Page 89 of Darkwater Lane

While she struggles to find the right word, plenty come to my mind: difficult, horrible, vindictive, sociopathic. I decide it’s probably best if I don’t share any of those.

“She’s still grieving,” she finally says. “I think it’s the main driving force in her life these days.”

A familiar guilt eases into my heart. Rowan may be an enemy, but it’s rooted in a brutal loss caused by my ex-husband. While I can’t understand how she would allow herself to turn that pain into violence, I can still understand and empathize with the underlying sorrow.

“Melvin took her sister from her,” I say. “I’m not sure you ever get over something like that.” I think of what I would do if something happened to Sam or one of my kids. I would burn the world down. “Do you know Rowan well?”

“As well as anyone does, I guess. She tends to keep to herself. She’s ridiculously protective of her private life. I once saw a picture in the paper of her with her daughter at the farmer’s market and remarked how much they looked alike. She unloaded on me about how she wanted her kids to be kept out of the public eye and that she should sue the paper for printing her likeness without permission.”

She sounds like a terrible person to work for. “Does she have a temper?”

“Yes.” She doesn’t even hesitate before answering.

“Enough of one that she’s capable of murder?” I ask.

Madison stares out at the lake for a moment, thinking. Then she lifts a shoulder. “We’re all capable of murder, don’t you think? It’s just a matter of finding the right buttons.”

24

GWEN

I’m standing in the kitchen, making my fourth cup of coffee for the morning and thinking about my conversation with Madison. Before I left, she asked me if I was glad all those men were dead—the ones that threatened me and my family.

I told her no and left it at that. But I still can’t get the question out of my head. I certainly haven’t felt any remorse at their death. If anything, knowing they’re gone is a huge relief. It means fewer threats against us.

But that answer leaves me unsettled. I don’t want to be the type of person who feels so little about the death of another human being. Isn’t that who Melvin Royal was at his core: someone who fully and completely devalued others’ existence?

I remember reading an article once where a professor of sociology explained that one of the first steps in any genocide is denying a population their humanity. You compare them to animals and vilify them. If you don’t see your adversary as a person, it’s easier to eradicate them.

No one could really argue that any of those murdered sickos were upstanding citizens. They were mean, small-minded, andperfectly willing to make my life a living hell. But it isn’t right to deny their humanity. If anything, I’m willing to bet their ugliness was actually borne of pain and abuse.

Melvin thought of his victims as walking meat for him to use. They were objects.Most people just take up space anyway,he’d once said. That’s what allowed him to murder them so viciously.

I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to think like him.

Lanny interrupts my thoughts before I can form any conclusions. “Mom?” she asks, shuffling into the kitchen. Her voice cracks, and I instantly forget about everything else and focus on her.

She stands barefoot in the doorway, still wearing her PJ pants and an old hoodie. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying.

“I need to borrow the car.” She shifts from foot to foot with a sense of urgency.

I immediately straighten. Something’s clearly happened. “What’s going on?”

She bites her lower lip, hesitating.

That she doesn’t want to tell me is obvious. My first instinct is to pry, but I remind myself that I’m trying to change old habits. This is one of those moments I knew would come eventually—when I would have to let go and trust Lanny. But damn, it’s hard.

I blow out a breath. We have to start somewhere. I figure my best bet is to be honest with her. “I know you want me to trust you right now, Lanny, and give you the car keys without asking any questions. I get that. I really do. But please understand why that’s hard for me to do. You’re upset. Something’s wrong. And that makes me worry you might not be in the best frame of mind to be making levelheaded decisions.”

Tears gather at the corners of her eyes as she senses that I’m not letting her take the car. I hold up a hand.

“I promised you I would give you more independence, and I will. You can have the keys. All I ask in return is for you to take asecond and really think about whether this is something you should be dealing with on your own or if you can let me help.”

I hold my breath, waiting and hoping she makes the right decision.

“It’s Florida Belldene. Something happened at their house—a fire or something like that. She said the police are there and the DEA, and all hell is breaking loose. She wants me to come get her.”

I swallow down the urge to wave my hands and shout:You were going to the fucking Belldene compound on your own during what sounds like a potential drug raid and abscond with one of their kids? Are you mad?!

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