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“Three babies.”

Aiden immediately dropped to hold Vivian when she screamed. Pain and shock ripped through the poor woman, the news shredding the last piece of her heart belonging to Charlie.

Holding her tenderly, Aiden cradled Viv as he settled them on the chair. She raged and cried in his arms, begging for someone to explain to her why. He didn’t have the answer, of course. Josie didn’t have ananswer, either. But seeing her in such agony had the words spilling forth, and Josie revealed the plain truth through Viv’s tortured sobs.

“Charlie and Rebecca had three children, and over the last… I don’t know, year? Maybe two years? They’ve both kind of dropped off from being parents and started getting more into drugs and whatever else the fuck they do.” Josie recognized that she was shouting, but there was no other way. “And then tonight, apparently, Rebecca snapped, stabbed Charlie, and then grabbed a gun. From what we can tell, she just started killing people, including her daughter and herself.”

“Oh my God,” Viv wailed, burying her face in Aiden’s chest. “Oh my God!”

“I’m sorry!” Josie continued to shout through the woman’s heartbreak. “I’m so sorry, and I would never have come here and told you all this in the middle of the night if I didn’t need help.”

Long minutes passed until, finally, Vivian’s red-rimmed eyes, so full of contempt, met hers. “And why would I help you?”

“Not me. I don’t deserve it. But they do. The children. They witnessed it happen and are over at Parkland Grounds with Miranda. They’re covered in blood. There’s so much blood, Viv, and they need to get clean, but we don’t have clothes or toothbrushes or anything. I can’t leave Miranda alone to go buy supplies, and I’m here for help.” Josie wiped her cheeks. Her tears were worthless here. “Laura Jean’s oldest isn’t speaking. It’s like she’s in shock. The boys are fighting. Jamison needs pull-ups and—”

Vivian went utterly still, but then shook herself and launched into motion. “Aiden, can you grab us a change of clothes?” The brisk order had Josie’s mouth falling open. This quick shift from pained shock to unwavering determination was too swift for her tired brain to comprehend. “We’ll go over and help Miranda while you get the car ready and our clothes.”

Aiden took off and jogged up the stairs. Once he disappeared, Vivian turned to Josie. “If Ben is at the morgue, who is handling damage control?”

“Damage control?”

Vivian sighed and rolled her eyes. “Who is handling what the public knows?”

Josie blinked stupidly at her. God, what was with these people?

“Trevor, I guess? He’s on his way down here with Heather.”

“Absolutely not.” Vivian went to a side table just off the entryway and clicked on a lamp. She dug around in the table’s single drawer until she found a small book. “Hillary should have been your first phone call.”

Picking up the cordless phone, Vivian dialed a number she found in her little book. “Hillary? It’s Vivian. Ben needs you here. Now. Laura Jean is dead… shot… stop screaming and listen to me… SiSi Howard’s husband is also dead, and their little boy has been shot. No, Selah is fine. He’s with Miranda at Parkland. I said stop screaming. Charlie has been stabbed and is in the hospital, and there are two more people dead. A little girl named Olivia and…”

“Rebecca,” Josie said, filling in the blanks. “Her name was Rebecca Miller.”

“Rebecca Miller,” Vivian repeated. “Oh, stop crying out for God, Hillary. He can’t help us now. It’s only a two-hour flight from Houston. Take one of the jets and get here.”

In a flourish of silk, Vivian slammed down the phone and marched again to the door. “Let’s go.”

Josie followed, numb and not knowing what else to do. “What about Aiden?”

“He’ll know to follow.”

Vivian swung open her front door and hurried down the steps. “You walked here?”

It had started to rain. A light misting, promising more in moments. “Yes.”

“Well, then, come on.”

They walked in silence. A car honked its horn in appreciation over Vivian’s nightgown, and she kept her head turned away lest someone recognize her. Rounding the corner, Viv gasped when she saw that Parkland’s gates had been left open and the twelve-foot-tall front door gaping wide, which permitted the lights to spill out onto the front steps.

“Vivian, let me go first.”

She didn’t listen. Hurrying through the front door, Vivian entered in a rush, but stopped short on the slippery marble floors when they heard a soft crying. It was coming from somewhere close, and after a quick search, they narrowed it down to a darkened sitting room off the foyer.

It was Toby. Hidden just beyond a small sofa, he sat on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest.

Vivian didn’t hesitate and kneeled to his level. “Hello, I’m Vivian. What’s your name?”

Toby lifted his head, and instantly, his eyes went wide. He had probably never seen a woman like Vivian before. Beautiful beyond words, she looked picture-perfect even at three in the morning.