Page 39 of Darkwater Lane

I open my mouth, but I’m not sure how to respond. “Sam didn’t do this.”

For a moment, I think Gutierrez might reconsider. Instead, he turns to Sam and says, “Not only do we have your texts, but we also pulled your phone location data. Your mobile pinged off the closest tower to the house during the time we believe the victim was murdered.”

I take an involuntary step back at this piece of information. My eyes meet Sam’s. He shakes his head, his expression pleading with me not to believe them. I flash to the memory of pulling up my location app at the gas station earlier. His phone had been grayed out like he’d turned the tracking off because he didn’t want me to know where he was.

What if he was here at the house? a voice whispers in my head.What if he murdered Leo?

I clench my teeth, forcing the thoughts back. I know Sam. I trust him. He wasn’t involved. This is a mistake.

However, I’m still not surprised when Gutierrez nods to the officer, who steps forward with his handcuffs.

“Sam Cade, you’re under arrest for the murder of Leonard Varrus,” Gutierrez begins. He continues reciting the Miranda warning, but I don’t hear it. Instead, I feel the focus of the crowd shifting around us. I notice all the cell phones pointed in our direction,the news crews with their large cameras capturing every second of this moment. Madison will be one of them. I can’t stop wondering if she’s a part of this—if she and Rowan are somehow in it together.

All I can think about is Lanny and Connor, thanking God that neither is here right now to see this, but knowing it won’t be long before these images are everywhere online.

The cop moves to pat Sam down, and Sam mentions the firearm he has holstered against his back.Of course, he’s carrying, I think to myself. There’s no way he would go to a meeting with Leo unarmed.

But that only increases the surrounding officers’ suspicion. I can see it in how they shift, their hands moving closer to their own weapons. To me, it’s only more proof of his innocence. Why slit a man’s throat when you could shoot him in the head? I don’t say this out loud, though. Somehow, I don’t think Gutierrez would appreciate it.

The detective removes Sam’s gun and places it in an evidence bag. Then the cop finishes patting Sam down before pushing him into the back of a squad car. I catch Sam’s eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” he mouths, and I almost want to laugh. Right now feels a long, long way from okay, and I’m not sure I see the path between here and there.

The cop closes the door, and the siren blurts a few times, clearing a path through the crowd as the car pulls away. I watch them go, still in disbelief. I feel like everything is fracturing apart, and I don’t know how to put it right.

How is it possible this is happening again?

I feel Gutierrez beside me, studying me, waiting for me to say something. I want to scream in his face that this is all wrong. That Sam is being set up again. That we’re being targeted by someone who is trying to ruin our lives. That we are victims too.

But even I know how outlandish that sounds. I think about thelengths Varrus has gone to in the past to target Sam and can’t help but ask, “Is it possible that Varrus did this to himself?

He quirks an eyebrow. “You think the victim broke into your house so he could slit his own throat? Why? So he could set your partner up for murder? That’s pretty extreme, don’t you think?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s set him up,” I tell him.

“No, I don’t think it’s possible he did this to himself. According to the medical examiner, the cut nearly severed his spinal cord, and there are no hesitation marks, which you would expect with a self-inflicted wound. There was an impressive amount of blood as well. He would have bled out quite quickly.”

I close my eyes, unable to stop myself from picturing it. Leo Varrus on our couch, head back and ragged throat exposed. Blood coating the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

I’ve seen a similar image before. It’s what our living room at Stillhouse Lake looked like several months ago, minus Leo’s body. Kez and Sam had shown me photos of the scene, and I remember thinking that it seemed like an impossible amount of blood.

I shudder to think that it’s the same thing all over again.

Except this time it’s real. This time there’s an actual dead body.

This time Leo Varrus reallywasmurdered.

And they think Sam did it.

“You know, we’re both after the same thing here,” Gutierrez says softly. “Figuring out what happened inside your house. It would be easier if we worked together.”

If I truly thought he meant that, I might take him up on it. But I don’t trust law enforcement. I’ve known many great cops in my lifetime, but I’ve also had enough experience with the bad apples to know they’re out there. I’ve already told him to look into Rowan and Madison, and he didn’t seem interested. He’s decided that Sam did this, and there’s no need to look any further.

But if he’s not going to investigate them, then I will.

“No, thank you,” I tell him.

He seems genuinely disappointed. “It can’t be easy being Melvin Royal’s ex-wife. I know you were put on trial as an accessory to murder, and I know there are a lot of people out there who still think you had a hand in his dealings.”

I clench my jaw and turn to stare at him icily. “Let me guess, you’ve been listening toThe Royal Murders, and because of that, you think I had something to do with this.” I wave my hand at the house and the crime scene inside.

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