Come and get me, p.1
Come And Get Me, page 1
©2024 by Marisa Rae Dondlinger
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The author grants the final approval for this literary material.
First Digital Version
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-68513-405-1
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER: 2023949042
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
To Lolita and Harlow. My angels, my loves.
EARLY PRAISE FOR
“An edge-of-your seat thriller with an intimate look at marriage, Come and Get Me never lets up on the action. Heroes can have feet of clay and somehow the bad guy earns our sympathy. The writing is tight, the emotion raw, and the story so compelling I hated to finish it.”
–Joyce Hurd, author of Always Forward
“Come And Get Me is a gripping domestic thriller that takes readers on a harrowing journey into the depths of obsession, desperation, and the destructive power of unrequited love. Perfect for fans of twisted narratives and complex characters driven to the edge.”
–Gayle Brown, author of A Deadly Game
“Come And Get Me is a fast-moving, gripping, psychological thriller. The clever plot, short, propulsive chapters, flawed characters, severely damaged villain, and concern for Daisy, the sweet baby at the center, made it impossible to put down. I loved it.”
–Karen E. Osborne, author of Reckonings and True Grace
“Come And Get Me is a tense, compelling novel that will shock you. Perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn and Laura Dave, as it explores themes like infidelity, desire, and the bonds of motherhood.”
–Laurel Osterkamp, author of Beautiful Little Furies
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Although writing is a solitary pursuit, the people listed below are invaluable in their commitment and enthusiasm to ensure Come And Get Me is the best book possible.
I’d like to thank Black Rose Writing, Reagan Rothe, and his team, for believing in my story, proactively communicating during the publishing process, lending a keen editing eye, and helping with promotion. I’m honored to be part of the Black Rose Writing family.
Kathie Giorgio at AllWriters Workplace and Workshop for her guidance in bringing this book to life. Your willingness to give your time to discuss plot lines and publicity, as well as be everyone’s biggest cheerleader, is deeply appreciated. To my Tuesday night writing group. Thanks for all the insightful critiques and encouragement to keep pushing ahead.
Kathleen Eull at Pyxis Creative Solutions LLC for her stellar publicity work.
To my parents, the best unpaid publicists on the market! Thanks for promoting my work with friends and strangers alike, and encouraging me to never let go of my dreams.
Lolita and Harlow. You two are the best part of my day. I will always have time to listen, laugh, and give hugs.
Andy. You play so many roles in our lives; husband, father, tennis coach, and best friend. None of this success happens without you in my corner. Thanks for reminding me on tough days that I’m your favorite author. Believe it or not, you’re my favorite tennis player.
PROLOGUE
VANESSA
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 2023 9:55 A.M.
Parked on the street outside Cassidy’s house, I watched through the floor to ceiling windows as she glided around the kitchen, putting away breakfast dishes, wiping counters, sipping coffee, all while wearing the Moby wrap like a girl scout’s sash. Caffeine was horrible for breastfed babies. Led to irritability, inability to sleep, jitteriness—according to Google. I wouldn’t know personally—fuck you, August. Yet, Cassidy refused to make this tiny sacrifice for her baby’s health.
Not that it surprised me. I already knew she was selfish. A liar. Just like her husband.
I pulled off my binocular glasses and checked the notes app in my phone. If habit held, she would put the baby down for her morning nap in five minutes. First piece of advice, new moms: get the baby on a schedule, Cassidy instructed on her weekly podcast, Lost in Babyland. When the baby sleeps, take a break. You earned it! God, her voice grated. Girl-next-door vibes with her relatable confessions and a throaty laugh that said, Hey, I used to be a good time, shooting whiskey and giving my boyfriend the occasional bathroom stall blow job, before pushing out a couple babies. What a slut. And yet, Cassidy got to keep August’s baby.
She was worthy. Not me.
