Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake #5) - Rachel Caine Page 0,95

I’ll give it to Heidt after I do.”

I don’t like it, and not just because of the danger implied in that; Prester seemed okay when he was facing down Heidt, but now he seems . . . drawn. Tired. And I see a little flicker of pain contort his face. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

Prester shakes his head. “Nothing. Tired. You rest.” He leaves before I can push the issue. Javier stares at the shutting door, then at me. Then he takes the vase of flowers and carries it out of the room. I feel relieved. Strange how oppressive that gift felt when it was just colorful, lovely flowers. When he comes back, I ask him what he did with it.

“I put them in a hazmat bag in case the TBI wants it for some reason.”

“Hazmat bag?”

“Not taking any chances, querida.”

I realize that Javi is actually afraid for me. Really, really afraid.

And now I’m afraid for him too. And Prester.

All of us.

17

GWEN

Sam and I take the kids home. We’re all tired and dispirited; seeing Kez laid up is hard on all of us, and I think it makes the kids feel especially vulnerable. I hug them both close before I get them off to bed. It’s not even that late. But I’m flat-out exhausted, gray inside with the stress of the day.

But I can’t sleep. I find myself lying awake, listening to Sam’s even, slow breathing. I finally slip out of bed and wander like a ghost. This is happening too much. I don’t want to develop insomnia, but I feel like that’s a depressing possibility. There are medications, of course, but deep down, I fear being drugged, helpless, unable to meet a threat head-on.

That’s why you’re not sleeping. Because you can’t relax for a second, Gina. You know I’m always going to be out there, maybe not physically, but I’m in the heads of people who can hurt you. Who want to hurt you.

I hate that I can still hear Melvin’s whisper at low moments like this. I visualize shredding his letter, and I feel peace descend like a light, low, cool mist. I find myself yawning, and I keep visualizing the shredder chewing up paper, chewing up emails, and those damn wanted posters. I imagine putting in every picture ever taken of Melvin Royal, from baby pictures to the photo of him screaming at the jury, and watching them spin into fragments like grim confetti. Last, I imagine taking the photo of his grave off the wall. Watching it disappear too. Like he was never here at all.

When I close my eyes this time, I sleep soundly.

When I wake, it’s because my daughter is shaking me. I blink at her tense face and sit up fast. Sam’s doing the same. He finds his voice first, but keeps it low. “What is it, honey?”

“Cops,” she whispers. “They’re outside.”

“What?” I launch myself out of bed and move to the window. I bend the blinds just enough to get a look outside at the street, and she’s right: there are two police cruisers parked in front of our house. Neither has its lights flashing. Maybe it’s a coincidence, I think, but then I see movement. There’s an officer moving around at the side of the house. Another near the front door. “Sam. Better get dressed. Lanny, get in your room, but do not lock the door, and don’t resist if something happens, understand? Do everything they say, when they say it.”

“What if they’re not really cops?” she asks, and that pauses me in the act of dragging a shirt over my head. I tug it down and turn to look at her. “Like back at Stillhouse Lake? What if they’re fakes?” She sounds really, really scared. And I have to admit she ought to be, because we’ve had that experience before. But this . . . this looks different.

“Honey. We’re in the middle of a city suburb, in a neighborhood. The police will not be fake. We’ll ask to see their badges. Okay?”

She grabs a breath and nods. “Okay. Are they here for you, or—”

“I don’t know.” It’s a horribly likely possibility, since I was just impersonating a police officer. Maybe Len did go to the police and file an assault complaint. Maybe there was a 911 call, and they somehow, despite all my precautions, traced it back to me. I don’t know. I just know that we have to handle this right, and carefully. “Go tell your brother to do the