Page 4 of The Pretender

She glanced past him to the screen door. The mesh hid the rooms inside but she saw enough for the rumbling sensation to start deep inside her. That familiar rush of bile worked its way up her throat. The desperate need to drop to her knees and cry or throw up until she lost the strength to do either hit her out of nowhere.

“Well?” That was all he said as hatred spewed out of every cell.

The hate was the part she noticed. The tremor of fury in his voice. His mouth screwed up in a grimace as if he’d just tasted something sour.

“I didn’t know you were here.” It was a stupid thing for her to say but it was honest.

“Obviously.” He took out his cell and started dialing.

Anxiety welled up inside her. It churned in her stomach and started a banging in her head. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the police.”

The urge to grab the phone and smash it nearly overwhelmed her. It took all of her energy to stand still, to not fidget. To not lunge for him.

He held the cell to his ear. “It’s over, Gabrielle. I finally caught you.”

Gabrielle. He always used her full name. He never called her Gabby, no matter how many times she asked. Since the murder he hadn’t talked to her at all. He referred to her in interviews as Gabrielle Elizabeth Wright, as if stating her full name somehow separated her from him. Made her less human.

“I’m just standing here.” She needed to bolt. Swim, if she had to. Maybe the numb shell that surrounded her would protect her from the icy cold of the Bay.

He glared at the shovel. “Whatever you’ve been hiding... we’re going to find it this time.”

“What are you—”

“Save it.” He shook his head. “I specifically told my attorney not to fight the newest estate decision because I knew it would bring you out of hiding. That you wouldn’t be able to ignore all that money and the prospect of experts coming here to assess the value of the personal items and furniture. Going through everything, pulling things apart. Possibly finding whatever you hid here that day.”

“I’ve never cared about the money or the stuff.” She didn’t then. She didn’t now. But no one would ever believe that. Not with her past.

“You buried evidence right here on the island, didn’t you? The shovel proves that.” He swore under his breath. “Were you not even smart enough to throw the knife in the water after you killed her?”

Gabby’s mind flashed back to that day. To the blood. The thudding footsteps. Tabitha’s outstretched arm. How she shouted and begged people to believe her about the intruder but no one would listen. Every piece of the nightmare washed through her.

The gagging sensation had her chest heaving. It took another second before she could say anything. “There is no evidence to find. You’re wrong about me.”

How many times had she said that over the years? Too many to count.

“You’re responsible for all of this,” he said.

“I’m not. There was someone else on the island that day. A man and he ran.” But maybe she did own some responsibility for what happened. If she had gotten to the house sooner. Suggested they go out to the dock earlier. There were so many ifs and maybes. Every single one dragged her down, refused to be tucked away in the back of her mind. The guilt was always right there, kicking to the surface.

“You’re disgusting.” He practically spit at her.

The words punched into her gut, but she refused to let him know he hurt her. Again. “I loved my sister.”

He shook his head. “You’ve never loved anything but the money. And I’ll prove it.”

Harris climbed the last few feet to the second-floor window of the redbrick four-story town house. Breaking in had been no easy feat. The property sat on a stretch of Massachusetts Avenue in Washington, DC, known as Millionaires’ Row. The street was home to embassies and billionaires. Private security roamed the neighborhood, protecting the international powerbrokers and diplomats.

It wastheperfect target, seemingly impenetrable between the guards and alarms and high walls with locked gates. Naturally, he couldn’t resist.

He knew from experience the back of the property provided the most cover. Scaling the side gate to get there had been the only answer thanks to the fancy new lock and corresponding keypad that would take too long to crack, especially with it being nighttime and roving patrols moving around. The uneven spikes at the top of the gate added some excitement, but he’d long ago figured out how to maneuver around those and jump to safety.

A light clicked on the minute his feet touched the back patio. He didn’t make that mistake twice. He pressed his back against the wall and slid the rest of the way. The back double doors were locked and protected with computer alarm pads. He could see the motion sensors in the upper and lower corners of each door, plus the deadbolt lock into the floor. The home security was no joke. He could break it, but he’d need time, planning and equipment.

That left one direction to go—up. He preferred to start a few houses away, jump roofs then rappel down, but this way also worked. The added flair of entering through the second story would make the climb worth it.

With a throw, he hooked the metal end of his gear to the edge of the roof ledge and set off. The rope dug into his palms through the gloves, but he kept climbing. Once he reached the right height he debated shattering the glass as he dangled outside the floor-to-ceiling dining room windows. A part of him expected to be caught, so why prolong the journey trying to figure out how to get around the window sensor? But the challenge of getting away with it had excitement spiking inside him.

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