Esther's POV
The soapy water was scalding hot, but I barely felt it. My hands moved on autopilot, scrubbing a plate that was already clean. My mind was a war zone.
Get out. Get Cane. Run.
The plan was simple in my head. The doing of it was impossible. Armstrong was a detective. He had eyes everywhere. If I just took my son and vanished, he would hunt us to the ends of the earth. He'd done it before. I had to be smarter. I had to be a ghost before I even disappeared.
I had to be Esther, the confused, sick wife, right up until the second I wasn't.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and I jumped, a genuine scream catching in my throat. A plate slipped from my fingers and clattered into the sink, chipping.
"Whoa, easy there," Armstrong chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. He'd moved so silently. A hunter's move. My skin crawled.
I forced my body to relax against him. I forced a laugh. It sounded brittle to my own ears. "You scared me."
