Page 101 of The Followers

Molly couldn’t see Scott’s face, but she saw him shake his head. “I should have killed you.”

“You were this close to me, and you barely hit me,” Rasband sneered. “I remember you shaking in terror—thought you were going to piss yourself. Your girlfriend did, when I was choking her. That bitch.”

Molly watched Rasband’s hand tighten on his gun. Chloe stirred in her arms, becoming more aware.

“Go ahead,” Scott said softly. “Let’s get it on camera.”

Rasband’s eyes darted around the room. “There are no cameras here.”

“There are six of them,” Molly said, hoping he would believe her. “One on the mantle, right next to that blue vase.”

When he saw the camera, he stiffened. His eyes went black with fury.

“You should run,” Scott said.

“The longer you stay, the closer the police get,” Molly said. “And the better look the world gets of your face.”

Realization swept over him, fury building like a bomb about to explode. He took a step closer to Molly, swinging his gun toward her face.

Bitsy jumped to her feet, barking, and Rasband flinched.

A gunshot split the air like a cannon blast, echoing in Molly’s ears.

Chloe screamed. Molly tightened her arms around her daughter, eyes closed as fear flooded her senses.

“Turn the cameras off,” Scott whispered, and Molly opened her eyes.

He stood with his arm outstretched, a shocked expression on his face. Rasband was on the floor, a red stain spreading behind his head, which looked oddly caved in. His legs twitched, then went motionless. Molly forced herself to look away and fumbled for her phone with one hand, discontinuing the live feed. Chloe wailed, now fully awake, matching the ringing in Molly’s ears, and the dog once again cowered behind Molly’s legs.

“You’re okay,” Molly whispered to her daughter, holding her tightly. “We’re safe now.”

Scott let out a shuddering breath and turned, dropping the gun. His hands went to Molly’s face, to Chloe’s, pulling them both against his chest. “Molly, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said the words over and over, a litany, a plea, his shoulders shaking.

“We need to get Chloe out of here. I don’t want her to see...” She trailed off, not wanting to see, either.

Scott nodded and scooped Chloe up with one arm. Molly followed him into the kitchen on shaking legs, nearly collapsing before his free arm pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. She was overwhelmed by the need to feel him, to hold him until they melded into one body. She ran her hands up his back, across his shoulders, tears running down her cheeks. They were together, they had somehow made it through, and she stood on tiptoe to press her face against his neck, to breathe in the smell of his skin.

He turned his head and caught her mouth with his, kissing her hard enough to hurt. Chloe clung to him, crying, her face buried in his shoulder.

“Molly,” he said in a fierce whisper, then kissed her again, on her cheeks, on her forehead and jaw, and neck before returning to her mouth. She kissed him back, needing to taste him, needing to know he was real and solid and warm.

But she forced herself to pull away. “You should go.”

He looked down at her, his eyebrows pulling together. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“The police are coming,” she said. “If you’re here, you’ll get sucked into the investigation. Everything with Kristina and Ella, your forged identity—it’ll all come out.”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m sick of running.”

“Even if that means prison?” Her voice rose. “Even if it means putting Ella through a trial? It’ll be a media circus after this video.” She took a step away, remembering Rasband’s words. “How did you end up with that key?”

Scott exhaled. “It was in Kristina’s diaper bag, which was in the closet with Ella, and I grabbed it when we ran. Her birth certificate was in there, too. I didn’t find the key for days.”

“Do you know what’s in the safe deposit box?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. But it must link Rasband to something bad. Rasband was in charge of Kristina’s case, so I’m guessing that’s why the investigation was all fucked up.”

“Where’s the key now?” she asked.

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