In Her Eyes

by Sarah Alderson

Genres: Crime Fiction; Suspense; Mystery

Synopsis

You’re at home with your family.
You think you’re safe.
You’re wrong…

Ava’s life is the kind other people envy: loving husband; great kids; beautiful house. Until the night a violent home invasion turns the dream into a nightmare, and leaves her beautiful daughter fighting to survive.

And then things get worse. Ava realises that the attack wasn’t random. Someone is targeting her family. Why? Who could hate them enough to kill?

Ava must find out what really happened that night, to save those she loves from even greater danger. But when everyone around you has been lying, how do you decide who to trust?

And Ava has secrets of her own…

For fans of The Silent Patient, The Wife Between Us and Perfect Child, In Her Eyes is a dark and twisty thriller; you’re about to find out that home is where the hate is.

Release date: November 14, 2019

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter 10

June looks so tiny lying in her hospital bed that I’m immediately thrown back to the days when we lived on the cancer ward with her. The rage inside me swells as I sit by her side in my wheelchair and hold her hand, feeling as impotent as I did back then, and just as angry – maybe angrier because I have a focus for my anger this time, I’m not just raging at a bunch of out-of-control cells.

‘June,’ I whisper over the slow, steady beeping of the machines keeping her alive. ‘It’s Mom.’ I fall silent. I don’t know what else to say. What is there to say? Can she even hear me?

They said that the first twenty-four hours are critical and it’s been almost twenty and so far there’s no change.

Please God, I say as I stroke June’s hair. It must be the thousandth time I’ve thought the words in the last hour. She beat the odds before. She’ll beat them again. I have to believe that. But looking at her lying there, lifeless and pale as a corpse, her chest rising and falling shallowly as a machine forces air into her lungs, I can’t help but feel like the game is already up, that every breath is a countdown.

I turn and catch a glimpse of the police officer standing guard outside our door. When Nate came back an hour ago to finish our interview, I asked him again about the men returning to finish the job. He reassured me that we had nothing to worry about, but that he’d also arranged a police guard – two seemingly contradictory statements that I didn’t call him on because I was afraid to. He must think there’s a risk and that terrifies me.

The door suddenly flies open.

‘Mom!’

Hannah bursts into the room. She’s wearing jeans and an oversized sweater and carrying a small backpack over her shoulder. I wince as she hugs me and she pulls back, face aghast, at the sight of my IV and bandaged head.

‘I’m OK,’ I tell her, reaching up to stroke her face. ‘I’m OK.’

She turns to June and her face pales. ‘When will she wake up?’ Hannah asks, staring down at her sister.

‘Soon,’ I hear myself answer.

She sits down on the other side of the bed from me. Her hair – lighter brown than June’s, and wavy like mine – is tied up in a messy ponytail and she looks exhausted, circles ringing her cornflower-blue eyes, her face pale and stark without her usual lashings of makeup. She strokes the dyed blue ends of June’s hair, her bottom lip starting to tremble.

‘She dyed her hair blue,’ she stammers, tears spilling down her cheeks.

My throat constricts, tears welling in my own eyes. ‘Did Laurie and Dave pick you up?’ I ask, trying to turn the focus from June because it’s too much.

Hannah nods. ‘Laurie called me this morning. I got the first flight I could.’

The door opens again. This time it’s Gene, looking exhausted, with a day’s worth of stubble, still wearing the clothes I saw him in last night. He’s carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Hey,’ he says when he sees Hannah.

He puts the coffee down on a side table and shuffles towards her, but she doesn’t get up and so his intended hug becomes a pat on her shoulder. He frowns and backs away, picking up his coffee and coming to stand behind me.

I would have thought the animosity between them might have softened given the circumstances but it’s still there, going strong. Hannah has had an issue with Gene ever since he moved into the apartment over the garage, since before that really. She’s had it out with me on more than one occasion – she thinks he’s spoiled and gets away with everything. She’s the one who got a 4.0 grade point average, she’s the one who scored an academic scholarship, she’s the one who’s worked the hardest, so why is Gene the one who gets rewarded all the time?

