DEBORAH'S POV
Victoria grabbed my arm when I started toward the door. Her fingers dug into my skin through my sweater.
"Don't go out there. Call the police instead."
I shook her off and kept walking. "He's my husband."
"He's dangerous, Deborah. Whatever he wants, it can't be good."
The intercom crackled again. Elijah's voice filled the hallway, smooth and patient like he had all the time in the world.
"I know you're listening, sweetheart. Come talk to your husband."
My hands shook when I reached for the front door handle. Victoria was right. Nothing good would come from this conversation. But I had to know what he wanted. I had to see his face to know why he was so on edge. Why he would show up here and now.
The night air hit me like a slap. Cold and sharp, carrying the smell of rain and dying leaves. Elijah stood just outside the gate, hands in his pockets, looking like he was waiting for a cab instead of confronting his estranged wife in the middle of the night.
