Unless they have a car in addition to the RV. No. I’d have noticed. One thing I never am: complacent.
I relax when I see two uniformed police officers. Both African American women. They are walking briskly in my direction. I nod toward them, but I don’t get a nod back. They head for me with laser purpose.
One of them says, “Back away from the door, ma’am.”
They both put their hands on their guns.
I’m still wearing mine, and all of a sudden it feels more like a hot red bullet magnet than a means of defense. I don’t know what’s happening, but I do as they say. I back up against the far wall. I put my hands up above my shoulders, key card still in my right hand.
They turn me to face the wall. I don’t resist, because I’ve looked over their gear and they look utterly authentic. And very, very tense. “I’m armed,” I tell them. “Shoulder holster, left side. I have a carry permit in my wallet, but it’s in the room.”
“Keep your hands flat on the wall,” one of them tells me, and I feel my gun being tugged free. “Okay. Hands down and behind your back.”
“You’re handcuffing me? What did I do?”
“It’s for your safety, ma’am.” The handcuffs click on, and I instinctively pull against them. It hurts.
“What the hell is happening?” I ask.
“Sit down,” the officer facing me orders. She’s got thick eyebrows and a harsh set to her jaw, and I silently slide down. “Cross your legs and do not move until I tell you.”
“Officer, my name is Gwen Proctor—”
“I know what your name is,” she snaps. “You have the right to stay silent, and you’d best use it.”
The other officer is knocking on the door, and it’s only a heartbeat later that Carol flings it open.
She’s got a large red mark forming on her face that’s going to be a bruise soon. One eye is already swelling.
And her hands are tied in front of her with one of the zip-tie flex cuffs I keep in my suitcase.
Fuck. I almost have to admire her.
“Help me,” she says. She’s sobbing. “Please help me!” She’s utterly believable as a terror-stricken victim.
I feel the ground dropping out from under me, and at the same time a grim sense of my own stupidity. I went through her bag. I should have known she’d do the same the second I left her alone.
Should have seen this coming.
15
SAM
I get the call at 6:00 a.m. from Kezia that both of their suspects from Killing Rock are in custody, and we’re clear to head home. That’s good. I’ve tossed and turned all night, feeling like something wasn’t right. Like I needed to be on the move.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I tell her. “Great work.”
“Wasn’t all that great, or much work,” she says, and I hear the amusement in her voice. “Bon turned himself in; he’s no fool. Olly Belldene was a surprise; I figured his old pappy would hide him out in the hills, but instead they called us to come get him. I can only guess they don’t want us back on their property.” She quickly gets serious again. “Sam, I’m going to need Lanny to come in and make formal IDs, and give another statement on the record. When do you think you can get here?”
“I’m a few hours out of town, just heading back,” I tell her. “I’ll give you a call.” I don’t commit to bringing Lanny in, or even what time we’ll be home. For one thing, I might be taking care of her now, but I’m not her parent or legal guardian; they won’t let me sit with her for the statement or lineup, and I want Gwen present. Not that I don’t trust Kez or Detective Prester; they’re both straight arrows. But things have been known to go sideways, and sometimes it’s nobody’s fault.
I get the kids up. They’re not happy at the early wake-up call, but after the initial grumpiness they’re glad that the bad guys are safely behind bars, and we can get on our way. I don’t tell Lanny the police want to talk to her again; there’s no point in making her nervous. I get everybody in the car and on the road in an hour, which I figure is a world record, and we start the drive home.
I receive a phone call when I’m about an hour out from Stillhouse Lake, and check my phone. The phone, as Gwen advised, is new; I put all my usual close contacts in last night. I wouldn’t normally accept a call from anyone off that list, but the caller ID says it’s Gwen’s boss, J. B. Hall. I feel ice form along my bones. I pull the car over to the side of the road and put the flashers on as I answer. “Hello?”
“Mr. Cade?” The voice on the other end is warm but serious. “Gwen gave me your new number. I promise you I won’t give it out, first of all, I understand it needs to be kept confidential—”
I interrupt, because I can’t wait. “Has something happened to Gwen?” I can’t think of any other reason this woman would be calling me. None. And I feel my heart racing, and taste the acrid, bitter surge of adrenaline.
“She’s safe,” J. B. says, and I let my breath out in a rush. Oh, thank God. Connor was sleeping in the passenger seat, but the tension in my voice has woken him up, and he’s staring at me with worry. His sister’s still crashed out behind us with her headphones on. “She’s perfectly fine, Sam. I’ve just seen her.”
“Okay. So why are you calling me?”
“Because she’s been arrested on charges of assault.”
I open my mouth and close it without saying anything. I can legitimately think of a dozen situations where Gwen might go mixed martial arts, but when I spoke to her last night, she wasn’t in any of those. J. B. doesn’t wait for me to ask, and continues, “The young woman she was interviewing? Carol? She set Gwen up the second Gwen left the room to talk to you. Self-inflicted injuries and a call to 911, and Gwen found herself off to a cell for the rest of the night. Carol refused hospital treatment and vanished as soon as she gave her statement, and the police are already figuring out the whole thing is bogus. I’m at the courthouse now, and she’ll be out on bail soon. Don’t worry, the case will be dropped. The detective in charge understands what’s going on here.”
I remember the call with Gwen, the easy way we’d talked. Everything had been fine when we’d ended it, but things must have gone wrong immediately after. Gwen’s not easily fooled, or easily manipulated. This Carol must have been really, really good to pull it off.
“Sam—” J. B. seems like she’s hating what she’s about to say next. “You realize that the story’s about to break that she’s been arrested for assault, right? The circumstances will be gas on a bonfire. The fact that a young woman accused Gwen of holding her prisoner—”
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath before I say, “Media feeding frenzy. I understand.”
“It won’t take them long to get to Stillhouse Lake and lay siege to your house. You can bring the kids to Knoxville—”
“Yeah, bit of a problem with that. We need to talk to the cops in Norton. Lanny’s a witness to something that happened the other night, and she needs to make an identification. Can’t avoid that.” I think about it for a few seconds. J. B. waits. “Okay, we’ll go home, get what we need, go to the police station, and leave from there for your offices.” More hotels in our future . . . or maybe not. Maybe we just find a place in Knoxville and send movers back to pack us up at the house. Maybe this is just the clean break we really need. It won’t be easy for Gwen to make that move, but this does make it a more clear-cut decision. Solves our Belldene problems at the same time.