Page 67 of Darkwater Lane

I arrive at Madison’s rental house ten minutes later with my Sig Sauer tucked snugly in my shoulder holster. I approach the cabin slowly, memories assaulting me from when Sam lived here. Iremember the number of times I jogged past, the times I looked this way and caught sight of him sitting on the front porch drinking his coffee.

It’s unsettling when I knock on the door and instead of Sam opening it, it’s Madison. She’s wearing pressed, dark-wash jeans, a fitted flannel shirt topped by a quilted vest, a camel hair coat, and knee-high boots. It’s not at all a practical outfit and makes it clear she’s never lived anywhere with a true winter. Otherwise, she’d know how useless those boots would be the moment the first flakes of snow fell.

Meanwhile, I’m in fleece-lined leggings and a thermal top under a quilted jacket I left open in case I need to reach my firearm. Plus I’ve got on thick snow boots with a solid tread. I wanted to make sure I could bolt outside comfortably if necessary.

Madison’s face brightens when she sees me. “Gwen! Hi! Come in, please.” She steps aside and I’m once again hit with déjà vu. The cabin isn’t large. It’s one of the old hunting lodges from before they turned the area around Stillhouse Lake into a resort. At some point along the way, someone installed a few upgrades to make it easier to rent. When Sam lived here, there was just an old sofa, chair, and no TV. Now, there’s a blush couch, an overstuffed loveseat, and a large TV hanging on the wall.

“Coffee?” Madison asks as she leads me toward the kitchen.

Not as much has changed in this room. The appliances have been upgraded, but the table in the center of the space is still the same. I run my fingertips across it, remembering eating pancakes here with Sam.

Of course, this was also where we were sitting when someone fired a shotgun at us through the window. Too many of my memories are seasoned with violence.

Madison puts a pod in a fancy-looking machine, and we wait while it gurgles and hisses. I notice a hard case open on the kitchencounter, various pieces of equipment stashed inside. She sees me looking at it.

“I’m glad you changed your mind about the podcast. I think it’s going to really help get your story out there.”

“I’m still not committed to releasing anything,” I remind her.

The machine finally finishes, and Madison hands me the cup of coffee. The moment I reach for it, she notices the bruises circling my wrists from where the police handcuffed me the other night.

She gasps. “What happened?”

I grimace. “Nothing.”

She reaches for me like she’s going to take my wrist but catches herself before touching me. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Let’s just say there are a few folks who aren’t super excited we’re back in town. One of them swatted us. And then slashed our tires. That’s why I couldn’t meet you at the diner.”

Her eyes go wide. “Really? Why’d they do that?”

“Sam pissed one of them off.”

“And they swatted you and slashed your tires? What did Sam do?”

“Got one of them banned from the gun range when he showed up drunk and picked a fight after Sam took his gun.”

She blinks at me. “Seriously? That’s it?”

I want to laugh at her naïveté. People take their guns seriously around here. The range isn’t just a place to practice shooting; it’s a social hotspot. Getting banned made Jesse Belldene look bad. It hurt his ego and, with some men, that automatically leads to violence.

“I also brought a little too much attention to the town, given my past. The Belldenes are what you’d call hillbilly mafia. The less authorities look their way, the better.”

“But the cops are going after them for it, right?”

“There’s no point. The Belldenes consider themselves untouchable.Honestly, the best thing to do is just leave them alone in the hopes they leave you alone.”

Madison thinks about that for a moment. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it does.” There’s anger in my voice. “I’m tired of feeling like I have to fight the world just to exist. I wish everyone would leave us alone: all the sickos out there with nothing better to do with their lives than send us death threats, the Lost Angels and their mission to expose my family and me for crimes we had no part in. I thought when Miranda Tidewell died, that would be the end of it. But then Leo took over. Once he disappeared, I had hope again. But then came Rowan Applegate. It’s never ending and it’s exhausting.”

I realize I’m nearly panting, my hands clenched into fists, and my cheeks hot. I shake my head, trying to dissipate some of the burning anger. “Sorry. My emotions are closer to the surface these days. I haven’t had much sleep since the swatting, and when Iamable to sleep, I keep waking up in a panic thinking someone’s about to smash in the door.”

I’m embarrassed for having unloaded on her. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I should go.” I start for the door.

“You need to stop silencing yourself, Gwen,” Madison says.

“If my family heard you say that, they’d laugh. You may not have noticed this, Madison, but I’m not generally a quiet person.”

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