Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake) by Rachel Caine (red white royal blue TXT) 📗

just the one man—is doing is the bigger, more toxic version of that common, petty feeling.

“Anything else?” I ask him with a sigh. It’s been a hell of a day. I take a big gulp of wine.

“Thank God, no. That’s all I’ve got. We’re going to get through this, you know.” He takes my hand, and we sit quietly, connected. “You trust me, right?”

“I love you, Sam.”

“But do you trust me?”

I turn to look at him, and find him staring straight at me. I feel the impulse to lie to him. To protect myself. And I fight that with all my heart. “Honestly? I’m trying as hard as I know how. Sam . . . I hate this. I hate that all my instincts tell me to grab my kids and protect them from everything, everyone, even you. I know it isn’t right. I know that you’re the love of my life, the man I ought to trust above anyone else. But I have to learn that. It doesn’t come naturally.”

I’m afraid, when I say it, that he’s going to take offense . . . and I realize that fear, too, is part of what I have to unlearn. Melvin got in me as deep as cancer, but if I have to claw him out by the bloody handfuls, I will.

It feels like a piece of that rot falls away when Sam says, steady as always, “It didn’t come naturally for me either. You’ll get there, Gwen. I trust you to find the way. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The gift of that makes tears burn in my eyes. I lift his hand and press my lips to it in silent gratitude.

“Now,” Sam says. “Somebody’s fucking with our lives. What are we going to do about that?”

I take a deep breath. “Go get him,” I say.

“Damn right.”

We clink glasses and drain the last of our wine.

10

KEZIA

I’m so damn tired that night when I get home, I fall asleep on the couch without doing any of the normal things I’d take care of before bed.

Like putting my phone on the charger.

I wake up at 5:00 a.m. and instinctively reach to check messages only to find the damn thing’s dead. Shit. I plug it in and go off to shower and make coffee; when I come back it’s got enough power for me to see that I had just one missed call.

Gwen. I call back while I take my first, life-saving sip of coffee, and I forget about the cup altogether as she tells me about her night. About the damn wanted posters, the gun range expulsion. That has to hurt, and it’s worrying. My coffee gets significantly cooler while she tells me about the new internet stalker she’s acquired, but I take a big gulp anyway before I say, “You think it’s the same guy?”

“Seems pretty likely,” she says. “Sam’s going to check on the Lost Angels site and find out who’s agitating against us right now. This guy . . . seems pretty devoted, and pretty capable. I’m worried, to be honest.”

“About how the kids will handle it? Or about how you will?”

“Shit, Kez. You get right to the heart of things, don’t you?” She lets out a breath. “Both, I guess. You know what my impulse is, don’t you?”

“Grab what you love and run?”

“I can’t do that anymore. I can’t do it to them anymore.”

“‘Stand your ground’ didn’t work so well out at Stillhouse Lake.”

“That was special circumstances,” she counters. “Unless the NPD finally decided to get serious about the Belldenes, it was the right decision to go.”

“We haven’t, and we probably won’t unless they do something real stupid,” I say. “So you’re likely right. You think the kids can handle that pressure?”

“I think we all have to learn to live with it. Somehow. Sorry to add to your burdens, Kez, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Look, I called you out to a crime scene at God Knows O’clock, so you get to drop whatever you need on me. I’m so sorry. You don’t need this shit.”

“I really don’t,” she says. “But I’m shoveling. Listen . . . I should have said before, but I turned up something you need to know about Sheryl Lansdowne.” Then she launches into the story, and I grab pen and notebook and find myself taking quick, furious notes, writing down names in sharply slanted handwriting that tells me my hunter’s blood is up. I’m completely focused on what she’s saying, and deep down I’m not even that surprised. I believed Tommy’s father last night when he told me his son didn’t just run for the hills. There’s something here. Something dark and twisted and very, very dangerous.

“Thanks, Gwen,” I tell her at the end. “Take time, okay? Take care of your fam. I got this.”

“I’ll keep digging when I can.” She seems calm and practical. I don’t know if I would be. “It’s good to have something else to think about.”

“Gwen. You got through it before. Stay strong.”

“Just once, I’d like to not have to,” she says, and I’m a little surprised at how vulnerable she sounds. “I still plan to head to Valerie once the kids are in school today and find out more about Sheryl Lansdowne. I’ll get back to you tonight, most likely.”

“You just watch your back.” I mean that on every level, from the regular worries about poking around in things that aren’t her business to the threats hanging over her.

When we end the call, I stand there staring at the coffeepot for a long few minutes before I dump what I’ve made in a travel cup.

I need to get to work.

Detective Prester is there ahead of me. He looks tired, and he looks worse than yesterday. I worry for him. “Hey,” I say, and put my bag and travel mug down on my desk. “Coffee?”

He nods without speaking, and I go fetch it. I know how he takes his; I made it a point to find out the