Mark had killed Viktor Kirov. But Mark was dead, too. Hadn't she paid enough with her husband?
"It's okay, Dad. I'll tell her about it," Peter said.
Cody smiled. "Thank you, Peter. I promise it'll only take a couple minutes."
Travis stepped between them. "Go on and watch TV for a few minutes while I talk to Mrs. O'Brien."
Cody felt the wind rush from her lungs. Every moment felt like R.J. was being pulled farther away. She blinked to battle the tears that lined her lashes.
Peter looked between her and his dad. "But R.J.'s my friend—"
"I know. And we're going to find him."
Peter stood up and padded across the floor toward the back of the house. From behind, he could have been R.J. The thin frame, the lazy slapping feet, the red pajamas. She closed her eyes, holding the image of his motion, praying that she would watch her own son again.
Travis grabbed her arm. "Who would take your son?" He sounded panicked.
She shook her head without saying more.
"If it wasn't his dad, who was it?"
She started to turn. "I don't need to answer your questions."
He held tight to her arm. "You do if you want to talk to my child."
Cody felt her chest heave beneath the weight of his threat as she pulled herself free. She needed Peter's help. She calculated her response. "Fine." She forced her shoulders down in defeat, though it was nothing like what she felt. She ran her hands through her hair and leaned against the banister. "His father's not dead," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She now lied with an ease that had once frightened her. "He's crazy." She shook her head, keeping her face down. She worried her expression would give her away. Her voice she could control; the determination in her eyes, she wasn't so sure about. "I took R.J. away to save him—to save us both."
"Why did you say he was dead?"
She clenched her jaw. "Because I don't like to talk about him."
His voice was soft and she felt it like breath on her neck. "You're sure it was him?"
She nodded, frowning. "As sure as I can be."
Travis expelled a breath and sank onto the stairs, dropping his head in his hands. "Jesus." He sat in silence and then said, "Well, at least we know who did it. Where is this guy?"
She stepped away, sitting on the far side of the stairs from where Travis was. She pulled her chin up, imagining the resources available to Oskar Kirov. Seven hours had passed. Ryan could be anywhere by now. "I don't know. I haven't known since we left."
"You think he would do this?" he probed again.
She thought about Oskar Kirov. "I know he would. I just need to ask a few questions, get as much information as possible before I decide how to approach it."
"Why wouldn't we call the police? If he's dangerous, they can help us."
She shook her head. "Please let me do this my own way. I know what I'm dealing with here, and you really have no idea. I just need to ask Peter a few questions and then I'll go."
Travis looked at her and nodded. Turning his back, he crossed the hall to get Peter.
Cody leaned against the banister, the air spilling from her lungs in relief. A million thoughts entered her mind. Where was he right now? Were they hurting him? Was he cold? Was he hungry? It was too much to bear. It piled on her until she could feel her knees shake under its weight.
She walked along the edge of the living room off the entryway. A small table sat in between two upholstered chairs, and she scanned the pictures: Peter and his dad in front of a lodge in the snow, Peter getting dropped off at camp, Travis and him in front of a reddish brown stone fireplace with a high oak mantel. Next to those was one of Peter and his mother. Cody leaned down to study it. She was a beautiful woman with long, curly auburn hair and dark eyes lit with happiness.
The door opened and Peter shuffled across the floor, followed by Travis. "I'll help you, Mrs. O'Brien."
Turning back, she watched his wide green eyes and forced herself to smile. "Thanks, Peter. That means
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley