If only Penley weren’t in the picture.

Chapter 51

SERIOUSLY.

Don’t. Go. There.

With every step, I try talking myself out of it, but there’s another voice, a louder voice – one I barely even recognize as my own – propelling me.

My strides get longer and faster; I’m moving on adrenaline from head to toe. The night air is crisp, a lot cooler than usual for May, and I feel a slight sting on my cheeks.

I look up.Yes. Of course there’s a full moon!

What should be a ten-minute walk takes only five, and before I know it I’m standing right across the street from Michael’s building.

I check my watch. It’s a few minutes past midnight.

And you thought you got Michael angry in Connecticut? That was nothing compared to this.

Through the large glass panels flanking the entrance, I can see the night doorman killing time at his desk. I try to remember his name and I’m almost positive it’s Adam. I’ve only met him once or twice before, when he was filling in on the day shift.

It doesn’t matter.

I dial the building’s number on my cell phone and watch as he picks up. They always answer the same way, announcing the address in lieu of “Hello.”

“Is this Adam?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Hi, it’s Kristin, the nanny for the Turnbulls. Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? Louis let me use the staff bathroom off the lobby this morning, and I think I might have left my purse in there. Could you check for me? Sorry.”

“Sure, hold on a second.”

He puts down the phone and disappears behind the door near his desk. A starter’s pistol fires in my head.

Go!

I dart across Fifth Avenue and burst through the front entrance. Racing through the empty lobby, I make it safely to the stairwell before Adam returns.

I’m in.

I hang up my cell and tiptoe up five flights so I’m well out of earshot. Then I call Adam back.

“Sorry to hang up on you; I had another call coming in,” I say. “Any luck?”

“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see your purse. It’s not at the front desk either.”

“Darn, I thought that’s where I left it. Thanks for looking, though.”

“No problem,” he says.

That’s for sure.

You learn a lot about a building after working in it for a couple of years. In the case of the Turnbulls’, it so happens there are no security cameras on the stairs. Goody for me.

Now comes the hard part.

It’s called breaking and entering.

Chapter 52

I HIKE THE REMAINING thirteen flights, struggling to catch my breath as I reach the penthouse. I check my watch again, which is just a nervous tic, I know.

Lights out at the Turnbulls’ is usually no later than ten. Michael rises with the sun, and Penley sees the benefit of a good night’s sleep strictly from a cosmetic point of view. God forbid she ever has bags under her eyes.

Still, I cool my heels for another fifteen minutes. One last chance, perhaps, to come to my senses.

The chance passes.

Thumbing through my keys, I find the one Penley gave me when I first began working for her. I distinctly recall her saying something snotty and condescending about it being a symbol of trust. What, like I’m going to use it to break in one night?

The key clutched tightly in my hand, I gingerly approach the door and its solid brass lock. Turning my wrist ever so slowly, I try to dull the inevitable snap of the dead bolt. It’s so quiet around me in the hallway. Too quiet. I’m afraid even the slightest noise will wake everyone.

The lock cooperates – barely a sound – and I step inside. I can’t see a thing at first. It’s pitch-black, but I know the apartment so well it wouldn’t matter if I were blindfolded.

This is so insane. What am I doing?

Crossing the foyer, I walk down the long hallway to the bedrooms. Half of me is still pumping with adrenaline, the other half utter fear. It’s like I’m on a tightrope without a net. There’s no excuse for my being here, at least none that anyone else would understand.

I’m steps away from Dakota’s room. I don’t intend to go in, and yet that’s exactly what I do. I feel the need to look at her, to see her sleeping peacefully, and thanks to the glow of a small heart-shaped night-light by her bed, I can. Nestled under her pink covers, she looks so angelic.

I love Dakota and Sean. Who wouldn’t?

Farther down the hallway, I slip into Sean’s room. No such luck with a night-light; he doesn’t like them.

Squinting, I can barely make out his tiny silhouette in the darkness. I edge closer and closer to him when -disaster – I kick something. Legos!

The sound of crashing plastic rips through the room as one of Sean’s fantastic creations splatters against a wall.

He stirs and I freeze, holding my breath, my heart thumping out of control.

“Mommy?” he mutters.

Shit.

What now?

I’m about to panic when it comes to me.

“Yes, honey,” I whisper. “This is just a dream… Go back to sleep now, okay?”

He seems to think it over for a few agonizing seconds. “Okay,” he says finally.

Phew.

I figure if he were really awake he’d recognize my voice. Still, it’s a little too close for comfort.

I should take the hint and escape from the apartment as fast as possible. All I have to do is turn left out of Sean’s room and never look back.

Instead, I turn right and keep going down the hallway.

To Michael and Penley’s room.

Chapter 53

THE DOOR TO MICHAEL and Penley’s bedroom is half closed, and there’s not enough space for me to squeeze inside. Here’s praying for well-oiled hinges.

Slowly I push my way in. No squeak. Instead, just the sound of Michael’s breathing. It’s not quite a snore, more like a low-pitched hum. I recognize it immediately from the few times in which our “sleeping together” actually involved sleeping.

I inch toward them, my footsteps deadened by a huge Persian rug. There’s a scant glow of moonlight filtering in through the curtains. As my eyes adjust, I realize what I’m reminded of.

My darkroom.

I stand at the foot of their king-size bed, staring, feeling nervous. Penley’s on the left, closer to the bathroom. They’re not cuddling, nestling, or spooning – in fact, Michael couldn’t be any farther away from her without rolling off the mattress. Nonetheless, the sight of them sharing a bed immediately irks me.

I know they’re husband and wife, that this is completely normal, even if their marriage isn’t. I simply never thought about it this way. I never see any intimacy between the two of them.

Now here I am looking at them together in bed.

What a weird feeling, so uncomfortable, unsettling. It’s not so much that I’m jealous. It’s more like I’m angry.

I don’t think it’s possible to hate Penley any more than I do right now, and she hasn’t really done anything wrong, has she?

I’m no longer staring at both of them. Just her. I see her bony shoulders jutting out from the puffy duvet, and the turned-up little nose that she wrinkles when something bothers her – which is always. Even asleep she looks like a bitch! Penley could star in Wicked – without makeup.

My eyes drift.

Scattered on the bed are more pillows than two people could ever possibly use. I focus on one propped against the headboard, untouched. My brain ignites, and like sparks, the ideas come flying. All of them evil.

How easy it would be to lean over Penley and grab that pillow, place it on her face with my elbows locked and smother her. If I did it quick enough, she wouldn’t even struggle, would she? There would be no violent kicking, no muffled screams. She’d die a quick, silent, 100 percent goose down death.

Could I really do it?

Hell, I can’t even believe I’m thinking it.