Chapter 11: What I Did at Dawn

Elias's POV

She slept with one hand curled under her chin and the other open on the couch where I had been.

I stood in the doorway and watched her breathe.

Slow and steady, alive in my house.

She had a bandage on her palm that I had put there myself.

I had been afraid of this for a year.

I had been afraid she would walk into my room and I would touch her, and then I would have something to lose.

Now I had it, and my hands wouldn't stop shaking, so I went downstairs.

The boathouse was quiet at three in the morning.

One of my men sat at the front desk with a paperback, and he looked up.

"Car, boss?"

"Not yet."

I poured a glass of water I didn't drink and stood at the kitchen window, looking at the river.

I had made myself a promise a year ago, alone in an empty room.

Not this time.

I put the glass down.

At five, I left her a note on the desk and went out.

The Lasker family's attorney lived in a pale brick house in the good part of Ashville.

He had a dog and a pruned hedge.

He was the man who had drawn up Arthur Pellam's transfer papers.

I parked at the curb and waited until a light came on in his upstairs window.

He came out onto the porch in a robe at six, to find the newspaper, and he saw me and stopped.

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