The Serial Killer's Wife by Blake Crouch, Robert Swartwood Page B

remove his hand.”  
    Van snapped his fingers. “Hell yes, you did. And this guy, he doesn’t believe her, thinks she’s just this helpless white girl working in a big bad black bar. So he keeps his hand on her arm, starts to say something else to her, and E here, she doesn’t hesitate.”  
    Todd, a look of awe in his eyes, turned to her. “You’re kidding me. You really did that?”  
    Again she shrugged, though the innocent smile she’d given before was now gone.  
    “Right there in the balls,” Van said, taking another swig of water, “and you want to know the best part? She didn’t drop her tray. She didn’t even tip over any of the glasses or bottles. E’s got perfect balance, I used to say, and it was true.” He squinted at her. “You think that’s true now?”  
    Elizabeth started to speak but yawned instead.  
    “Don’t do that,” Todd said, yawning himself.  
    Van said, “Maybe you two should lie down, rest for a couple of hours.”  
    “We’ll be fine,” Elizabeth said.  
    “E—”  
    “When are those guys getting here?”  
    “They’ll get here when they get here.” Van’s phone vibrated on the table. He picked it up, read what Elizabeth assumed was a text message, and sighed. “I have to head downstairs. I’ll come get you when they arrive.” He nodded at the books on the table. “And when you get the chance, you might want to freshen up on your history.”  
    And then he was headed toward the door, walking backward, saying, “Todd, have E tell you about the time she sliced a guy with a beer bottle. Smashed it right across the table and held it at his throat.”  
    Todd gave a half-laugh, glanced at Elizabeth with another look of awe. “Now that one can’t be true. Can it?”  
    Van laughed as he left, shutting the door behind him.  
    Elizabeth yawned again, louder this time. “I don’t know what’s come over me. My eyelids are starting to get heavy.”  
    “Do you want to lie down?”  
    “No. Once those guys get here, I want to be awake.”  
    “Why? They can work on the trace without you looking over their shoulders.”  
    “I just want to be there.”  
    Todd said, “So is it true?”  
    “Is what true?”  
    “What he said. About you breaking a bottle and stabbing some guy.”  
    “First of all, I didn’t stab him. It was just a little cut. Second of all, what does it matter?”  
    “It doesn’t. I’m just ...”  
    “Yeah?”  
    “Impressed. Well, I’m also sort of intimated. Actually, I’m very intimated. And”—here he lowered his voice—“kind of turned on.”  
    “Don’t.”  
    “What?”  
    “Just don’t.”  
    “Sorry.” Todd went to take another sip of his beer but set it back on the table. “I’m such a lightweight. Shouldn’t even have had that one.”  
    Elizabeth yawned again. She couldn’t help it.  
    Todd yawned too, said, “Come on, you have to stop that,” and yawned again.  
    “Maybe you should lie down.”  
    “Are you sure?”  
    “I’ll wake you when they get here.”  
    “Then what are you going to do?”  
    “I don’t know.” She motioned at the books Van had left. “Freshen up on some of my history, I guess.”  
    Todd looked hesitant, but then he went over to the couch and lay down.  
    Elizabeth stood up and went to the window. She stared down at the street, at the cars driving past, at the gangbangers on the corner, and she found herself yawning again, too.  
    She told herself no, she couldn’t sleep, not even for a few minutes. Because what if something were to happen in those few minutes she was asleep? What if Cain tried calling? What would he do if he couldn’t get hold of her? Would he take it out on Matthew?  
    Todd seemed to be right on the brink of sleep when she brushed a few loose strands of hair from his forehead. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes slowly, peered up at her.  
    “Yeah?” he murmured.  
    “Do you think I can get in here,