Atonement (Arrangement #3)

CHAPTER SIX

PETER

M y wife never failed to surprise me.

She’d been by the house—evidenced by the bedroom door left open and the black footprints she’d tracked down the hall. It was okay. I’d have to have the carpets cleaned anyway, along with repairing the damage her little tantrum had done to our bedroom. But, these things could be fixed. Forgiven.

We were all entitled to a bit of less-than-perfect behavior now and again.

I pulled what was left of the duvet and sheets from the bed, shoving them into the trash bag in my hand.

The mattress was in rough shape. It would have to be discarded.

What a shame, really.

So many good times on that thing.

I sighed. She’d started the fire in the bedroom, and I had to believe that was on purpose. She’d wanted me to know she was torching our marriage—our family—right along with our home.

But, this time, I’d saved it.

Saved our home, if not our bed.

And, given enough time, I’d save our family too.

With the sheets tied safely in the bag, I tossed it aside and began shoving the mattress from the bed frame. The box spring beneath the mattress had minimal damage and the flooring underneath was untouched. Gray smoke had stained nearly every other surface in the room.

I pulled out the vacuum and set to work.

Whenever I brought them all home, I wanted to be sure there was no sign of what had happened here. It would be like nothing ever happened at all. There was no need for the reminder, and I doubted the kids knew anything about it in the first place.

She’d been careful about her timing, waiting to light the bed on fire until she was walking out the door, from the looks of it. I’d bet anything the kids were already in the car and she’d claimed she had to come inside to get something.

I still didn’t know how she’d managed to throw the burning cloth into the room with me without the kids noticing, but it was the smell of smoke that had woken me up—my body suddenly on high alert.

She hadn’t counted on that.

The sheer human will to live.

I would’ve known to account for it. I’d seen it with my own victims—the way they fought back with everything they had, even when I’d been sure they were inches from death.

Ainsley didn’t have the experience I did.

She didn’t understand there was nothing a person wouldn’t do to keep on living. She didn’t yet know I would’ve done anything to get our lives back to the way they were.

She wanted it, too.

Maybe it didn’t seem that way, when looking from the outside, but I knew my wife better than that. I could see what she wasn’t saying.

Sure, she’d drugged me hours before and counted on the fact that I’d sleep through it all. But was she really counting on that? She’d torn Jim to shreds, stared into his eyes as he bled to death in front of her, but she couldn’t stand to face me as she ended my life.

That counted for something in my book.

She just needed some time to rest, to recenter, and come to terms with all that had happened.

We’d both made mistakes—with Joanna, with each other—but when it counted, we were good together.

With the coach, with Stefan, with Jim. Ainsley and I were a team—the best team—and when she’d had a chance to clear her head, she’d see that.

I’d keep an eye on her until then and, when she was ready, I’d bring her home.

With or without the use of rope.