Page 94 of Taming Liberty

“No.”

“Miss, I’d feel more comfortable if you let me accompany you.”

I turn to Peter with what I’m guessing is an emotionless expression. I thought adrenaline would pump through my veins landing in New York, and when it didn’t, I thought for sure it would when we reached the house. And still, I feel no adrenaline. I hardly feel anything. I think this is what people call peace. I won’t be fully at peace until Robert is dead, but I do feel at peace with the decision to kill him.

“Don’t worry,” I say, my voice even. “Angel won’t hold you responsible for anything happening to me. He and I are … done. He won’t come looking.”

Peter’s serious face softens into a frown. I hadn’t had much of a desire to talk to the guy while he was cleaning the wound on my chest or bandaging me up. The shock of Jasper hadn’t worn off until the plane was in the air and my focus could fully shift to Robert. The most Peter and I talked was when I asked him if he had a gun. The revolver is tucked in the black hoodie he bought me from a 7-Eleven on the way here.

“I’m not worried about Mr. Ramos’s wrath.” He motions toward the house. “Your Robert Gaumond’s wife, right?”

I blink at him but say nothing.

“Be careful with him. The guy’s a snake.” His eyes lower to my hoodie pocket where my hands are stuffed, the gun clutched in my grasp. “You take your eyes off him for a second, and he’ll use that on you.”

My eyes narrow. “Why are you trying to help me?”

He’s been a presence I ignored on the drive here, but I can’t forget the blank expression he had when he killed Jasper. Now he’s unconcerned about my husband’s death. Maybe even encouraging it.

And yet … he’s an island, what, employee?

He stares at me a few moments before reaching over me. I tense and squeeze the pistol grip, but he doesn’t touch me. He opens the glove box to pull out a pen and paper. He sits up straight and uses the steering wheel to write something.

He holds it out to me, and I hesitantly take it.

“If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

My eyes remain narrowed at him, but I nod. I don’t know if I should trust him, as helpful as he’s been. First of all, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust a man—barring Angel—again. Secondly, he’s from the island. It’d take a miracle to trustanyonefrom there. Angel does, but his judgment sucks.

“Thanks,” I murmur before opening the door and climbing out of the SUV. It doesn’t pull away even as I make it to my porch steps. Myoldporch steps.

I find the spare key where it’s always been, in a hidey hole in the tall, metal vase my mother got me for Christmas one year, and I open the door.

It’s surreal walking into this house and seeing that nothing has changed. The throw pillows I carefully picked out still sit neatly on the couch. A chandelier still hangs from the ceiling in the dining room I walk through on my way to the staircase. The only thing that I can see is different is the picture frames I had decorating the wall by the staircase are gone.

I run my fingers along where they were and then along the banister as I creep up the stairs.

One hand touches my old world while the other has a tight hold on the gun inside my hoodie pocket.

I have no idea if I’ll use it or if I’ll only control Robert with it. It depends on where Elsie is and what she may hear.

My feet take me to her bedroom, and I take a breath and close my eyes while I stand outside her door.

What will she think when she sees me? What will I say to her?

Will we leave together? Disappear like two outlaws on the run? Or will she reject me, unable to comprehend the monstrous act of ending a person’s life? A few months ago, I couldn’t comprehend it. Julio tried to rape me, and I still didn’t wish for his murder. Things have changed.

I open my eyes and put my hand on Elsie’s door. Whatever happens, happens. If she chooses to tell the cops I shot her uncle instead of a robbery gone sour, so be it. I’d rather run from the police than let Robert live.

I twist the knob and gently push on the door. The oiled hinges don’t make a sound as it gives me access to the room, but I don’t open the door all the way. Elsie’s empty, made bed draws my eyes in first, then I look around the room as if she’ll be hiding in a corner. A Yale flag is pinned to her bulletin board along with an acceptance letter and photos of her with her friends. My heart overflows.

She did it. My girl did it.

I close the door, accepting that I’ve gotten lucky and she must’ve spent the night with a friend. I wonder if she’s stayed with friends a lot since I’ve been gone or if Robert has finally embraced her as his niece.

I remove the gun from my pocket as I walk down the hall to the master bedroom, grasping the pistol grip tightly before pulling back the hammer. My finger carefully curls over the trigger, and I open the door.

The shower runs in the adjoining bathroom, and a woman sleeps facedown on my side of the bed. The top sheet covers her lower half. A Chinese symbol is tattooed in black ink on her right shoulder blade, and her hair is the same color as mine. I bet she’s a younger version of me.

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