Page 66 of Closer Than You Know

“Bent is right,” Vera assured her, reaching for the nearest hand and prying it from the bench. She squeezed her sister’s fingers in her own. “This really is the best route. We probably should have done it months ago. Both of you have carried this burden for far too long.”

But Vera was well aware of human nature. It was difficult to trust anyone completely with a secret like the one Eve and Suri had carried. Self-preservation was a strong instinct.

Eve stared at Vera’s profile until she met her gaze. “What’s the deal with this Messenger case?”

“What have you heard?” Vera was surprised she had heard anything other than what she’d told her sisters. Bent hadn’t given a statement to the press just yet, but he wouldn’t be able to put that off much longer. No matter how confident they were that the Messenger or his cohort was here for her, the public needed to be aware of the potential danger.

“Nothing really. When I was talking to Bent earlier, he said I should help him keep an eye on you. He said this serial killer might try to hurt you.” Eve glanced around the cemetery. “I can’t believe he doesn’t have anyone following you around.”

Vera scanned both streets that stretched along the perimeter of the cemetery. “I’m not so sure he doesn’t. He hasn’t mentioned it, and I find that in itself strange.” She should call him and simply ask. Then again, if she were wrong, he’d be prompted to assign someone. It was a double-edged sword.

“Maybe he thinks you can take care of yourself.”

“Ha. Wouldn’t that be nice.” Plus, if that were the case, he wouldn’t have been telling Eve to keep an eye on her.

Eve laughed abruptly.

Vera frowned. “What on earth do you find funny in any of this?”

“I”—she slapped her palm against her chest—“have always been the one in trouble. Alcohol. Drugs. Sneaking out of the house and going to crazy parties. Skipping school.” She drew in a big breath, let it go. “I mean, really, I’ve done so much crazy stuff, and not once—in my whole life—have I ever had a killer after me. You”—she pointed a finger at Vera—“on the other hand, are always in some killer’s crosshairs.”

Vera laughed then, and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Oh my God. You’re right. They’re attracted to me, it seems.”

Eve stared at her for a long time, not laughing anymore. Vera wiped her eyes and pulled herself back together.

“You’ve always known things,” Eve said quietly. “How to fix things and find things, I mean. Maybe you have this instinct about people that not everyone has.”

“It’s just cop instincts,” she argued, reminded of what Eric had said. “Like you with your instincts about the ...visitorsyou prepare at the funeral home.”

Eve shook her head. “No. This is different. You know. Even when you don’t know,you know.That’s why you became a star in Memphis.”

Vera made a face. “Like you ever paid attention to what I did in Memphis.”

“I did,” Eve countered. “Bent did. We discussed your work plenty of times before you came back.”

Eve had never told her that. “You did?”

“We talked about your cases. Bent said it was really something how you could analyze the situation and find the trouble. That team you helped create—”

“The one that failed,” Vera reminded her.

“It failed because someone else made a mistake. You didn’t make the mistake.”

“But I should have seen the mistake before it turned into a tragedy.” But she hadn’t. She had allowed trust to get in the way of discernment. Vera didn’t really want to talk about this, but if it helped her sister to get right with the decision she and Suri had made today, then she would do it.

“See,” Eve said, “that’s what I mean. You have this uncanny knack for seeing things that are about to happen based on what’s occurring at the moment.” She shrugged. “I can’t explain it, but Bent says it’s a gift.”

Or a curse. “We both have our talents,” Vera reminded her. “You should never forget what you do. It’s so important to the people who are left behind. What you and Suri both do.”

Eve exhaled a big breath, stared at the ground. “I had a bad dream last night, Vee.”

“You did?” When they were kids, Eve used to tell her all about her bad dreams. Especially after their mama died. Vera was the person Eve clung to. She couldn’t remember the last time her sister had talked about a bad dream.

She looked to Vera then, her face clouded with worry. “It was you, Vee. You were on my table, and I couldn’t wake you up.”

That instinct they were just talking about swelled inside Vera. She ignored it and forced a big smile for her sister. “It was just a dream. Besides, when I die, you’d better not put me on that damned table. Cremate me.”

She stared at the headstones in front of them—their dad’s, with their mom on one side and the witch of a stepmother on the other. But when Luna had wanted to bury Sheree’s remains here, what could theysay? Vera and Eve’s father was Luna’s father too. Besides, how could they argue about anything after what they’d done?

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