Sure enough, five minutes on the dot, I watched Cassidy carry the baby upstairs. The back of the house spanned two floors, almost entirely windows, but once upstairs, the house provided cover until she emerged in the baby’s—
Baby. I rolled my eyes. Stop being so impersonal. Her name was Daisy. Horrible choice. Daisies tried way too hard to be beautiful. And they never would be, not compared with the classic beauty of roses, the uniqueness of magnolias, or the brilliant colors of stargazer lilies. They were setting Daisy up for a lifetime of low self-esteem.
I would fix that. I would fix everything. Save her. Starting with a new name. Kiah. It meant “New beginning.” I planned to name my baby Kiah. But I wasn’t pregnant anymore, was I, August?
I lowered the window a couple of inches, inhaling deeply. Anger made it difficult to breathe. Think. Exist.
This will be over soon. I’ll be a mother. Be happy again.
I pulled up the Sunshine Baby app, watching as Cassidy changed Kiah. The baby cam. What I first feared would be a roadblock quickly became a bonus. Cracking their Wi-Fi code was easy. The password was Piper, their elder daughter’s birthday—a date Cassidy talked about on her podcast ad nauseam. It was also the garage code. Such naïve, unoriginal, lazy people. Better yet, Cassidy kept the remote access enabled on the app. She wanted to check up on Kiah when out—Date nights are vital, ladies!—but it gave me a front-row seat to watch Kiah from the comfort of my apartment. Again, trust. Had no one ever done Cassidy wrong?
Well, yes, in fact, August did her wrong hundreds of times. In dozens of ways. With me. And other women. But Cassidy didn’t know that.
Yet.
While listening to August and Cassidy on the app, my emotions ranged from apoplectic with jealousy when he complimented her or shared an inside joke, hysterical tears when he said he loved her, to toasting their demise when they bickered. Some nights, I’d fall asleep with the app on, listening to my daughter sleeping, the gentle coos—
“Time to sleep, darling,” Cassidy said now. I watched as she picked Kiah up and flipped off the light. The infrared LED on the app allowed me to see Kiah. “When you get up, we’ll get Piper from school, have some lunch, and then go to the park. Can you take a good nap and let Mommy work?”
Cassidy was incorrigible. Bargaining with her infant daughter to work longer.
She flicked on the sound machine, kissed Kiah’s head, and lay her in her crib. Like a robot. No smile. No “I love you.” I bit my thumbnail, ripping it until the cuticle bled. Her selfishness made me rabid.
Did she get any joy from being a mother? Doubtful. Her podcast was one long bitch session. She was tired. Frazzled. Plagued with guilt. And the questions. So. Many. Questions! Who was she, other than a mother? What was her purpose? Did she have an identity of her own? How could she reclaim it? How would she ensure she didn’t pass her “issues” onto her children?
I laughed. She’ll get her answers soon.
Cassidy went to close the blinds. I looked up. She didn’t bother to check her surroundings. And why would she? In her gilded world, nothing bad happened.
After Cassidy closed the bedroom door, I watched Kiah as she stretched her arms, wiggled her legs. Her eyes darted around the room, while rhythmically sucking on her pacifier. Adorable. Clearly, she wasn’t tired. I shifted in my seat, wanting to march into the house, bring her home, tell her she’d never have to follow a stupid schedule with me. I had everything ready—
No. Be patient. Stick to the plan. If I go now, I’ll make a mistake.
When Cassidy reemerged downstairs, she grabbed the baby monitor and her coffee cup—can’t be without caffeine!—and headed toward her office. She didn’t stop to set the house alarm.
I turned on my car, looping around the block for a better view of her office. Cassidy and August lived on a large corner lot, the front and left side of the house facing Sawnee Conservatory. Trees spanned toward the horizon. Trails. Ponds. Cars were parked along the street—hikers, fisherman, nature lovers—giving my car cover. It was a new bougie development, half-hour outside Milwaukee. A half-hour drive, every goddamn day, for my baby.
And August said I wasn’t ready to make the sacrifices required of motherhood.
