Moonshot
Page 58

He didn’t respond. I needed a response from him. I needed to know how he felt, if he was as shaken as I was. I needed him to push through my resistance and pull me against his chest. I needed to sob and scream and break down, and I needed him to be the strong one, to pick up my pieces and put me back together. But he didn’t. He only stood there, next to me, both of us staring out into the dark, and said nothing.
“Rachel Frepp,” Dan said. “What do you know about her?”
Nothing. She’d gone to a few games. She worked as a valet. Was just like all of them, blonde and gorgeous. I shook my head, my hysteria rising. “I won’t tell anyone,” I whispered. “You can just go, right now. The police will never know. I promise.” In that moment, I meant it. I would let him go, would risk another woman’s life just to remove myself from danger. I stared him down and let him see the sincerity in my eyes. I was so close to finally leaving Tobey, to leaving this life, to being happy. I couldn’t die now, not when I was in reach of everything I’d ever wanted.
His expression soured, and I saw the minute his patience stopped.
“You misunderstand what I’m doing here, Ty. I’m here for you.”
“The issue was, when someone is blessed with things, like Tobey, you have to appreciate those things. Preserve those things. Whether Tobey Grant knew it or not, I was helping him. I was putting him on the right path, one that saved his marriage, one that saved his team. And I was in the perfect position to do that. Because I could see. I could see the mistakes before he made them. Take Rachel Frepp for example. If it wasn’t for me, he’d have never married Ty. He didn’t care about the baby, he was in love with Rachel. I knew it the first time I asked him about the engagement—could see that something was off, that he was a panicked man. It hadn’t taken much digging to find out who he’d been dating. Hell, who he was still dating, even with a pregnant Ty Rollins packing up her stuff and moving into his family’s mansion. She had to be eliminated. It was the only option.”
Dan Velacruz, New York Times
109
“Me?” The warnings of Detective Thorpe echoed in my mind, every slip of me past security, every time I argued for freedom—stupid decisions from a stupid girl. I had thought myself invincible. I had thought that just because I was happy, that I deserved life.
“Everything had finally come together. After Tiffany, Tobey had stopped. Had been faithful. And then you. You. You had to mess everything up.”
It was too many words, too much at one time, my brain slow in its filter. “Tobey had stopped?” I asked faintly. “Stopped what?” But I knew. April McIntosh’s Yankees’ pendant. Just like the one Tobey gave me, so many years ago, just after our wedding. Tiffany Wharton. A girl more beautiful than I could ever hope to be. Her bright smile growing each time Tobey stopped by HR. A department he had never needed to visit, until she was hired. The dark periods after each girl was found, each death affecting him much worse than me. I’d chalked it up to sensitivity, a quality I was grateful for in a husband.
“Do you know that when Rachel died, he didn’t even notice?” Dan reached out, the knife in hand, and ran the tip of it slowly across my neckline. “She disappeared, and he never even called the police. He didn’t realize she had died until the police started to tie the deaths together. He was going to leave you Ty, and he DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE her death.” His voice had changed, growing sharper and meaner, the hand holding the knife beginning to tremble, the line across my skin becoming jagged. I lifted my hands off the railing, and his eyes sharpened. “Put your hands behind you, Ty. Link your hands back there.”
April McIntosh had fought. I’d seen the photos myself, the defensive wounds on her palms. She’d also been the most disfigured, the one who’d taken the longest to die. I obeyed his directions, carefully moving my hands, behind my back, the backs of my hands bumping, at the moment before they linked, at the hard object in my back pocket. My phone.
I kept eye contact with him, pushing out my chest slightly as the fingers of one hand quietly slid into my back pocket, pulling at the edge of the phone, and sliding it carefully out.
“I’m sorry,” I said, hoping to distract him, hoping to cover my movements as I pressed my thumb against the home button of my phone. “I didn’t know—about Tobey. I didn’t know he was—”
“Of course you didn’t,” he crowed, his eyes on my face, a smirk playing at one corner of his mouth. “You were so focused on the team that you didn’t notice anything. That’s why you needed me. I was the one who watched. I was the one who saw everything. And your husband?” He dropped back his head with a laugh. “He did a terrible job of covering his tracks.” I moved my fingers blindly across the screen of my phone and prayed that I was opening up the phone app. Dan brought his chin back down, his laughter abruptly ending. “Almost as poorly as you. And that, Ty, just isn’t acceptable.”
“You’re crazy,” I choked out, tapping blindly at the front of my phone, praying for help, praying for a call, praying that someone would answer and understand everything. He must have seen me leave through this staircase. Followed me, then waited for me to come back.
“I’m not crazy,” he said simply, his free hand reaching out and sliding my shirt carefully over one shoulder, his fingers gentle as they ran over the exposed skin, as a painter would do with a fresh canvas. “I’m not crazy,” he repeated. “I’m dedicated to this team. To this family.” His touch hardened, and I stiffened as I felt those fingers slide up and wrap around my neck. He smiled then, a lift of two cheeks that didn’t match the cold look in his eyes. “Loyalty, dear Ty, is the key to success. I tried to keep Tobey loyal. For you. And then you went and—”
I swiftly brought up my knee, hitting the soft area between his legs, and twisted, his grip on my neck loosening as he wheezed. I shoved one hand forward at his chest. But when my foot stepped back, toward escape, there was nothing there but stairs, my ankle turning as one heel hit an edge, my arms pin-wheeling, my phone flying, and then I was falling. A shoulder slammed against one hard stair, and I tucked my head, my hands coming up to shield myself, the impact on the concrete landing the worst, most excruciating pain I had ever experienced.
When I opened my eyes, he was there, his eyes furious, his knife out. I inhaled and tasted blood, something in my mouth loose, my head pounding. He put one dress shoe on my chest, leaning hard, putting his weight on it as he reached forward with the knife. “You shouldn’t have done that, Ty. Not after everything I’ve done for you.” Around us, the stadium shook, a cheer going up, the trophy ceremony underway. He lifted his head and listened, a smile crossing his face. “I did that, Ty. I brought back Chase Stern, I got this team focused, and I won this Series for New York.”