Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake) by Rachel Caine (books to read in your 20s female TXT) 📕

to anything Melvin Royal–related—but he lets it go. I take a few seconds to use the login info I swiped from the mailing store and find the footage of myself; I wince when I realize it probably would be a pretty clear tipoff that something was up, and erase it. I put the thumb drive containing the probably useless surveillance footage on my desk, kiss him, and go and hug my kids. They’re fine, of course. Connor, ever observant, says, “You’ve got dirt on your pants. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “I brushed up against a dirty bumper.” I don’t like lying to him, but I don’t want to spark any worry either. Bad enough for me and Sam to be on edge. I don’t need the kids to be there with us. “Hey. So. Counseling. You ready?”

He nods and closes his laptop. I give him a pat on the knee and get up to get Lanny in motion, but she’s already putting on her shoes. I don’t know where my daughter gets her excellent taste in footwear, because I’m very utilitarian, and I’m always startled how well she coordinates. “Half an hour until our appointment,” she says. “We should probably get going, right?”

“Five more minutes.” I want to chase down the lead to Melvin’s groupie hangouts, but I’m well aware that might take a while. I can’t slack on talk therapy right now, in the midst of what’s going on. We need it. So I just go change to a more comfortable outfit, brush my hair after releasing it from the ponytail, and we’re on the road headed to Dr. Marks’s office right on time. I feel a little better, having all of us together and apparently harmonious. We need this pressure release today, and then we can see where to go from there.

My cell phone rings when we’re two miles from our destination; I ignore it and let it go to voice mail.

Then Sam’s phone rings just half a minute later. I look over at him, and he looks at me, and we both know that’s not a good sign. He looks at the number and says, “Norton Police Department,” before he slides to answer the call and put it on speaker. “Hey, Kez,” he says. “Is everything . . .”

“This isn’t Kez,” Prester’s rough voice says. It sounds emotional. Prester is rarely emotional, and I feel a cold void form in my stomach. “It’s about her.”

“What’s happened?” I blurt it out before Sam does. Dread bolts through me, and I taste blood and ashes. Feel every muscle in my body brace for impact.

“She’s been in an accident,” Prester says. “Some asshole set a trap for her on the road when she was in pursuit. She’s alive. Got herself a head injury, maybe a broken rib. Lucky it wasn’t one hell of a lot worse.”

Oh God. I let out a shaky breath and focus on the good part. She was lucky. Head injuries are tricky and worrying, but I have to hope that she’s going to be okay. But then I remember her new pregnancy. I nearly ask if the baby’s okay, but I can’t; I don’t know if she’s told Prester, and I don’t want to violate that confidence. “Where is she?” Sam asks when I don’t speak. “Norton General?”

“She was closer to y’all when it happened,” he says. “They flew her to UT Medical Center. Javier’s taking leave from his reserve unit to get here, but I don’t know how long he’ll be making it back.”

“Did anybody tell her dad?”

“I’m stopping by there right now to give him a ride up to the hospital.” Prester clears his throat. “I think this is my fault. And yours.”

“Mine? Why?” I sound sharp and defensive, and I wish I could take it back. I admit it: I’m afraid of the answer.

“Both you and I let her push to keep after this damn case,” he says. “The little girls in the water. Sheryl Lansdowne. She should have stepped back and let TBI take it. We all should have.”

My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “She found something?”

“Guess she did,” he says. “And whatever it is, it’s going to TBI and we are ending this. Now. You keep poking around in this swamp, your ass is going to get gatored. Understand me?”

He sounds tired. Old. Worried. And I feel the same, suddenly. Overwhelmed by it all. I just want to turn the car around, take my children home, and never set foot outside again.

But I say, “We’ll go to the hospital right now. And we’ll stay until you and her dad can arrive, at least.”

The University of Tennessee Medical Center has a fine trauma center, and I’m afraid as we arrive, breathless, to ask after Kezia’s location that she’ll be in the ICU . . . but she isn’t. The elderly lady on duty at the front desk checks her computer and says, “Your friend’s already out of the ER; they’ve got her up for tests right now, but she’s listed as stable. If you want to have a seat, I’ll let you know when they get her into a room.”

Stable. That is a huge relief. Then, with a jolt, I remember. “She’s pregnant,” I say. I keep my voice low. “Do they know that?”

“I really don’t know, ma’am, but I’ll make sure to tell the nurse right now.”

I was already scared for Kez, but now I’m sick as well. If she’s lost the baby because of this . . . I don’t know how she’ll come to terms with that. What it will do to her. Please, I think, and send it up as a silent prayer. Please keep them safe. Both of them.

We start to walk to the chairs, and she calls me back. “Oh, I see there’s a note in the file . . . apparently, the county sheriff says there was a dog in the car, and they need to find out who can take him. A big dog, apparently.”

“Boot,” I say. “His name is Boot.