As the engines kicked in and the plane shot forward, Scott marveled, not for the first time, at the situation in which he now found himself. He never could fathom how he’d gone from a man who loved and adored his wife to one who feared her. She was still the same woman he’d fallen in love with, the same girl who’d had him floored from the first day they met, but she was also someone else; a stranger, someone who would not hesitate to do the unthinkable.

He’d known she was fragile when he married her, but that had been part of the appeal. She was broken but refined, like those Japanese vases in which cracks became precious when repaired with gold. The reasons behind that fragility, though, were hazy. He’d asked questions while they were dating, but she was an expert at deflection. What little she had shared suggested that she’d fled a painful past and was no longer in touch with her family. He could understand that, and chose not to press her for details. It was only once they were engaged and planning a wedding that the truth came out: there was no family. She’d been the only child of a single parent, and that parent had tragically passed away. After a string of failed foster-care arrangements, she got her own place and a job, and saved her money. On her twenty-third birthday, she had booked a trip around the world and never looked back.

So, Scott had decided, he would be her everything. She would never be alone again. He dressed her in expensive clothes and put her in expensive cars and bang, she was fixed. Mended. Back to normal. You’re welcome, little lady.

It never occurred to him that there might be more to it than that.

It took him years to face the enormity of what she’d done. He should have gone to the police the minute he arrived at Querencia, the minute he saw that strange little girl. Maybe then it wouldn’t have been so bad; maybe she would have got the help she really needed. But it was too late for that now.

Scott writhed in his seat, sweat now pouring off his forehead. He willed the plane to go faster. He removed his sunglasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, trying to sit quietly.

“You alright, mate?” a voice said.

Scott opened his eyes.

The man in the seat next to him was peering at Scott through narrowed eyes. “You don’t look like you’re doing so well. I’ve got some travel sickness pills if you want one. Or two?”

“I’m fine,” said Scott.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Okay, no probs. They’re here if you change your mind.”

Scott closed his eyes again and tried to focus. Maybe he was sick. He did feel like he could easily throw up or pass out. Perhaps he was having a heart attack. Perhaps he would go into cardiac arrest on the plane, and the guy next to him would stand up and call out, Is there a doctor on board? and paramedics would greet them on the tarmac, bundle him into an ambulance, and drive him away to a bright room where nurses would fuss and fold him into soft white blankets.

His neighbor leaned forward again. “Sorry to keep on bothering you, mate, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”

With a great effort, Scott turned his head. The man was fat and red-faced with piggy eyes, his neck rolls stuffed into a cheap-looking polo shirt. His skin was barnacled with flaking moles.

“Yeah, I do,” said the piggy man. “From the telly. What was that show? You were talking about the stock market.”

Scott glared at him. Look at me again, you repulsive piece of shit, and I’ll pull your eyeballs out of your head with my bare fucking hands.

The pig man’s smile faded into a frown, and Scott turned away, staring instead through the window at the wispy clouds floating over the approaching French coastline and wondering, were he to rip open the emergency exit door and hurl himself out, how long it would take for him to die.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

EMILY

UP IN her bedroom, Emily hauled her suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. Her stomach churned. The smell of the stew lingered in her sinuses, clinging to the back of her throat like oil.

You’re so fucking stupid, she told herself. And gullible. Blind. Weak. How did it take you so long?

She started opening drawers and pulling clothes out, then changed her mind. She would take only what she really needed. Pausing midstride, she wondered how she would get to the airport.

Well, obviously I’ll drive. I’ll just take the car and leave it at the airport.

But what if I can’t get a flight straightaway? What if Nina follows me there, or sends Yves to bring me back?

She imagined sprinting through the airport like Jason Bourne, pushing people aside in her haste to get away. She would just have to go to one of the bigger airports, where she would blend in with the crowd, walk up to the desk, and buy a ticket to anywhere in the UK. London, Manchester, Glasgow, whatever was available. She would pay for it with Scott’s credit card, the one she used for groceries.

No. Bad idea. They’d be able to access the transaction and they might know which airline she’d used. It would have to be cash. She had a bundle of notes stockpiled in her sock drawer; she could stop at an ATM on the way and grab some more. And then, as soon as she was back in England, her parents would protect her. They would tell her what to do.

As the shadows grew long and dusk crept in, Emily paced around her room, waiting for a chance to venture downstairs without risking a run-in with Nina. Feeling more focused with each passing hour, she scurried between the windows, peeping over the sills and around the curtains and ducking out of sight again at the slightest sign of movement. At one point, she even lay flat on the floor and commando-crawled her way to the balcony so she could peer undetected through the gaps in the balustrade.

Below, Nina seemed to be getting on with the day. She and Aurelia had cleared the table and packed away the dishes. Then they’d gone for a swim. Afterward, as they strolled back past the guesthouse, Nina had looked up several times at Emily’s window, but she hadn’t made any move to come inside.

Only after they’d both finally gone inside the family house did Emily feel secure enough to open her door and tiptoe out onto the landing. Taking care to keep her head down, she hurried down the stairs and into the hallway, casting around for her handbag. It had to be there somewhere. She remembered dropping it earlier.

Where is it, where is it…? She checked on the coatrack, behind the doors, and even on the porch. Had she taken it upstairs with her? No, she’d definitely dropped it right here in the hallway. Eventually she found it in the dining room, hanging from the back of one of the chairs. She rummaged inside; then, failing to find what she was looking for, she pulled out the contents and spread them out over the table.

Her jaw fell open. There, scattered across the glossy oak surface, was her small change purse and a few loose coins, a pot of lip gloss, an old shopping list, a pink plastic ring Aurelia had given her, Scott’s credit card … and absolutely nothing else.

Back in her room again, she dragged the chair from under the dressing table and wedged it under the door handle.

Nina had taken the car keys. She probably had them strung around her neck like a jailer.

Nope, Emily thought, trying to rouse some bravery. No way. I won’t be trapped here. I’m not some defenseless toddler. You can’t abduct me. So, she couldn’t drive out. Fine. No problem. Change of plan. She would walk out instead.

Changing into a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt, she glanced at the clock. She had about three and a half hours to wait until darkness fell and Nina went to bed. In the meantime, she would pack. Phone, she thought, clicking her fingers. Don’t bloody forget that again. Returning to the wardrobe, she stretched up on her tiptoes and felt around. Then she yanked a few clothes out of the way and felt some more.

With a horrible cold feeling spreading outward from her breastbone, she ran to the chair, sliding it back out from under the door handle. Placing it in front of the wardrobe, she climbed up. The shelf was empty. Her phone was gone.

She jumped down from the chair, hurried to the dressing table, and tugged open the middle left-hand drawer, riffling through old travel documents, receipts, and UK bank cards, already knowing what she would, or would not, find. No passport. That was gone, too.

Emily spun around, clutching her head as if it might fall off. Phone, passport, car keys. Nina had taken them all. She was trapped.

Crossing to the balcony doors, she peeked through the curtains. Outside, the cicadas were starting up. The gently bobbing sun cast an orange glow over the tallest of the pines, lighting them up like birthday candles. Even though the sky was still bright, all the security lights were already on, their fluorescent beams chasing away every creeping shadow. The message was clear: I see you.

Resting her forehead against the window frame, Emily let the tears come. “There’s no place like home,” she whispered. “There’s no place like home.”

Click. Click. Click.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SCOTT