Page 40 of The Tower

"Death doesn't know how to find me," she argues, marching back to the house in wide steps, wearing an equally broad smile on her face. She gets on her toes, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Not everyone likes to get up at dawn, you crazy girl."

She shrugs with both shoulders. A gesture that wasn't possible for her just a few weeks ago.

"Coffee?" she asks as she squeezes past me. I hurry to close the door behind us, eager to keep the goddamn cold outside.

"I already made some."

She takes off her cap and scarf, her tousled brown hair flying as she makes her way to the open kitchen. The color suits her even though the dye was born out of need rather than a styling decision.

I follow, taking a seat at one of the high chairs at the counter that separates the living room from the kitchen, and watch as she pours both of us a hot cup of coffee. She's using her left arm as if nothing ever happened, carrying the cup to me without spilling a drop without even shaking. But I know she's not quite back to normal yet. She still can't lift her arm properly, and she still can't put a lot of strain on it. It will still take weeks, maybe months, until she's fully recovered.

I wait until she's taken her seat next to me, carefully tasting the hot beverage while she casts me a smile from the side. I have something to tell her, and I don't know how she will take it. But I know I can't keep it to myself.

Ever since we made it up here, I've had to keep an eye on things back home in New England. I've had to be extremely careful, making sure to get an idea about the aftermath of the terrible things we let behind, without letting anyone—the Covey especially—know that we're here and that Elizabeth Caroline Abbott is neither dead nor missing, as it is presumed over there.

She's just gone. Forever.

Back home in Massachusetts, she's considered a missing heir. The death of Margaret and Clyde Abbott has hit the news, as has the fact that they left behind only one living relative, a niece who hardly anyone knew about. Once that detail was out, it was also known that she was enrolled in Humboldt State University, but the last amount of information they had was that Libby was matriculated a few months before she returned home to show up at the event at the Abbott Tower, where she was last seen just moments before the shooting took place.

It's assumed that she's been kidnapped from that event, but no one knows by whom and why. Authorities are very much mistaken if they think that whoever took her is after her inheritance. Libby is fucking loaded, one of the richest girls in the country.

Or, she would be, if she hadn't forfeited her inheritance.

Her family's representative has tried to locate her for months without success. Because Libby had to make a choice. Either give herself up to the authorities and accept her generous inheritance—she'd live with a target on her back for the rest of her life because the Covey is after her—or take on her new identity, forfeit the money, and start a new life as someone else, hoping that no one will ever find out who she is.

I gave that choice to her. I may have taken her away by force, and made her part of my own getaway plan, but once we'd reach the safety of this house, hidden in the redwood forest, I told her that she was free to go.

"And live in constant fear?" she responded. "Locked up in a gilded cage, never able to move around freely, always fearing they will get me? And... without you?"

She looked hurt at the suggestion. And she stayed.

Her inheritance was held in trust by the state.

Until yesterday.

I look at her, happily sipping on her coffee, still with that fresh morning glow on her cheeks.

"They've stopped their search," I let her know, giving it a moment before I elaborate. "Your inheritance is no longer held in trust. They will start searching for the next heir in line—"

"There's none," she throws in. "The Abbotts are dead."

I nod, accepting her cold and distant remark as a way for her to cope with the tragedy that is her family.

"Yes, but they will have to make sure," I add. "Before the money goes to the state."

"I hope it does," Libby says. "It won't make up for all the shit my family has done. But maybe the state can do something good with it like build some school, roads, hospitals."

She pauses, letting out a deep sigh before she concludes, "I for sure don't want anything to do with that dirty money. I'd rather starve to death."

I chuckle. "That will never happen. I will make sure of that."

She smiles at me. "I know you say I don't have to worry, because you've saved up and we have all the money we need, but I want to work, eventually. As soon as I can. I want to do something, earn my living, have a purpose in life."

I reciprocate her smile, nodding along as she speaks. "I get that. And I won't stop you from pursuing that."

"I know." She's beaming at me. "That's exactly why I love you."

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