Page 122 of Big Bad Wolfe

“No. No!” A struggle played across Casey’s suddenly pale, stricken features. “I—” He hitched in a breath. “Zane …”

Zane knelt to the distraught child’s level. “What is it, Casey?”

“I can’t— I’m not supposed to tell,” he whispered. “But I … I think I can … I think I should tellyou.”

A bad feeling wormed through Zane’s gut. “You can talk to me about anything, buddy.Anything.”

“Th-that lady, Miss Lynn,” Casey whispered. “She w-was at m-my house the night my mommy went to sleep and didn’t w-wake up again.”

Zane inhaled though his shock. “Okay. It’s okay, Casey. Tell me everything you remember.”

“Her and Mommy were mad at each other. They yelled. Then Miss Lynn came into my room and maked me take my medicine, even though my nose wasn’t runny or stuffy.” His son pressed trembling lips together. “Miss Lynn said to go to sleep. She said … she said …” He gulped as tears began to spill down his cheeks. “If … if I ever t-told anybody she was th-there, Aunt Jelly and Poppy would g-go away and never come back. And in the morning … my m-mommy was g-gone.”

“Jesus Christ,”Zane muttered, enfolding Casey in a hard, quick hug. “You did exactly the right thing by telling me.”

“Aunt Jelly …” Casey was crying harder now. “That Miss Lynn is with Aunt Jelly and now I told you, and now—”

“No.” Adrenaline spiking, he drew back, held his son’s gaze. “Nothing will happen to Jillian. I never break my promises.” He picked up the little boy and sat him on the sofa next to the grim Loucinda. “I have to go. I’m going to go get Jillian right away, and she’ll bejust fine. Loucinda, call 9-1-1.”

Loucinda grabbed her phone from her pocket. “What do I tell them?”

Zane was already halfway up the stairs. “I want everything on the record, so the Congressman’s lawyers can’t get Lynn off on a technicality. Give ‘em my rank and name, say officer needs backup to bring in a murder suspect for questioning. Have them meet me at the inn and come in cold—no lights or sirens.” He paused long enough to toss Calvin his phone. “Text Jillian and tell her to stay in full view of a crowd of people, not to go off alone with Lynn. Don’t say why, I don’t want to shock her and alert Lynn that anything’s up. Tell Jillian I’ll explain when I get there. Lynn has no reason to hurt her at the moment, but we’re not taking any chances. Meet me in the car, seatbelt on. You can text back and forth while I drive.”

He tore into the bedroom, grabbed socks, stuffed his feet into his runners, then sprinted back downstairs. He blitzed past a startled Dean, who’d returned while he’d been upstairs.

“Zane,” Loucinda called. “I told Calvin to get in the ‘Vette. It’ll take you there faster.”

He raced out into the darkness and ducked into the car, which Calvin already had running, headlights spearing into the night. Zane gunned the engine, peeled out of the driveway in reverse. He shifted gears, hit the gas, then glanced over at Calvin in the passenger seat. “How did Jillian respond to the text?”

Calvin frowned. “She didn’t answer.”

“Shit!”

“She’s probably just busy, right? And sometimes cell service along the coast is lame, depending where you’re at.”

The phone chimed, and the teen looked down at it.

“Jillian?” Zane asked.

“No, Loucinda.” Calvin answered it. “Aw, fuck-all. Okay. Yeah.”

Alertness buzzed in Zane’s veins, heightened every sense. “What?”

“The cops can’t spare anybody for something like an arrest backup, because all available officers are at the site of the bomb threat.”

Fuck-allwas right.

His phone chimed again, and Calvin exhaled gustily. “Caller ID says it’s Miss Ramsay.”

“Thank God. Put her on speaker.”

But it wasn’t Jillian’s voice that emerged, it was Farley’s. “Agent Wolfe, I think something ugly is going down.”

The bad feeling in Zane’s gut congealed into cold, oily fear. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve been kind of, you know … uh … watching Ms. Ramsay. Because she looks so boss, tonight, ya know? I’m not stalking her or anything,” he hastily added.

“Farley, get to the point.”

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