I looked in my rearview mirror, taking in the infant car seat I bought months ago. Back when the positive pregnancy test was my secret alone. Back before August ruined everything. It was detachable to work with the stroller. I got a great deal on Amazon and couldn’t pass it up. I squeezed the wheel tighter as fresh rage thrust through my veins. Soon, soon, my baby would fill the car seat. Fill my life. Love me. As August promised.
As I turned back on their street, I drov e slowly, inspecting the four houses on their block. This project required constant surveillance. Looking at faces. Documenting habits. Discrepancies. Finding DoorCams. Another reason I varied my parking spots and times.
One car was parked in front of August’s house. I parked behind and shut off the engine. Unlike the nearly wall-to-wall windows that showcased the back and side of the house, the front was mainly brick. She kept the shutters on her office window permanently down, obstructing my view. Peering through the gaps felt like looking through the planks of a rickety bridge.
Parts of my plan would be left to chance. I’d never been inside their house—how could I when August lied to my face? Kept his wife and kid hidden? Lucky for me, Cassidy had no filter. Her podcast was a treasure chest of information. August tricked out her office with state-of-the-art recording equipment and her favorite furniture from Pinterest. Husband of the year! She never set the house alarm, because Piper often tripped it. Thanks, Piper! And the pièce de résistance? She told listeners she kept the monitor next to her while working, with the sound on low.
Liar.
I watched now as she closed her office door and set the monitor on the bookshelf across from her desk. Five feet away. Up high. Not in her eye-line. Why didn’t she keep it close? Sleeping babies were the cutest. What kind of mother—ugh. Nope. I gnawed on the bloody stump of my thumbnail. Seeing her selfishness in action cemented my resolve. Cassidy deserved to lose Kiah. She’d have plenty of time to “find herself.”
As Cassidy settled down to “important business,” I traded the binoculars for sunglasses and slouched in my seat, watching to see how long she worked in her office. In the two weeks since Piper started school, Cassidy never diverted from her schedule. But I had to be certain. Meticulous with every detail. Careful not to leave evidence.
I would only get one chance.
My breath quickened as I thought about how it would feel to hold Kiah. Her heartbeat reverberating against mine. My lips pressed against her downy hair. Inhaling her powdery scent. How she’d gaze up at me with love and adoration, as if I set the sun and hung the moon.
I’d given up everything for her. Changed my last name. Got a new bartending job. As of last night, my apartment lease ended. Fell out of touch with friends so they wouldn’t question my absence. Got a new phone. Closed my bank account. Bought prepaid Visa cards at different gas stations and groceries stores with cash, careful to never leave a trail. Eliminated all social media. Scored a fake ID. Bought formula, diapers, clothes, a bassinet! Prepared the lake house Mom left me after her death to be our new home. Lined up a job caretaking for seasonal houses this winter.
The list was endless. Exhausting. All so Kiah and I could be together—without August, Cassidy, or the police interrupting us.
For now, I stayed patient. It wasn’t time to meet Kiah yet. But soon.
My baby was due Wednesday.
CHAPTER ONE
CASSIDY
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 2023 8:10 A.M.
Cassidy was bleary-eyed and snappish by the time she dropped Piper off for kindergarten. She stood by the gates of the playground, pushing Daisy back and forth in her stroller, while watching Piper run to the slides to join the other kids. A rush of love, regret, and guilt filled Cassidy’s heart, replacing her irritation, now that it was time to leave. Why couldn’t she see Piper’s decision to change her outfit five times this morning as a sign of creativity, her growing independence, instead of another obstacle toward getting her to school on time? Piper, as if sensing Cassidy’s vulnerability, turned around and waved, the sky making her blue eyes shine brighter.
Forgiveness bestowed, relief seeped into Cassidy’s veins, a steady drip-drip-drip that reminded her of coffee brewing. Everything reminded her of coffee. She was an addict. In three and a half hours, with copious amounts of caffeine, she’d accomplish her work and emerge at school pickup as the mom Piper deserved. Patient. Attentive. Loving.