It’s classic jealousy between siblings and I get her point of view. But it’s not a competition. We bought her a car. We pay for the tuition that isn’t covered by her scholarship as well as her accommodation, and NYU is one of the most expensive colleges in the country. She’s not exactly getting a bum deal.

‘Where’s your dad?’ I ask Gene.

‘He’s in with the insurance person – I think there’s a problem with the paperwork.’

I sigh. For God’s sake. We were victims of a burglary. Our daughter is in a coma fighting for her life. And they’re expecting us to fill out forms? The whole healthcare system in this country is insane.

‘I’m telling you, we should have moved to Canada years ago,’ Gene says.

It’s something we joke about a lot – given the backward state of healthcare and the rising number of gun-toting crazy people in the US.

‘Why don’t you move there?’ Hannah asks. ‘Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t be able to live rent free if you did.’

‘You gave a statement to the police?’ I ask Gene, trying to change the subject.

He glances my way, distracted. ‘To that Sheriff guy.’

‘Where were you last night?’ I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

‘I went out with a friend.’ He swallows hard as he stares at June.

‘What friend?’

Gene shakes his head. ‘No one you know,’ he mumbles, then his eyes fill with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I should have been home. I could have . . .’

‘I’m glad you weren’t,’ I say, taking his hand, and hearing Hannah sigh loudly in the background. She’s got it into her head that Gene’s my favorite, which is frankly ridiculous. I don’t have favorites. That should be clear to all of them.

Gene brushes his hand over his face to force back the tears.

‘I’m going to find Dad,’ Hannah says, getting up and rushing out of the room, letting the door bang shut angrily behind her. Gene takes her empty chair and slides his hand into June’s and we sit there in silence, locked in our own thoughts.

The doctor, a woman a couple of years younger than me, comes in a few minutes later and runs some tests on June. I wait, biting my tongue, hoping that she’ll turn to me smiling and tell me that June is showing signs of improvement, but when she does finish writing up her notes, her expression is grim.

‘Is there any change?’ I ask.

She shakes her head. ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Walker. We’ll let you know the minute there is.’

‘She’ll be fine,’ Gene says to me when the doctor leaves.

I don’t answer. It used to infuriate me when people told me that while she was going through chemo and it infuriates me just the same now. He’s not clairvoyant. How could he know she’s going to be fine?

‘You remember the time her hair started to fall out?’ Gene asks quietly.

I nod. All her beautiful hair. How can I forget that moment when she screamed at me and I came running, terror making me fly so fast my feet barely touched the ground? We knew, of course, it was a side effect of the chemo. But June hadn’t fully understood what would happen to her; how sick she was. Not until then.

‘She was so upset,’ I whisper, stroking her hair back from her face, remembering how fair and straight it used to be.

‘Yeah,’ says Gene, smiling.

I smile too. June woke up the next morning and declared she was going to shave all her hair off for charity. Gene and Robert both shaved their heads too, in solidarity with her. I would have done mine as well, but June made me promise I wouldn’t because she said I’d look ugly if I did.

She didn’t flinch or cry when the clippers got to work and her hair started to drift in clumps to the ground, her lip didn’t even tremble – and she was only six years old. I had never felt so proud in my life as I did that day.

‘She’s going to be fine,’ Gene whispers again.

Chapter 11

A nurse comes to get me a few minutes later to take me back to my room. The doctor wants to check my stitches and make sure I’m healing properly. I try to protest but there’s no arguing and Gene says he’ll stay with June, which makes me feel better because I can’t stand the thought of her being alone, not even for a minute.

I catch Hannah in the hallway outside talking to the Sheriff on duty at the door to the ICU.

Hannah sees me and breaks off her conversation, heading straight over. ‘Why are there police on the door?’ she demands, a flash of fear in her eyes.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ I reassure her. ‘It’s just a precaution.’

‘What for?’ she asks. ‘Is June in some kind of danger?’

‘No, of course not,’ I say, though I can tell she’s not buying it. ‘Where are you staying tonight?’ I ask, changing the subject so she can’t dwell too much on it.

