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  “His dick’s too little,” Amber had replied, laughing.

  There was more—more laughing, more insults. His ears started buzzing, and he felt a strange sense of disconnection. No one laughed at him like that. He was State Senator Robert Markham, head of the Senate Appropriations Committee, the most powerful man in the Georgia capital because if you controlled the money you controlled everything—and they were laughing at him as if he were nobody.

  Then Amber flew at him from the left, slapping the phone from his hands, slapping, slapping, hitting him in the face, on the side of the head. She hadn’t screamed, probably because of the kid asleep upstairs, but she’d been spitting words at him from between clenched teeth, her pretty face red and twisted with fury as if she was the injured party, as if she was the one who had been cheated on.

  Then she spat in his face, and without thinking he punched her, sending her slamming into the lamp table, knocking over a picture of her and the kid. That was his last clear memory. He just wanted to make her shut up; he wanted to make her pay for everything she’d said, for making him look like a fool. He couldn’t hear anything other than the buzzing in his ears, and what he remembered was more like a flurry of snapshots than memories: frozen images of her face, strangely purple, a sharp stinging on his wrists, her hand clawing at the floor.

  He sat beside her body for a numb few seconds that felt like an hour, then a sense of urgency stirred him.

  He had to do something.

  No one knew he was here, except for the kid. Elijah was just seven and he didn’t even know Robert’s full name, just called him “Uncle Bobby.” But a decent cop might figure Bobby was a nickname for Robert, and maybe a neighbor had noticed his car pulling into Amber’s driveway a time or two before, though he was always careful to park in the garage. With damn cell phones someone could have taken a picture with his car in the background—that would be bad luck, but it happened.

  But evidently there were other cars that parked in Amber’s driveway, and one other for certain had been here tonight, earlier, when it was more likely to be seen. That was pure luck on his part, and bad luck for the other guy.

  The kid was the problem, and problems had to be taken care of. He’d learned that on his way up the political ladder. If the next step—the governorship—was to be his, he had to handle this.

  He kind of regretted it, because the kid was a cute little guy. Still, it wasn’t as if Elijah was his kid. He doubted Amber had even known who the father was.

  He’d have to think this through, cover all the details, but first things first: he had to take care of the kid.

  Quietly he got to his feet and went up the stairs. He tried to think how he should do it, but the only thing that came to mind was to strangle him the same way he’d done Amber—though maybe he’d just put a pillow over the kid’s face and hold it down, smother him instead of actually choking him. Not only did it seem kinder, but there was less chance of leaving a fingerprint up here. He’d never been in the kid’s room before, so that was good. But he knew which one it was, because whenever he’d been in Amber’s room she’d always been careful to pull Elijah’s door securely shut.

  With that in mind, he pulled out his shirttail and used that to cover his hand as he pushed the door open.

  There was a night-light burning, so the room wasn’t completely dark. Robert moved silently toward the rumpled bed, then stopped in surprise, blinking his eyes. The bed was empty; the kid wasn’t there.

  Swiftly he looked around; the room was a kid’s usual messy jumble of toys and clothes, but that was it. Covering his hand with his shirttail again, he flipped on the light.

  Definitely no kid. He looked under the bed, and in the closet, in case Elijah had been in a sulk when he was sent back to bed and had hidden, then fallen asleep.

  Nothing. Shit!

  Robert turned out the light. Okay, maybe he’d gone to the bathroom. But the bathroom was directly across the hall—the door was open, the light was out. He looked, anyway, in case the kid was hiding in the tub. He wasn’t.

  Amber’s room, maybe?

  Empty.

  Robert went from room to room, anxiety building. He had to find that damn kid. Where the hell could he have gone?

  He went back downstairs, stepping as quietly as he could, his head swiveling as he tried to catch any movement. In the living room, Amber still lay as he’d left her, sightless eyes staring.

  He checked the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, the dining room. Finally he went into the kitchen, and immediately felt the movement of cold air. He turned on the light, looked around, then fixated on the back door. It stood slightly ajar, the cold night air rushing through the opening.

  Quickly he turned out the light again. His blood felt like ice, horror seizing him. The kid had seen him kill Amber, and had run to a neighbor’s house for help. The cops would already be on the way. He had to leave, and leave now. But what if the neighbor was standing outside waiting for him, maybe with a gun? This was Georgia; anyone was as likely to have a gun as not.

  But he couldn’t just stand here like a fool; he had to do something.

  He used the toe of his shoe to nudge the back door open, and slipped out into the backyard. He stood in the cold and dark, listening for a sniffle, a disturbance—anything. Lawrenceville was a nice little suburb, the houses fairly close together, but occasionally there would be a wooded lot providing some separation. This late on a Friday night it wouldn’t be surprising if some of the neighbors were still awake, but maybe people were tired from all the holiday bustle because he couldn’t see any lights on anywhere around.

  His heart pounded heavily as he tried to think. If the kid had run to the next door neighbor, there would be lights on, voices, maybe even sirens already screaming as cops raced toward them. But the night was quiet, no voices, no sirens. There was a tree line behind the row of houses; if the kid had run into the trees, there was no way Robert could find him.

  But why would Elijah do that? He was a little kid, and he’d run to other people for help. Wouldn’t he?

  Staying in the shadows, feeling the bite of the cold, Robert crept to the front of the house and crouched beside a bush as he looked up and down the street. Now he could see a couple of lights on, here and there, but those houses were still quiet. A few had left their Christmas lights on. That was it. There were no signs of activity, no unusual sounds, no dogs barking or porch lights coming on, and still no sirens.

  The kid had gone to ground somewhere. For whatever reason, he hadn’t gone for help. Who knew what the hell kids thought?

  Now what did he do?

  His first thought: get rid of the body. There wasn’t any blood. He could clean up the broken glass, straighten the furniture, take Amber’s body, and dump it somewhere. The longer it took to find her, the less evidence there would be. There were plenty of lakes and rivers around, as well as wooded areas. He’d think of somewhere, maybe even drive into another county before he dumped her.

  His mind whirled with thoughts. He had to wipe everything he’d touched. He had to get Amber’s cell phone and her purse, make it look as if she’d gone somewhere. Take the battery out of the phone, yeah, so it couldn’t be traced by GPS. That other guy’s phone, too; he had to do the same thing with it—but he’d leave the phone with Amber’s body, or close by. If it was ever found, that would have the cops looking at the other guy. That meant he had to leave the battery in it, make it look as if the guy had dropped it, lost it.

  But first things first: he had to get Amber’s body out of the house, before the cops did show up.

  Chapter 2

  Elijah crawled to the kitchen table, his hands and face stinging, his feet so cold they hurt. Maybe he could hide under the table, stay right there until Zack and his parents got home. But how long were they going to stay at Zack’s granny’s house? Two days? Three?

  Did Uncle Bobby know Elijah and Zack were best friends? Did he know where Zack lived? Would he come here?

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