The cold air seemed to seep right through the window glass of the motel room.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for Julian to speak again.

“Julian, where are you?” I whispered.

“I’m at the office, Elena,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, smooth purr. “Working late, trying to clean up the mess you made.”

The buoy clanked again through the line, muffled and metallic.

I remembered the marina near his Greenwich office, but in the dark, the sound felt terrifyingly close.

“Don’t call this number again,” I said.

I ended the call before he could answer.

My hand shook as I set the phone on the wooden nightstand.

I walked over to the small portable crib where Harrison lay.

He was breathing softly, his thumb tucked into his mouth, his little chest rising and falling.

The orange light from the motel sign outside blinked through the gaps in the plastic blinds.

I stood there for a long time, listening to the wind scrape a pine branch against the roof.

I did not sleep for the rest of the night.