‘I don’t know,’ Hannah answers. ‘Not in the house though.’ She shudders at the thought, wrapping her arms around her body.

‘It’s still a crime scene,’ I tell her. ‘We can’t go home until the police say we can. Why don’t you and Gene stay with Laurie and Dave? They spoke to your father and said you could.’ You’ll be safe there, I think, but don’t say. Despite Nate’s reassurances I can’t help but worry that the men will return to the house. It’s stupid – I mean, why would they risk it? But still I can’t shake the fear. I don’t know how I’ll ever feel normal again, how I’ll ever get rid of the terror gnawing away on my insides.

‘What about Dad?’ Hannah asks.

‘He’s going to stay here so someone can be with June.’

Hannah walks me back to my room and waits while the nurse records my blood pressure and the doctor shines a little light in my eyes and checks all my responses.

‘How’s the pain?’ he asks me. ‘Still have a headache?’

‘It’s getting better,’ I tell him. It’s now just a dull ache interrupted by the occasional savage spear of pain, usually if I move my head too fast.

‘The scar won’t show. It’ll be covered by your hair,’ he says and I snort. As if I care about what I look like.

‘How much longer do I need to be here?’ I say.

‘I’d like to keep you in for observation for one more day, just to make sure there are no complications.’ He makes a move for the door.

‘Oh my God,’ Hannah says as he leaves, pointing out the window. ‘Have you seen how many news crews there are outside?’

I shuffle to the window and look down. Below us, outside the main entrance to the hospital, are dozens of news crews and vans.

Hannah moves to the bedside table to pick up the television remote and before I can argue she’s flicked the TV on. CNN comes up and my jaw drops open as I see a picture of our house. It’s film footage shot from a helicopter. You can see Gene’s old green Highlander parked in our drive alongside a dozen police cars, yellow tape crisscrossing the front door and the entrance to the garage. People in white jumpsuits, like you see in the movies, are walking in and out of the house and Gene’s apartment over the garage. It’s on mute but the scrolling headline across the bottom blares: INTERNET ENTREPRENEUR’S DAUGHTER SHOT IN HOME INVASION . . . DAUGHTER IN CRITICAL CONDITION.

‘Turn it off,’ I whisper.

Hannah clicks it off. ‘This is insane,’ she whispers back.

There’s a pause while I wonder how we’ll ever go home after this. I can’t imagine stepping foot in the house again, let alone spending a night there.

‘Do you think they’ll catch them?’ Hannah asks, looking at me, terrified.

‘Yes,’ I tell her, wanting to erase the look of fear on her face, but the truth is I don’t know.

Chapter 12

DAY 3

Something wakes me in the early hours of the morning. I burst into consciousness with my heart pounding, sweat pasting my hair to the pillow. Disorientated, I glance around, relaxing a little when I see Robert slumped in a chair fast asleep and the reassuring shadow of the police officer standing on duty outside. But then I become aware of the pain in my head. What did I just dream about? Something niggles at me. There was something I needed to remember.

‘Are you OK? Do you need something?’ It’s Robert. He’s awake and on his feet, hovering over me.

‘No, I’m OK,’ I tell him. ‘Why aren’t you with June?’

‘They needed to run some more tests and I was in the way, so I came to check on you. I must have fallen asleep.’

I reach over and take his hand. In the dim light I can see the bruises on his face are turning a mottled blue and purple color and he has pouchy bags beneath his eyes. ‘You look tired,’ I say.

He shakes the comment off and reaches over to the light switch, turning it up so he can see to pour a glass of water. The gesture triggers a memory.

‘How did they get in?’ I ask.

Robert doesn’t answer. He busies himself pouring the water.

‘Why was the house alarm off?’ I press.

‘I turned it off,’ Robert says quietly, handing me the glass.

‘Why?’

‘I took the trash out and forgot to reset it.’

I frown. The alarm came with the house and the first time I saw it I laughed. I mean, why was it needed? We live in a place where the crime rate is so low it often wins accolades for being the safest town in southern California. We have a police department of two.

