Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) Read Free Page A

way, listening. At first, he detected nothing but the heavy breathing of the furnace keeping the house warm against January’s occasional chill. A minute passed leaving him standing in the doorway, not wanting to go in far enough to find his wife, and the end of his marriage.
    A movement in the living room.
    “ Daddy?”
    Their eight-year-old daughter, Dallas. Someone shushed her and an unexpected spark of hope flickered to life in his chest. Was he wrong about his wife? Did he misinterpret the signs? Had his wife’s affair occurred in his head?
    No. Late night hang-ups, days staying hours after work, uncorroborated weekends away with girlfriends, surreptitious lingerie never worn, the sound of her voice on the phone. Nothing suggested this might be a surprise party rather than the end of their lives together.
    “ It’s me, sweetie,” he said, putting on a saccharine tone for his daughter, as much to soothe her as to hide his pain. “Daddy’s home.”
    He walked the few steps from the door and, as his foot stepped off the real-wood-look laminate floor of the hall onto the cream carpet of the living room, he wondered why Dallas wasn’t in school at eleven in the morning on a Wednesday. Was it a good sign? Having Dallas around would keep Taylor from doing anything extreme, saying anything hurtful. But maybe something was wrong with their daughter.
    Or maybe Taylor’s taking her away from me.
    Ben passed through the arched doorway into the modest living room and, at first glance, things seemed odd, but not uncommon. Taylor lay on the worn brown sofa they’d gotten as a wedding present—it pulled out into a double bed in case anyone came to visit, but they’d only used the mattress two or three times and springs already poked through the side—her head in Dallas’ lap, eyes closed. A smile flirted with the edges of Ben’s mouth at the precious sight of mother and daughter, but then other details became clear: tears streaking Dallas’ cheek, an over-turned end table, the line of blood on Taylor’s forehead. His expression faltered and the sour, electric taste of fear flooded his tongue. Did she fall and hit her head? Why didn’t Dallas tell him when he came through the door?
    “What--?”
    He took a step toward them and an arm encircled his throat, cutting off his words, halting his movement. Surprised, he grabbed the arm with both hands; it tightened around his neck, choking him. The weight of the unseen attacker pushed against his back, forcing him to his knees. His fingers slipped as he clawed the nylon sleeve of a waterproof wind breaker. Ben’s eyes darted side to side, searching for a clue to his assailant’s identity, searching for a weapon. His daughter’s face reflected the terror exploding in his own chest, but she didn’t move from the couch, didn’t leave her mother.
    Good girl.
    Cold metal pressed to his left temple drained the fight out of him. He didn’t need anyone to tell him it was a gun held to his head. Dallas screeched.
    “What do you want?” The words wheezed through his constricted windpipe.
    “ I’ve got what I want.”
    “ What?”
    “ You, Ben. You and your family.”
    Ben’s heartbeat sped up, pummeling his ribs.
    He called me Ben.
    “ Who are you?”
    “ Oh, we’ve never met, but we know each other.”
    “ What are you talking about?”
    “ We want the same thing.”
    Confusion and lack of oxygen spun Ben’s head with a wave of vertigo. On the couch, Taylor stirred, her eyelids fluttering, then squinting closed like a drunk waking after a night of hard partying. Dallas began crying again, her sobs shaking her mother’s head in her lap, and the movement seemed to clear the cobwebs from Taylor’s brain, her mothering instincts taking over. Though she’d failed as a wife, she’d been a good mother from the start.
    “Dallas,” she said, voice groggy. “Are you all right?”
    She propped herself up on one elbow and touched her hand to her forehead. When she moved