Page 103 of The Illusion
"He won't suspect," Jamie says. "He thinks he's already won."
She's right. Asher thinks he's well out ahead of me. He thinks I'm broken and desperate and clinging to a marriage that's already dead. He thinks I'll be licking my wounds in the San Juan Islands while he gets his kicks.
He has no idea I'm about to become his worst nightmare.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
JULIE
The addressto the house Ryan sent us in West Seattle is a modest two-story craftsman on a tree-lined street where the houses are close together and the cars parked along the curb are Hondas and Subarus, not Audis and Teslas. The kind of neighborhood where people actually know their neighbors. Where kids ride bikes on the sidewalk and someone's always mowing their lawn on a Saturday morning.
It’s the kind of neighborhood Asher would never, ever set foot in. Which makes it perfect. Ryan opens the door before we can knock. "Hey," he says, and his smile is warm and reassuring and exactly what I need right now. "Come in."
The inside of the house is just as unassuming as the outside. Hardwood floors, white walls, furniture that looks like it came from IKEA. There's a couch and a coffee table in the living room, a small dining table near the kitchen, stairs leading up to what I assume are bedrooms. It's clean and functional and completely anonymous.
"I know it's not much," Ryan says, closing the door behind us. "But it's a brand new acquisition which means it's nottraceable back to me yet. Even if he looked, he wouldn’t know about this place.”
"It's perfect. Thank you," I say, and my voice cracks a little. "Ryan, I don't know how to?—"
"Don't," he says gently. "You don't have to thank me. This is what friends do."
I swallow hard and nod.
"So," Jamie says, breaking the moment. "What's the plan?"
Ryan gestures toward the dining table, where a laptop is open and a stack of papers is spread out. "The investigator is meeting us here in about twenty minutes. He'll go over the surveillance plan, show you the equipment, and answer any questions. He’ll start working right away. Marcus is good. He's done work for my dad before. Nothing like this, but he knows how to handle sensitive situations."
I walk over to the table and look at the papers. There are maps, schedules, notes in Ryan's handwriting. He's thought of everything.
"You really did this," I say quietly. "You really planned all of this."
Ryan comes to stand beside me. "I told you. I'm not letting him get away with what he's done to you."
Our eyes meet, and for a second I forget how to breathe. There's something in his expression—something fierce and protective and so different from the way Asher looks at me. Like I matter. Like I'm worth fighting for. But for real.
It makes me wonder how the hell I ever fell for Asher’s bullshit. Because looking back, all the signs were there.
Jamie clears her throat. "I'm gonna go check out the upstairs. See which room I'm claiming."
She disappears up the stairs, leaving Ryan and me alone.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I don't know," I admit. "Yesterday I was just trying to survive. And now I'm here planning to gather evidence against my husband. It doesn't feel real."
"It's real," Ryan says. "And you're doing the right thing."
"What if we can't find anything to bring him down?”
Ryan shakes his head. “The man I talked to yesterday doesn’t have it all together. He’s cocky. And cocky makes mistakes. There is no doubt in my mind that Marcus is going to find things.”
We’re interrupted by a knock at the door, which Ryan goes to answer. A man in his forties steps inside—average height, average build, the kind of face you'd forget five minutes after meeting him. Which, I realize, is probably the point.
"Marcus," Ryan says. "This is Julie.”
Marcus extends his hand. "I'm sorry we're meeting under these circumstances."