Robert’s head is bowed. He’s waiting for me to say something but I bite my tongue. I want to yell at him, scream at him. Why did he forget to reset the alarm? None of this would have happened but for one stupid mistake – a mistake that might cost us our daughter. I grind my teeth but I know if I let my anger out, there will be no reining it back in. How can I blame him? I’m looking for a scapegoat, that’s all – someone to hurl all my anger and grief at in the absence of a culprit. It was a mistake. He didn’t mean to do it. How many times have I left the alarm off or gone to bed and remembered as I climbed under the covers that I hadn’t set it but then rolled over and gone to sleep anyway because I was too lazy to go back downstairs?

With a monumental effort I slide my hand over his. He looks up, his eyes filled with tears and relief that I’m not blaming him. We stay like that for a while until he pulls his hand out from under mine, ostensibly to wipe at his nose.

‘You and the Sheriff, then?’ he asks. He says it lightly but the words feel weighted. ‘You went to school together?’

‘Mmm,’ I say, my heart rate accelerating, wondering how much I should admit to, and why Robert’s chosen now to bring it up. Does he know something? I need to stay calm, monitor my reaction and choose my words carefully.

‘Didn’t you used to date him in high school?’ Robert asks.

How does he know? My surprise must show in my face.

‘He told me,’ Robert says.

I stare at him astonished. Nate told him? Why?

‘He did?’ I say. ‘It was only for a short time.’

‘You haven’t seen him since school then?’

‘God no,’ I say quickly, probably too quickly. I feign sleepiness, wanting to put a stop to the conversation. ‘Can you go and check on June?’ I add hastily. ‘I don’t like her being alone. What if something happens and neither of us is there?’

They told me last night that she’s through the most critical stage but she still isn’t breathing on her own. The bullet collapsed her lung and nicked an artery. She lost so much blood before the ambulance arrived that she suffered two cardiac arrests before she made it to the hospital. The paramedic who brought her in came to see me earlier and told me it’s a miracle she’s even alive.

Robert gets up slowly and makes his way over to the door and for the first time ever I see him as old; someone’s stooped-over grandfather, not the young, dashing man I fell in love with, not even the greying but distinguished man I kissed goodnight the other day. He’s aged a decade or more overnight and it makes something in my heart ache anew.

‘Robert,’ I call just as he’s leaving.

He turns.

‘I love you,’ I say.

Robert gives me a grim smile that fades as fast as it appears, and then shuffles out of the room. With an effort, I stretch and turn off the light and lie there in the semi-darkness, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing. Every time I close my eyes the man in the skull mask appears in front of me, leering at me, his tongue lolling out between his tombstone teeth.

Chapter 13

18 MONTHS AGO

Hannah kicks her feet up onto the dash and I glance over at her long, flawless legs, feeling a pang of loss for the child she once was and for the days I used to carry her everywhere on one hip. There’s a hint of envy too, of the smooth perfection of her skin, along with annoyance at how wasted youth is on the young. She has no idea how gorgeous she is, nor how quickly that bloom will fade, hopefully not as fast as mine did . . . but then, hopefully she won’t get pregnant as young as I did.

As we crest the mountain and spot the ocean glittering with promise in the distance, my phone rings through the car’s audio system, interrupting the thumping godawful music Hannah insisted we listen to. She huffs as some rapper singing about hos being messy gets cut off. The number on the screen says unidentified.

‘It’s just spam,’ Hannah says. ‘Don’t answer.’

I answer, if only to give my ears some respite from the caterwauling misogyny.

‘Hello,’ I say.

‘Ava?’ Gene’s voice comes booming through the speakers so loudly I have to spin the volume dial way down.

‘Gene, where are you?’ I ask. ‘Where are you calling from?’

Hannah pulls her legs off the dash and sighs melodramatically, as is her wont when it comes to Gene.

‘Um . . . I’m kind of in jail.’

‘Jail? What for?’ I ask, realizing my foot has come off the gas and I’m veering across the lane, onto the hard shoulder. I right the car.

