Chapter 80

RICHARD

I KNEW SHE WASN’T THERE, yet I still checked every inch of the condo. When I looked in her dresser and closet, most of the new clothes I purchased for her remained, but some were missing. Her two still-to-be-unpacked boxes were in her closet, some of her toiletries were in the bathroom, but the one suitcase she had was missing. I remembered hearing drawers opening and shutting last night. What I thought was her organizing and moving things, was in fact, her preparing to leave me.

I sat down on the edge of her bed with my head in my hands.

Why? Why would she sleep with me when she knew she was going to leave? Why did she leave?

I cursed under my breath—the answer to that was obvious. Penny was dead. She no longer had to provide for her, which meant she no longer had to keep up the pretense of being in love with me.

We had, I thought, been getting along well. I was sure she was feeling something. Why hadn’t she talked to me?

I barked out a laugh in the empty room. Of course, she wouldn’t come and talk to me. When had I ever let her know she could? We had become friendly enemies, united in our common goal. Now that goal had changed for her. I might have planned to talk to her, but she had no idea of how I felt. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it; how much my emotions had changed.

The question I kept shouting in my head, the one that didn’t make sense was: Why did she sleep with me?

The air in my lungs turned to ice as memories of last night played in my head. She had been a virgin—and I hadn’t worn protection. I’d been so caught up in the moment—in Katy—I hadn’t thought about it until this instant. I had taken her with no condom. I always wore a condom—there was never any discussion with my partners.

What were the chances of her being on birth control? I gripped the back of my neck in panic. What were the chances of her getting pregnant?

She was gone. I had no idea where she was, no idea if she was pregnant.

Nor did I have any idea how I would react if she were expecting my baby.

Would she even think about that probability?

I hurried to the den, my anxiety now higher than ever, switching on the laptop. I did a quick history check, wondering if she had used it to book a flight or a train ticket, but I found nothing. I did a check of our bank accounts, sitting back in amazement when I saw she had withdrawn twenty thousand dollars yesterday. I remembered the walk she took in the afternoon, and how she insisted on going alone. She had gone to the bank and withdrawn or transferred the money. Two months’ “salary” was all she took. As I scrolled through her account, I noticed that, other than expenses for Penny, she had never touched a cent of the money. She had spent nothing on herself. She hadn’t taken anything for her future.

I was more confused than ever. She didn’t want my money. She didn’t want me. What did she want?

I drummed my fingers restlessly on the desk. She had left her keys and pass, which meant she couldn’t get in the building or condo. I knew she would eventually be in contact with me to ask for the boxes she left behind, and I would insist on seeing her first. My gaze strayed to the shelf in the den, and I realized Penny’s ashes were gone. Wherever she went, she’d taken them—but I knew her well enough to know she would want her pictures and the contents of those boxes upstairs; they contained sentimental items—things she deemed important.

My mind started spinning, working the way it always did when I had a problem. I began to compartmentalize and figure out solutions. I could tell the Gavins she had gone away for a few weeks. That the shock of Penny’s death was too much and she needed a break. I could say I sent her to a warm place to relax and recover. It would buy me some time. When she got in touch, I could convince her to come back and we could figure something out. We could stay married. I’d get her a place close by, and the only time she’d have to see me was when the occasion called for it. I could convince her to do that. I stood up, staring out the window into the dull light. The overcast day was the perfect foil for my mood. I let my thoughts flow, figuring out different scenarios, finally deciding the simplest was the best. I would stick to my original thoughts of her going away. I had her phone. I could send texts to myself and invent enough phone calls, so they would be none the wiser.

Except . . .

My head fell forward. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to know where Katy went. I needed to know she was safe. I wanted to talk to her. She was grieving and not thinking straight. She thought she was alone.

I gripped the windowsill, staring out over the city. She was out there, somewhere, and she was on her own. I had to find her. For both our sakes.

I returned to my building and pulled into my parking spot, letting my head fall back against the headrest. I had driven everywhere I could think of where she might go. I’d been to the airport, the train station, the bus depot, even car rental places. I’d shown her picture to what felt like hundreds of people but had found nothing. She left her cellphone behind, so I couldn’t try to call her. I knew she had a credit card of her own, and I tried to get in touch with the issuing bank, to see if it was used recently, but was shut down immediately. If

I wanted that information, I would have to hire someone. I hadn’t been able to find a clue on my own.

Discouraged, I dragged myself upstairs and flung myself on the sofa, not bothering to turn on the lights. Daylight was fading, the gray of night slowly eating away at the sky.

Where the hell was she?