Chapter 2 - The Housewarming of Thieves
The cul-de-sac on Juniper Lane looked entirely unchanged, yet the air hanging over my neighborhood felt foreign, hostile. My townhouse—the home I had purchased with my own stock options three years before Chad and I even married—stood bathed in the bright amber glow of landscape lighting.
Through the large picture window in the living room, I could see silhouettes moving against the blinds.
A shadow passed by—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an immaculate blue suit. Chad. He was holding a glass of amber liquid, laughing as he clinked it against someone else’s hand.
“Stay in the vehicle,” Christopher instructed, his hand resting briefly on my forearm to hold me back as the driver cut the engine.
“No,” I said, my voice hardening, every trace of the compliant, exhausted wife evaporating into the freezing night air. “That is my house, Dad. And my son is inside.”
Before Christopher could argue, I pushed the heavy door open and stepped out into the crisp desert wind. My boots crunched against the gravel walkway as I walked up the three front steps. I didn't knock. I bypassed the brass handle, reached under the decorative planter beside the door where I kept a spare key, and turned the deadbolt.
The click was quiet, but the heavy oak door swung open with a soft groan that instantly cut through the murmur of conversation inside.
The music stopped.
The laughter died.
In the center of the living room, standing beside a newly uncorked bottle of champagne, stood Chad. His arm was draped familiarly around Brenda—the twenty-six-year-old administrative assistant from our office who had supposedly been “just a colleague.” Sitting on the velvet sofa was my mother, Eleanor, sipping white wine with the smug satisfaction of a queen inspecting a conquered province.
And huddled on the floor in the corner, clutching a plastic toy truck, was five-year-old Toby.
“Genevieve?” Chad dropped his glass. It shattered against the hardwood floor, sending splinters of crystal and dark amber splashes across the Persian rug. His face went completely pale, his jaw slackening in sheer disbelief. “How... how are you here? You were supposed to be in a transport van heading straight to Perryville!”
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“Surprise, darling,” I said, stepping across the threshold, my voice chillingly calm as I closed the door behind me. “The state of Arizona decided my signature needed a little more review.”
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