Chapter 37 · The Final Clause

The elevator wouldn't open.

I tried the card again. Third time. The panel blinked red and gave me that flat little buzz, like it was bored of me.

Behind me the apartment sat too quiet. Marble, cold winter light, one duffel bag at my feet and my daughter strapped to my chest in her carrier, warm as a loaf of bread, breathing into my collarbone.

"Not today," I told the elevator.

"It's not the elevator."

I turned.

Marcus came down the hall with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled to the elbow. He'd been up since four. I knew because I'd heard him in the study at four, on the phone with Singapore, his voice doing that low flat thing it did when he was deciding how much of somebody's life to take.

"I re-keyed the floor at six," he said. "Your card's dead."

"Then give me a live one."

"No."

"You can't lock a woman inside a building, Marcus. That's not a marriage. That's a felony with nicer furniture."

He walked past me and put his palm on the panel. The doors slid open.