Page 142 of The Five Year Lie

“I could call that cop back from some untraceable number.” If that’s a thing. “And tell her that the Zarkeys were trying to stop Zain from exposing them. And that my father’s death might have been related.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Woody agrees. “But first I want you to log in to your email and see if anyone is trying to contact you.”

The idea gives me a flare of fear. “Is there any way that could reveal where I am?”

“No, we use a VPN for absolutely everything,” Jay says. “Anyone who’d hacked your email would see an IP address in Europe. You know your password?”

“Of course.” I open a window and put my password into Google. And I get nowhere fast, because of two-factor authentication. Without my phone, I’m locked out. “Ihatetechnology,” I cry, burying my face in my hands.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His hand finds my lower back again, and I fight the urge to sag against his solid body and close my eyes. “You look exhausted. Go to bed, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“Good plan,” Woody says, rising. “I’ll see you at three, man.”

I pick my head up. “Three? A.M.?”

“Second shift of the watch,” he says, taking the laptop and flipping to another app. I see six different displays on the screen—each one a live cam of Jay’s house and yard. “Lock up behind me.”

He leaves, and Jay bolts the door. “Go on,” he says softly. “Sleep. I’ll come to bed after Woody shows up to keep watch.”

I yawn so hard that it shakes me. And then I climb the stairs to sleep beside Buzz.

Hours later, I wake suddenly when the bed shifts under someone’s weight. My eyes pop open, but I don’t move.

I’m lying on my side in the middle of the bed. Buzz is sleeping in front of me, his limbs flung wide like a starfish, eyes slammed shut.

Jay is silent, but I can feel his gaze on us. Then his hand swims into view. He strokes his son’s hair with a slow, barely-there touch before retreating again.

I hold my breath, and I couldn’t even tell you why.

Jay settles behind me. But then he moves closer—his chest to my back, his arm draped over my hip. He relaxes.

My eyes close, and I try to remember how to breathe.

For years I’ve wanted this.Exactlythis—a peaceful moment with the two most important people in my life. But now that it’s here, I don’t trust it.

Doesn’t make me paranoid, either. There are people out there who would snatch it away again in a heartbeat.

My chest contracts suddenly, as if the weight of it all is more than my body can take. I make a noise that comes out like a sob.

Jay’s arm tightens around me. “Baby?”

My whole body shudders, and my eyes are fountains.

Jay slides off the bed. He scoops me out from under the sheet and carries me out of the bedroom, while I cling to him with a white-knuckled grip.

In the bathroom, he sets me down on the counter. After closing the door, he grabs a towel and begins dabbing at my streaming tears.

But I don’t want a towel. I push it away and lean against his chest. Burying my face in the collar of his T-shirt, I just let go and cry.

He doesn’t ask me why, thank God. I don’t know what I’d even say. It’s just an avalanche of terror and anguish.

“Shh, shh” is all he says as I soak his shirt. “I got you.” His arms close protectively around me, and it only makes me sob harder. I lean into him and practically drown us both, until finally I run out of tears.

The night is so quiet that all I can hear are my own sniffles, and the sound the borrowed cotton T-shirt makes when he rubs my back. “You should sleep,” he whispers eventually. “Let me take you back to bed.”

Neither of us moves, though. I’m too busy staring up at him—still stunned to be in his presence. He’s so familiar, except for the beard.

I lift my hands up to his face and run my knuckles through it. “You look like a mountain man.”