the paperwork that has all our registered firearms. He checks them off, one by one. While he’s doing that as slowly as possible, he says, “So, does the kid know how to shoot?”
“I assume you already know the answer to that.”
“We’re aware of the flyers at the gun range. Your son was observed shooting there. We heard there were . . . complaints.”
“Not about him. He’s not a criminal,” I say. “Connor’s a good kid who’s been dealt a bad hand.”
“Hell of a bad hand, if your dad’s a serial killer.”
I straighten up after opening the last safe and meet his blank brown eyes. Hold the stare. Then I say, “I’m his dad.”
“No offense.” The man shrugs and checks the last gun off the list. “Okay. All accounted for, like you said. Do we have your permission to search Connor’s room?”
“Get a warrant.” The one thing that could save or damn him is the laptop that they’re certainly going to need a warrant to grab anyway. I’m risking them taking all our electronics, just to be pissy about it, but I’m not about to let them poke around unsupervised in my son’s room. “I’d like to go back to my wife now.” I realize, with a weird jolt, that I just called her my wife. I haven’t done that before; we’re common-law married, but somehow I’ve just never defined it that way.
It feels good to say it. And strange. But good.
He just grunts and leads me back out of the house. I make straight for Gwen, and she looks visibly relieved to see me. The detective who’s been quizzing her has finished, and mine joins him; they’ll be sharing info, and I feel like we need to do that too. So I draw her away from Lanny, who’s still talking to a uniformed officer, and say, “The guns are all accounted for. I don’t say that to mean I think Connor was planning anything; it’s just less proof they have.”
She just nods. She seems so tense, so pale, and I want to make things better for her. But maybe there isn’t any way to do that, not right now.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay,” I tell her. “Connor didn’t do this. You know it.”
“I know,” she says, and meets my eyes for a second. “The problem is that someone else did. And they’re not going to stop.”
She says that like she’s rock-solid certain of it, and I let a couple of seconds tick by before I say, “MalusNavis?”
“He’s watching us,” she says, and I see the jolt that goes through her. It’s one of her worst fears, and who can blame her after all those years of being stalked by people I helped set on her trail? “He’s watching all of us. Sam . . . I think I have to stop fighting it. I need to let him have me. I’m what he wants.”
“No!” It comes out of my mouth before I’ve even formed the word in my head. “Gwen, no. Not an option. Ever.”
“Am I supposed to give him Connor? Lanny? Vee? You?” She shakes her head, and then she’s hugging me tight. I hug her back. “I don’t see how to stop him any other way.”
“There’s got to be another way.” I smooth her hair, hold her, and try to put every bit of confidence into what I’m saying. “We’re going to find a way, honey. We will. But together.”
I feel her nod, but I don’t feel her relax. It worries me.
The two detectives come back toward us, and we break, but I keep hold of her hand. Her fingers feel cold, and I can feel her trembling.
“We’re ready to talk to Connor at the station,” the detective who questioned me says. “Which one of you wants to stay with your daughter?”
I’m about to volunteer that I will when Gwen catches me completely off guard and says, “I’ll stay with Lanny.” When I look at her, she says, “It’s better if you go with Connor. I’m not—you’re calmer right now. You’ll be better at it.”
“Okay,” I say, and I’m gentle with it. This is . . . not what I expected. Gwen is usually so completely in this kind of fight, whether that’s right or not, and to see her step back is surprising. Progress, I hope. “I’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
“I know you will.” There are tears in her eyes, and I can see how this torments her. But she takes a deep