10
After dinner, Jada took a bath and dressed for bed, and then they all piled onto the sofa in the family room and watched Shrek, one of Jada’s all-time favorite movies. Although many of the adult-oriented jokes were way over her head, she nevertheless found it hilarious and insisted on watching it at least once a week.
Corey normally laughed at the film, too, but that evening he couldn’t manage more than a lukewarm chuckle at the funniest parts. Sitting beside him on the sofa, Simone seemed to take note of his low-key mood, but she made no comment. If he knew her, she was filing away every detail of his behavior in preparation for a future conversation.
Let her file away all she wanted. He wasn’t talking. He would keep his own counsel and take the necessary measures to protect his family.
At nine-thirty, Simone announced that it was past Jada’s bedtime. Jada protested, but a huge yawn betrayed her. Giving in with no further argument, she kissed both of them and shuffled toward the staircase. She’d recently declared her independence as a “big girl,” as she put it, and at bedtimes would kiss them good night, go upstairs, and crawl under the covers without asking to be tucked in.
When Corey offered to give her a piggyback ride to her bedroom, however-something he hadn’t done in at least a year-she happily accepted. He lugged her upstairs, hiking up her feet to his rib cage to keep her clear of the holstered gun.
“Whew, you’re getting heavy, kid,” he said. Winded, he set her down at the threshold of her room, straightened, and massaged his back. “That might be the last piggyback ride ever.”
“Do you think I’m fat, Daddy?”
She gazed up at him, eager for approval. Sometimes, Jada would make observations or comments that made her sound mature beyond her years, an old wizened soul trapped in a little girl’s body, such as the time a few months ago when she’d approached him in the study and asked him, point blank: “Daddy, do you ever wonder what you would be like now if you had known your mom and dad?” Stunned, Corey had stumbled through an inadequate response and afterward spiraled into an hour of agonizing self-reflection.
At other times, such as that one, she was only an insecure kid who craved validation.
“No, no, Pumpkin,” he said. “I didn’t mean you were fat. I meant you were getting older, that’s all. You’re far from fat.”
Her face twisted into a scowl. “Logan said I was fat.”
“Who the heck is Logan?”
“He’s a boy in my class. He calls every girl fat. He said Melissa is fat, but I think she’s skinny as a matchstick.”
He chuckled. “Skinny as a matchstick, huh? Where’d you hear that?”
“I read it in a book.”
Jada was only nine, but she had probably read more books than he had. He put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her into the bedroom.
“Sweetie, don’t pay any attention to this Logan kid,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl. Always remember, that, okay?”
She nodded.
“Have you brushed your teeth?”
“I did that after I took my bath,” she said, with a tone that said he should give her more credit. “But I have to feed Mickey.”
Mickey was her one-year-old pet budgie. Jada had originally wanted a puppy, but Corey and Simone didn’t think she was quite ready to train and care for a dog. The parrot had filled in nicely.
The domed birdcage stood beside a window on the other side of the room. Jada approached the cage, the little green-feathered bird on his perch, watching her with dark, beady eyes. She shook a packet of seed near the metal bars. “Ready to eat?”
“Bring on the food, dude,” Mickey said, one of the comical responses she had taught the parrot to give on cue.
Smiling absently, Corey went to the window, parted the curtains and Levolor blinds, and looked outside.
The road in front of the house was dark and quiet. By then, their neighbors would be shut away in their homes, dinners eaten, dishes cleaned, children tucked under covers, everyone settling in for the night in preparation to do it all over again tomorrow, the predictable and oddly comforting cycle of suburban life.
Most of the tension that had been collected in his muscles throughout the evening finally drained out of him. He wondered if maybe he’d been overreacting. Leon was bold and impulsive, but he would not be reckless enough to kick in the door knowing that Corey would be anticipating him.
Maybe he should just relax. A house was a man’s castle, after all-and his was exceedingly well fortified.
Jada finished feeding the bird, drew the cage cover halfway across the dome, the way Mickey liked it, and burrowed underneath the covers.
“Good night, Pumpkin,” Corey said. “I love you.”
“Night, Daddy. Love you, too.”
After he kissed her forehead, she removed the speech processor attached to her ear and placed it within arm’s reach on the nightstand.
Without the device, Jada was essentially deaf. In the event of an emergency such as a fire, Corey had installed a flashing, vibrating red beacon on the wall beside her bed; the beacon was wired to the security system, and when triggered, caused enough of a ruckus to rouse Jada from all but the deepest REM slumbers.
He cut off the light and drew the door shut, satisfied that his little angel was safely tucked away. For his own peace of mind, he’d needed to see her to bed, as if the ritual somehow guaranteed her safety from all outside threats.
He returned downstairs. He heard Simone in the master bathroom, brushing her teeth.
He took the opportunity to remove the gun from inside his waistband, and placed both gun and holster in the night-stand drawer on his side of the bed. Leon might not attempt anything while he was home, but he would sleep better with the piece close at hand.
As he was closing the drawer, Simone sauntered out of the bathroom wearing a red lace-up chemise that exposed a tantalizing amount of skin. She walked to the bed with the easy grace of a feline, hips swaying.
He kicked off his slides so quickly he almost fell down.
She laughed. “Easy, tiger, I’m not going anywhere. I thought we could resume what we’d started before dinner.” She peeled back the duvet from the mattress and slid onto the sheets. “Did you tuck in Jada?”
“Tight as a bug in a rug.” He pulled off his T-shirt, dropped it to the floor.
“You haven’t done that in a while.”
“Done what? Taken off my shirt in front of you?”
A small smile. “No, tuck in Jada.”
“Just felt like it.” He rolled down his cargo shorts.
She drew her legs underneath her Indian style and cocked her head, studying him. “If there’s something on your mind, honey, you know you can talk to me. I’m here to lend a listening ear whenever you need it-free of charge.”
“There’s nothing like having a therapist in the house. But I’m fine, babe, really. Want some proof? Check this out.”
He pulled down his boxers. She did a double take at his rigid length.
“Well, that’s definitely proof of something good,” she said.
He climbed onto the bed, and she came into his arms. He was captive to a heavy, urgent lust, the likes of which he had not felt in ages, as if he were a horny teenager again. Simone was gorgeous, of course, and they had a healthy sex life, made love often and with great passion and tenderness, but the desire he felt then was something deeper-a primal drive to connect with her, to reaffirm the realness and strength of their union, as if to do so would magically ward off all hazards and evils, then and forever.
I’m not going to lose what we have, he thought, as he entered her and she gave a small gasp of pleasure. No one’s going to take this away from us. Ever.
What would happen the next morning, unfortunately, would prove him completely wrong.
11
Late that night, Ed Denning circled the wooded banks of the lake near his home, flashlight in hand, searching for one of his dogs.