Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,90
kicked upstairs, you know that. And you need to stay safe. Hell, even the Knoxville police are taking this seriously. That’s why there’s a guard at the door.”
“Is there?” She looks startled. “I didn’t ask for one.”
Prester must have called somebody and demanded protection. I know that, and she must realize it, too, from the way her expression changes. It’s more of a cop mask now, trying to keep her feelings to herself. Pain medication renders it a little less effective.
“My cop daddy thinks I’m a target,” she says. “I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to warn me off. He could’ve taken me out if he’d wanted to.”
“Maybe,” Sam says, and steps up next to me. “But are you willing to risk your baby’s life on that?” I didn’t tell him—it was Kez’s secret, not mine—but he couldn’t have missed the discussion just now. I’m not sure she intended him to hear, but he has. I’m glad he knows.
Kez blinks slowly, and I see her realize that Sam’s right. And I’m very glad Kez has protection stationed right outside. “Okay,” she says. “Maybe you’re both right. Maybe I’ve been going at it too hard.” I see tears form in her eyes and spill over to form glistening tracks down her cheeks. She quickly wipes them away. “Damn. That’s the drugs.”
Drugs and stress. I squeeze her hand. We move back and let the kids talk to Kez a little while Sam and I linger near the door. I don’t like how any of this is unraveling . . . Kez, hurt and sidelined, at least for a while. Me, frustrated and unable to see where my own enemies are hiding in the trees while they take potshots at all of us.
We stay an hour, and Kezia’s already asleep before Prester and her father arrive; I warn them with a finger to my lips, and the tears in Easy’s eyes make me swallow hard. “She’s okay,” I whisper to him. “Just resting right now.” I hug him, and feel him shaking. Sam pushes a chair over so Easy can sit down, which he does, wincing as he favors his bad leg. He looks years older than he did when we last visited him just a few weeks ago.
Prester doesn’t look much better, if I’m honest about it . . . his usually healthy dark color has taken on a silvery undertone, and he seems thinner. Slower, somehow. He gestures me to the other side of the room, and I head there with him. “She tell you anything about what happened?”
I give him as much as I can remember, and he nods and notes it down. When that’s done, he pockets the notebook and gives me a bleak look. “She thinks Sheryl Lansdowne’s actually a killer,” he says. “Probably killed her own girls too. But I don’t know why. Based on what the TBI’s told me just now, Sheryl got in that SUV of her own accord early Monday morning; they’ve got video of her at a truck stop. Kez found it before she took off in hot, stupid pursuit.”
“Was he waiting for her to find it?” I say. “Jesus.”
“Don’t know if it was that, or he was working out a way to wipe that footage somehow and they just crossed paths. If so, that was bad luck. Either way, Kez took the bait, and he reeled her right in. She’s out of this. No more, Gwen. And you get out of it too.”
“We’re out,” I tell him. What I can’t tell him is that I don’t think that means anything at this point. I think the man in the black SUV, the ghost Kez chased, is the same man who paid Len to send me those letters. He’s been awfully busy, but I suspect Len’s not the only help he’s hired. Flyers could be posted by anyone; once he got them going viral, he didn’t need to do more.
I have no proof that MalusNavis is the driver of that black SUV . . . except one thing.
I take the credit card that Len gave me out of my pocket, sealed in a plastic bag. “I ran across this today,” I tell him. “Someone who was hired to harass me had it.” That’s close enough to the truth, without leading him into dangerous territory. “Look at the last name.”
“Maguire. Jesus.” He turns his sharp eyes to me, and as always, I’m sure he sees more than I intend. “Why’s he