Page 34 of Darkwater Lane

Her face drains of color. “Are we in that kind of danger?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. I wish I could tell her no, but that wouldn’t be doing her any favors. “It’s just better to be prepared beforehand than be sorry after.”

She recognizes the responsibility and trust I’m placing in her with this information. “Remember to keep your eyes open and pay attention to your surroundings,” I add. “Don’t stop unless it’s somewhere crowded, and don’t hesitate to call for help if you need it.”

It’s a speech I’ve given her a thousand times. She usually rolls her eyes. This time, she doesn’t. Instead, she nods.

I think about Madison sitting in the car behind me. I don’t like the timing of all of this—that when I was meeting her for drinks, someone was potentially being murdered in my house. It may seem far-fetched and paranoid to think it was all some elaborate scheme to separate me from my kids, but I’ve learned not to discard a concern just because it seems improbable.

For a moment, I reconsider sending Lanny on her own. I could leave Sam to handle whatever happened at the house and drive the kids to Stillhouse Lake myself. But then I think about the box full of hidden college acceptance letters under her bed. She’ll be eighteen in a few months, a legal adult. Not long after that, she wants to move away to go to school.

A panicky kind of flutter takes up residence in my chest at the thought. Next fall, I’ll be forced to let go, whether I like it or not.

The only way to make sure she’s ready is to give her the chance to prove it.

So far, she has.

I swallow down the choking anxiety. “Keep an eye on your rearview mirror. If you see anything suspicious, find the nearest police station and go directly to it.”

“You think someone could try following us?”

“Always assume the worst,” I tell her. I hate that this is the advice I have to give her, but it’s the only way to stay safe.

She nods, and I pull her into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself and your brother,” I tell her.

“I will.”

I know she means it with her entire being, but it’s still hard to let go of her. It’s even harder to watch her get behind the wheel and give a brief wave before pulling out of the parking lot. I stand, tracking the car until her taillights disappear around the corner. I wait awhile longer, checking to see if any other cars pull out to follow her. None do, but that doesn’t ease my anxiety.

Behind me, a car door opens, and I turn to find Madison standing and watching me. “You okay?”

It’s such a ridiculous question that I don’t bother answering. “Thank you for your help.” As suspicious as I am of her, I say this sincerely.

“Do you need me to take you anywhere else?”

She’s a journalist. The last thing I need is to involve her any deeper in my business. “No, thank you. I’ll call a taxi.”

She purses her lips, then blows out a breath. “Look, Gwen, cards on the table? I know something’s going on at your house. While you were talking to your kids, I was checking local police scanners online and there’s been a whole lot of activity at your address. I’m going to go there to find out what it is. I can either drive you or not. It’s up to you.”

I bristle at the thought of her going to my house—of her even knowing where my house is. I deeply dislike how involved she’s suddenly become in all of this and would like nothing more than toput some distance between us. I glance at the taxi app on my phone and curse under my breath. The soonest they can get someone to me is twenty minutes.

As much as I hate to admit it, Madison is right. She can get me home faster. It would be stupid to turn her down when she’s headed that direction anyway.

I shift, feeling the familiar weight of my firearm under my jacket. Then I climb into Madison’s car. She already has my address in her GPS, which only heightens my discomfort at how much this woman knows about me.

“How do you know my address?”

She barely resists rolling her eyes. “I’m an investigative journalist,” she says. “I know a lot.”

I wonder if she realizes how creepy that sounds. I’m regretting accepting her offer of a ride and contemplating asking her to pull over when she says, “I’m not the enemy, Gwen.”

“That remains to be seen.”

She doesn’t respond. She must realize that nothing she can say will sway her case.

When we turn onto my street, the night is awash with flashing red and blue lights. I’m instantly thrown into the past, driving home with little Brady and Lily, seeing the cop cars crowding around the bend in the road by my house and having no idea how drastically my life was about to change.

Madison pulls to a stop on the side of the road. For a moment, I sit frozen, caught in the grip of the past. I’d seen my first dead body that day. Callie, broken and flayed, hanging from a hook in our garage.

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