Cassidy looked down at Daisy, happily gnawing on her hand. The saliva glistened in the sunlight. Last night, Daisy woke up crying three times, only to suck on Cassidy’s nipple for a moment before spitting it out, stretching her neck back and wailing as if it was covered with anthrax. As if it wasn’t the same meal she’d happily consumed the entire two months of her existence. After feeding failed, Cassidy tried changing her, rocking her, walking laps through the kitchen and living room. Nothing worked. Daisy’s blood-curdling screams woke August around three. He stumbled out of the bedroom, clad in boxers and a t-shirt, hair tufted in all directions, voice gritty when he offered to take her for a few hours so Cassidy could rest. She declined. He needed to be energetic, charismatic, lucid to sell houses, while she, in theory, could sneak an afternoon nap by letting Piper watch Encanto for the thousandth time.
Unlike Cassidy, Daisy bore no ill effects from her sleepless night. Her crabbiness evaporated with the rising sun. The topsy-turvy sleep schedule had to change. Cassidy couldn’t survive on three hours each night.
Cassidy pushed the stroller to her car, transported the infant seat into the car, then folded up the stroller and heaved it into the trunk. By the time she reached the driver’s seat, sweat dampened her armpits. Nothing was easy with a baby. Nothing.
She drove in a fog, seeing the other cars as shadows, hearing the traffic noise as if from inside a tunnel. A horn blared. She looked to her left, realizing she drove through a stop sign. In a school zone. “Ahh!” She let out a strangled scream. Heat rose to her cheeks. Tears sprung in her eyes. She held up her hand to the driver before accelerating.
After making it safely home, she parked in the garage, took the stroller out of the trunk, and latched Daisy in. Since giving birth—who was she kidding, since the seventh month of pregnancy—she hadn’t visited the gym. Walking was her exercise. She convinced herself that walking was the holistic way to energize, with fresh air and nature. Get some endorphins running through her blood instead of caffeine.
She pushed Daisy across the street and onto the dirt trail of the Sawnee Conservatory, a hundred and fifty-acres of interwoven trails, ponds, and wetlands. It was a peaceful morning. Warm with a light breeze. Enjoy the beauty, she admonished herself. Savor this time with your daughter.
Five minutes in, exhaustion took over and she wanted to turn around. Cuddle with Daisy on the couch. A half-hour, she told herself. Enough to get her heart moving, awaken her brain, strengthen her muscles, feel good about herself. Because, honestly, since having Daisy, she felt anything but beautiful. With Piper, she shed the baby weight in weeks. She didn’t lose her hair or the shine of her skin like some of her friends. Then again, Piper slept like she was being paid for the hours logged. And with one child, Cassidy had more time for self-care. Cassidy actually gained weight since Daisy’s birth. The blue-black bags under Cassidy’s eyes made her look like an amateur boxer. And she got stretch marks. Cosmically unfair. Shouldn’t it happen the first time the skin stretched?
Worst of all, August noticed. He didn’t say anything—too much of a gentleman. But she knew her husband. He had a large sexual appetite. They’d have sex every night if it was up to him. But since her six-week appointment, giving them the green light, sexually speaking, they had sex twice. Twice in two weeks. An all-time low. Not that she wanted it. Far too tired. But she hated that he didn’t want it.
Should she do a podcast on sex post-birth? How a woman’s self-esteem played into the lack of intimacy? That could raise her streaming numbers. She’d run it by August first. He was her biggest supporter in getting the podcast off the ground, but he thought she shared too many private details. Discussing their sex life might push him too far.
She looked down at Daisy and smiled. “Should Mommy do a podcast on sex? Sex sells, right?” Daisy smiled. She was adorable. Cassidy stopped and pulled out her phone. “Smile, baby!” Daisy complied, her cheeks glowing pink as if embarrassed by the attention. Cassidy texted August the photo, writing, Can she get any cuter?
He immediately texted back, Takes after her mom.
Cassidy’s cheeks wore a matching glow. Nice to be flirted with again. Almost makes up for never sleeping!