‘What did you do?’ Hannah asks, her tone a little too gleeful.

‘Could you come and pick me up?’ Gene pleads. ‘It’s the county jail in Ventura.’

‘Yes,’ I say, already signaling to take the southbound entrance onto the freeway. What the hell has he done? Is it another DUI?

‘No,’ interrupts Hannah. ‘We can’t come and get you. We’re on our way to Santa Barbara to go shopping.’

‘No,’ I say over the top of her, ‘of course we’ll come and get you.’

Hannah gives another loud sigh and crosses her arms over her chest.

‘Do I need to call a lawyer?’ I ask in a panic as I merge onto the freeway.

‘What did you do?’ Hannah asks again.

‘Were you driving under the influence?’ I ask, thinking that’s the most likely situation, but the call drops before I get an answer.

‘Damn,’ I hiss. If he’s been caught driving under the influence I am going to kill him.

‘I bet you it’s drugs,’ says Hannah smugly. ‘He was probably driving stoned. I mean he’s always stoned.’

‘He’s quit.’

‘Yeah, right. It could be sex with a minor.’

‘What?’ I shriek, glancing at her.

She shrugs. ‘Some of those hos he brings back are like, sixteen.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I say, turning to face her. ‘And don’t call women hos. You’re listening to too much of that music. It’s rotting your brain. And what are you saying anyway? Gene doesn’t date sixteen-year-olds.’

‘You think he bothers to check their IDs before he bones them?’

I open my mouth, then shut it. The truth is, though I try to sneak glimpses at the women who trail in and out of his apartment, it’s usually at night. Is Hannah right? Is he sleeping with underage girls?

Shit. Maybe I should call the lawyer. Or at least Robert. I decide to wait until I know the charges, but Hannah’s incessant speculation about Gene’s crime makes me wonder if that’s wise.

By the time I find parking I’m wound so taut with worry that I snap at Hannah to stay in the car. I don’t need her endless snarking commentary accompanying me inside. But, of course, she doesn’t listen and follows me in.

The deputy behind the bulletproof window in reception tells us to wait and so we do, sitting down on a row of bolted-together plastic chairs, opposite a board papered with Most Wanted and Missing posters. How can so many children be missing? Where do they all go? I turn my attention away from all those sad little faces and glance at Hannah.

She’s on her phone, texting. I’ve no idea who. She’s always on her phone, texting, posting, taking selfies. The narcissism of her generation never fails to shock me. June seems to have grown up with a more sensible and objective view of social media, refusing so far to dip her toe into a world she considers superficial and vain.

Hannah is the opposite. She’s always been conscious of the way she looks. Even when she was seven years old she had to have the right sneakers, the right hair ties, and the right backpack for school. At fifteen she started her own YouTube channel, giving makeup tutorials, teaching people to apply the perfect cat eye and how to contour. When she went to college she shut it down, obviously realizing that a future as a Kardashian wasn’t on the cards. She still posts to Instagram, and I’m secretly quite glad because unlike June, who tells me everything, Hannah has always kept the lid on her private life. Her posts are the only window I have into her life in New York. Recently, though, her Instagram has become less fish pout-y and more Proust-y. She doesn’t post selfies so much as obscure quotes about life that veer from the clichéd to the confounding, as though she’s pulling them from poorly written fortune cookies. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s being ironic. It’s so hard to tell with Hannah. Her beauty hides a brilliant mind, but you’d never know because she disguises it so well.

I pull out my own phone and contemplate calling Robert to tell him about Gene. But he’s at June’s basketball game and I don’t want to take him away. He and June rarely spend time together as it is.

A shadow falls over me as I sit there figuring out what to do, and I look up at the sound of my name.

‘Ava?’

There’s a man standing in front of me. ‘Nate?’ I stammer, astonished. I get to my feet unsteadily. Oh my God. Nate Carmichael. It is him. I stare at him in wonder and he stares right back at me, grinning.

‘It is you,’ he says, his gaze falling the length of me, taking me in. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’

A rush of blood to my face feels like. . .