Chapter 2

Sergeant Harris put away his flashlight, frowning.

“Ms. Sutton, we checked the closets, balcony, and kitchen.”

“You found nothing?” I wiped my damp palms on a tissue.

“Nothing. The windows are locked from the inside.”

“I heard breathing and fabric moving.”

Harris examined the front lock. “There are no signs of forced entry. If someone got in, he either had a key or you left the door unlocked.”

“I lock it every day.”

The younger officer opened his notebook. “Does anyone else have a key?”

A name came to me.

“My college roommate, Megan Brooks. I gave her a spare when she watched my cat during a business trip. I found the cat a new home later, but Megan never returned the key.”

Harris nodded. “Have the locks rekeyed in the morning.”

“There is something in the trash,” his partner said.

On top of the garbage lay two cigarette butts and a wad of crumpled, dirty tissue.

“Do you smoke?” Harris asked.

“No.” I fought down my nausea. “And Ethan smokes a different brand.”

The officers put on gloves and sealed the items in evidence bags.

“We'll log these as evidence and contact you if the lab finds anything.”

“Thank you.”

By the time the police finished taking my statement and left, the movers were already filling boxes.

I went back into the bedroom and looked at the bed.

The last time, Ethan had crawled out from beneath it. Yet the officers had looked underneath and found nothing.

I crouched and aimed my phone light at the edge of the base. Several screws along one seam looked brand new.

Ethan had insisted on having the bed custom-built when we got married. During the divorce, he had let me keep every piece of furniture without an argument, including this bed. He said I should keep it as a reminder of our love.

I had thought it was pathetic at the time.

Now my skin crawled.

The base looked several inches thicker than any normal solid wood frame.

If someone had hollowed out the middle, there might be room inside.

I stood before the thought could finish forming.

“Mike, be careful when you take this apart. Don't damage the bottom panel.”

“No problem. I've been doing this for fifteen years.”

I took my purse and caught a cab to an all-night diner two blocks away. Under the harsh lights, with a security camera pointed directly at my booth, I called the bank's twenty-four-hour fraud line.

“First Riverton Bank fraud services. How may I help you?”

“This is Rachel Sutton, founder and CEO of Starlight Jewelers. I need to report our wire-approval token missing.”

“Of course, Ms. Sutton. I'll need your company tax ID and the answers to two security questions.”

I passed the identity check.

“The token is still active. Has it been lost or stolen?”

“Yes. I can't find it.”

“I've disabled it and placed a temporary hold on outgoing wires. That device can no longer approve a transfer.”

“I'll come to the downtown branch in the morning with my identification and corporate paperwork.”

“We'll be ready for you.”

I ended the call and finally let myself exhale.

The last time, Ethan had used my phone to fabricate messages about running away with another man. Then he had used that token and my passcode to drain the company accounts.

This time, he would get nothing.

As the elevator doors closed, another message arrived from him.

“No one is in your apartment. Stop scaring yourself and get some sleep.”

I stared at the words.

How did he know no one was there?

How did he know the police had not found him?

There was only one answer. He was watching me.

I typed back, “This is none of your business.”

His response came instantly.

“I'm your husband. Everything about you is my business.”

“We're divorced.”

“The divorce was a mistake. I know you still love me.”

His suffocating need for control had once tormented me. Now it only made him look stupid.

I put away my phone and stepped out of the elevator.

If he wanted to play hide-and-seek, I would play to the end.