Page 17 of Her Final Hours
Tommy knew the conversation was over. He locked eyes with Maddie, his expression a mixture of intensity and desperation. “This isn’t over, Maddie,” he said in a low voice. His voice held a chilling promise. “I’ll be seeing you.”
With that said, Tommy retreated, his footsteps fading as he returned to his truck, his mind filled with a volatile cocktail of emotions. The encounter hadn’t gone as planned, but it only fueled his determination to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.
Back inside, he eyed her through the windshield as the engine roared to life, a symphony of power and pent-up aggression. Tommy cast a final glance her way, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and menace. High Peaks had become a battlefield, and he was determined to emerge victorious.
With a screech of tires, his truck sped away into the morning, leaving her standing there, trembling with fear and uncertainty. He glanced at her in his rearview mirror as she retrieved her phone from the ground and brought it to her ear — no doubt calling the cops or alerting her brothers to be on the lookout. He expected that. He expected it all.
The park was perfect.
No cameras. No one really to vouch for her except that interfering jogger, and he had a way of keeping someone like that quiet.
He drove by a cop car idling in a turnout and smiled. The chase had begun. Tommy was now driven by a toxic mix of obsession and revenge, and today had set the wheels in motion for a sinister game. At the heart of it all, Maddie and those around her would soon discover the line between hunter andprey was about to blur, where anything could happen and would.
And only one would be satisfied, and he fully intended that to be him.
7
Monday, March 19, 8:58 a.m.
It was to be the first of many therapist appointments, arranged by Savannah specifically for law enforcement and first responders. She felt it was required in light of all he’d been through with the loss of his brother and ex-wife. He’d referred people to them many a time in the past, but using one himself? That was a no-no. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see the benefit; it was just that opening up to a stranger and airing his laundry felt cold. So, he’d canceled the appointment, not expecting to hear back. He assumed the therapist would try to reschedule but would back off after a few missed appointments or unanswered voicemails.
Nope.
Not this one.
Persistence was her strong point. It was almost like she was used to having cops change their minds. Instead, she just kept leaving messages on his cell. “Mr. Sutherland, you appear tohave missed another appointment. I have you booked in for another.” That’s when he knew Savannah was calling the shots. She was the only one with his schedule.
A bitter wind howled through the Adirondacks, carrying a flurry of snowflakes that danced in the air before gently settling on the ground. The sky beyond his windshield was a gloomy gray, a melancholy color, as Noah pulled the Bronco into the gravel driveway of the therapist’s office. The waterfront property stood proudly, facing the tranquil Lake Flower in Saranac Lake.
Noah let the Bronco idle as he second-guessed his decision to show up. He came up with every excuse in his mind: he didn’t need it, it wasn’t essential, he was too busy with the new case to deal with this. Only the continual voicemails from the therapist made him decide it was better to get in and get it out of the way.
Noah’s gaze lingered on the house, a dramatic two-story structure with a charming New England style. Its exterior boasted a blend of white clapboard siding and dark shingles that contrasted against the wintry landscape.
It was clear she made a good living as the home must have been worth a few million.
Through narrowed eyes, he studied the place, hoping to glean something from it, a choice, a decision, anything that would give him insight into who he was about to see. The investigator in him didn’t like the feeling of being led. He was used to making decisive choices, not giving anyone the impression that he couldn’t handle what was before him — that included his life.
The house exuded an air of quiet serenity as if it held the answers to all of life’s troubles within its walls.
He killed the engine but remained there unmoving. Hesitation gnawed at his resolve as he glanced at the side door, where a small sign instructed him to proceed inside. With apprehension and curiosity, Noah got out and felt the cold weather. Hetook a deep breath, contemplating whether he should go through with the appointment or flee back to the sanctuary of his home.
He groaned, pushed open the door, and stepped into the warmth of the house. A hallway stretched before him, lit by soft, inviting lights that cast a golden glow on the polished redwood floor.
Following instructions posted on the wall, he turned into a cozy study. Morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently illuminating the room. The study was adorned with bookshelves full of vintage-style leather-bound books. Each one emanated an aura of wisdom and understanding or attempted to give the impression that she read more than she did.
There was no desk, just several leather armchairs positioned against the wall and a long modern-style sofa.
Noah’s gaze darted around the room, absorbing the details that seemed to paint a picture of the therapist’s life. Family photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments frozen in time. Certificates and diplomas hung proudly behind glass, testaments to her expertise and dedication. He stood before them, scanning, trying to see what value her education could bring to his life. He was being critical, and he hadn’t even met her yet.
Relax, he told himself as he turned and settled into one of the plush armchairs. The study exuded a sense of calm, a feeling of sanctuary from the chaotic world outside.
Noah glanced at a grandfather clock in the corner of the room. He’d arrived a few minutes early, but the therapist wasn’t there. He figured she would be there to greet him, or would she enter only when the clock ticked over to nine? Doubt crept into his mind, whispering that he could get up and slip away unnoticed.She’s not here. She won’t even know.
He got up, just about to give in to the temptation to leave,when a soft voice broke through the silence. “You must be Noah Sutherland,” the woman said, entering the study. “Dr. Olivia Newbury.”
She extended a hand.
Startled, Noah’s heart skipped a beat as he shook it. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I left my wallet in my vehicle. I’ll go get it.”
