At any moment, Zeke would come out, wondering why she’d come and even more, why she was sitting in his driveway like a dead duck. She had to get to his phone and she had to do it now. Just get to the phone in his office, which was the only one she knew of, and make the call to the authorities, and that was all. Just that.

Taking a deep breath, Kathryn opened the door and stepped out. See, now it was too late to turn back. And, surprisingly, that simple thought gave her a moment’s courage.

She smoothed her dress, cleared her throat, and headed to the steps. Then climbed them, one at a time. Then she was there, facing the door.

Then knocking on it, thinking, Yea though I walk, yea though I walk, over and over despite the fact that she drew no encouragement from the thought.

It’s not supposed to feel good, Kathryn. You’re only reaping what you sowed. It’s supposed to feel like death because . . .

The opening door cut her thought short and she found herself face to face with Zeke, in the flesh, wearing dark pants and a white button-up shirt with a starched collar.

She felt like a schoolgirl caught red-handed, and she hated herself for feeling like that.

“Good morning, Zeke.”

In answer he cocked his brow—that condescending look that said, What now, Kathryn?

“Nothing,” she said, as if answering his unspoken question. “I just . . . Do you mind if I come in?”

“Nothing?”

“No . . . Not really . . . I just . . .”

She stopped herself there, struck by her own words. Nothing? Was her experience with her daughter earlier nothing? Was the well-being of her daughter nothing? Was the privilege to be Eden’s mother nothing?

Was Eden nothing?

Something deep inside of her seemed to flip over, and a surge of anger replaced the fear sucking at her life. Not just anger . . . rage. In fact, for the briefest moment she imagined tearing into the monster before her and ripping his tongue out. Now tell us what to do!

But she immediately recognized the danger of showing any emotion similar to rage. If she failed, Zeke might go to the furthest extremes to protect himself.

“Actually, it is something,” she said. “May I come in?”

He gave her a shallow grin and swept his hand into the house. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you.” She stepped past him and scanned the room. “Is your wife here?”

He closed the door and walked past her without answering. This was his way, always keeping her off balance. She’d known it all these years, but had never thought of his manipulation as anything more than a shepherd’s steady rod.

“Spit it out, Kathryn. I don’t have all day.”

“No . . . no, I suppose you don’t.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets and faced her. “No need to suppose. Just know. Know that I have little patience left for your ineptitude and failures. Know that you’re lucky I didn’t break your leg. Know that I’m still considering it.”

She felt her heart pound. Anger felt far better than fear, but she had to let him think it was fear. Easy enough, because at least half of it was.

“Yes, Zeke. Of course. You won’t need to do that. I swear you—”

“Don’t tell me what I won’t need to do. Just tell me why you’re here so early in the day.”

“It’s almost ten o’clock.”

“Now you think I’m too stupid to read a clock?”

“No, Zeke. I’m sorry.”

“For what? Hmmm? Sorry for what? For mocking me? I give you one simple task, easily accomplished by anyone half your strength using a few basic tools and you can’t even do that for me, the one you owe your very life to? Is that it, Kathryn?”

She stared at him, stunned by his coldness.

“Or is there something else you’re sorry about now?”

Had he always been this way and she not able to see it?

“I’m sorry . . . I was just sorry for suggesting that you were too stupid to—”

“Do you know how deeply I hate you every time you use those words, Kathryn? I’m sorry only reminds me of your failure. You come in here and tell me about your sin, and I’m not above God. I too hate sin. So don’t tell me I’m sorry and, for the love of God, stop doing whatever it is you’re sorry for. Both he and I could use a break, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her head was spinning.

“Yes.”

“Good. So be a good woman and just lay what you have on the table. Trust me.”

She had to remember her purpose. She had to distract him and get to the phone in his office. The only way to distract him was to first earn a measure of his trust—he was far too cagey to let his guard down unless she proved herself.

“I’m concerned about Eden.”

“Is that so? I broke her leg, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“She can’t stand on it, much less walk, right?”

“That’s right.”

“There’s no telephone, no boat, no way to swim through a lake infested with alligators, no wings to fly out on . . . That about covers all of our bases, don’t you think?”

“Yes. But that’s not my concern. I’m worried about her.”

“What’s there to worry about? I told you we’d put a cast on soon enough. So she walks with a limp the rest of her life—every Garden of Eden has its rotten fruit.”

His indifference was bone deep.

“What if she dies?” Kathryn said.

That put a dent in his armor, she thought, as he hesitated.

“Well, that depends on when she dies,” he said, stepping over to the kitchen center island to his right. He reached for a cup of coffee next to a frying pan. By all appearances, she’d interrupted his breakfast preparation. Which meant that his wife wasn’t around or she likely would’ve made it for him earlier. “If she dies after the money’s transferred we have nothing to worry about.”

He took a sip from his cup and set it back down.

“If she dies in the next twenty days, we’d have a problem. The thirty-day cure requires she accept the money when it’s transferred. So, technically anyway, she needs to be alive. What makes you think this is a concern?”

She knew most of what he said, but she hadn’t realized just how little regard he had for Eden’s life. A hum went off somewhere in her head; the room seemed to narrow.

“I think her leg might be getting infected,” she heard herself say.

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

“She woke with a fever. Her leg’s swollen pretty bad.”

“So you’re saying that you don’t trust me.”

“No.”

Zeke approached her and stopped within arm’s reach. She dared not avert her eyes from his.

“If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be here to tell me what I already know, now would you? But the truth is, you think I’m too stupid to have thought about infection. You probably think the penicillin shot I gave her when I broke her leg was just for grins?”

The revelation surprised her. She had no idea he’d given her a shot.

“I just thought—”

“Don’t. Think,” he snapped.

“Yes, Zeke. I’m sorry, I just—”

He slapped her face with an open hand, hard enough to make her stagger. She gave up a soft grunt, knowing better than to cry out in his presence.

“I told you not to speak that word,” he said, turning his back on her. “You both sicken me.”

For two hours, Kathryn had contemplated a dozen scenarios as to how she might accomplish the simple task of getting to the phone, knowing that only in doing so could she undo what she’d done before Zeke learned more than he knew and made any undoing impossible.

She’d left no option unconsidered. She’d thought about using seduction and quickly abandoned the notion. She’d toyed with the idea of using force and turned her attention elsewhere with even more haste. She’d considered wit, lies, speed, stealth, screams, blackmail, explosions, poison, and even more seduction, and in the end landed on using any and all means, depending on what presented itself, because walking into the valley of death didn’t come with a plan any more than walking on water did.