Page 146 of Valor

“She saw someone taking supplies off the loading dock a week before you were taken. Since that’s how you guys transport your damaged equipment, she didn’t think anything of it.”

“Until I was taken.”

He nods. “She saw something, and I intend to find out what it was so we can catch this guy.” Gibson cups my cheeks with his hands and gently brushes the tears away from my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lani.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone. I need to call Taylor. I need to tell my mom. She and Carla were friends. They went to high school together.”

“I know.” He releases me and steps back.

“Have you told anyone at the hospital?”

“No, not yet. I’m headed there now, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

I nod, throat burning from the tears I’m trying so hard not to cry. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Are you okay?”

“No.” I shake my head. “But I will be once this monster is behind bars.”

“That or in the ground,” Gibson growls. “I’d be fine either way.”

* * *

The whirringof my mom’s stand mixer turns off. She’s had the thing for as long as I can remember, and hearing it always meant one of two things.

She was happily making delicious baked goods.

Or she’s trying to bake her pain away.

Unfortunately, it’s the latter right now. Eyes red-rimmed, she removes the mixing bowl and adds two cups of chocolate chips. I remain where I am at the sink, grateful that she let me at least help with dishes.

Dad went over to Taylor’s house to be with him and see what he could do to help. Pastor Ford joined them, and while I know it won’t take the pain away, my hope is that it will help him not feel so alone.

Gibson hasn’t been here since he gave me the news, and I know he’s out hard at work trying to track down whoever killed Carla.

“You doing okay, Mom?” I ask as I place a now-clean measuring scoop into the dish-drying rack. After drying my hands, I cross the kitchen to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“It hurts,” she says. “Carla and I have been friends forever.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She turns toward me and smiles through the tears. “I feel guilty, too. Because even as distraught as I am over Carla’s death, I’m so thankful it wasn’t you.” Her eyes fill again, so I pull her closer and wrap my arms around her.

“Mom, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. Taylor lost his wife. Their children lost their mother. Grown or not, that leaves a mark.”

I can’t even find the words to tell her that I’m dealing with the guilt of knowing it should have been me.

She pulls back, and I use my thumbs to brush the tears away from her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She sniffles and pats the container she just got done filling with fresh cookies. “It’s silly to take these cookies to him, I know that. But I’m going to anyway. She loved my chocolate chip.” Her eyes fill again, and my heart breaks.

“He’s going to love the memory of it,” I tell her.

After slipping into a light sweater, she takes the container. But before she leaves, she turns toward me. “Are you okay? I can take these over later.”

“I’m fine, Mom. I promise. I’m going to go lie on the couch and watch some mindless television for a while.”

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