by Lucy Kerr
“Didn’t he?” Noah said, so offhandedly that my eyes narrowed.
“No. He didn’t. Which seems weird to me. What do you think?”
He studied me, the shadows under his eyes deepening. “I think it’s fine. All we need in the statement is what happened up to the point that I walked in. You don’t need to worry about anything after that.” Noah slid the paper away from me, scanned it. “That’s good. I’ll type it up at the station, have you sign that one to make it official.”
“What about Steven?”
“He confessed. We searched his house, found the proof he’d taken off Josh—Kate’s schedule and license plate, written on the back of a campaign flyer. There’s blood on the paper.”
“The campaign hands out those brochures like candy,” I said. “Will it hold up in court?”
“Probably not. But it’s politics, and in the court of public opinion … Steven’s done. I’m guessing he’ll try to cut a deal.” He stood, looked about as if he couldn’t quite figure out where he was.
“You did good,” I reminded him. “You got justice for Kate. If you hadn’t come along when you did …”
“You had Steven under control,” Noah said, and I wanted to believe him.
So I did. About this, anyway.
“There are more, aren’t there?”
He began to prowl the room. “More what?”
“More people involved.” I’d started to think about it as I wrote my report. Steven hadn’t committed his crimes in a vacuum. Other people must have participated. They’d tipped him off, eased his way, backed him in his run for Congress. “Like Ted Sullivan.”
“As far as I can tell,” Noah said, “Ted is an opportunistic sleazebag, but he wasn’t involved in Kate’s death.”
“Okay, not Ted. But Kate didn’t trust anyone to help her. She didn’t go to a single person in the sheriff’s department, the district attorney’s office, or the state police. I assumed it was because she didn’t think she could trust anyone. Now I’m wondering if she knew she couldn’t. I think Kate realized that Steven wasn’t the only person involved in whatever corruption she’d uncovered.”
Noah stopped pacing as I continued. “Considering the level Steven was operating at, it seems likely there were plenty of people in other departments—the sheriff’s department, for example—who were just as corrupt.”
“Seems logical,” he agreed, not quite looking at me.
“Seems dangerous,” I said. “Especially if a member of that department began to suspect his colleagues were not on the up-and-up. He might start to feel like he can’t trust people there.”
Noah looked out the window, studying the blue sky dawning over Stillwater.
“He might even start to investigate on his own,” I added.
“He might,” Noah said. “That sort of investigation would be dangerous, particularly for the people around him. The ones he trusts. He might warn them off.”
“They might not listen,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. “Guess it’s good it’s all hypothetical, huh?”
“Guess so,” he echoed.
I crossed the room to stand next to him, my shoulder brushing his arm. After a moment, I slipped my hand into his and squeezed.
“You’re a good cop, Noah MacLean. A good man.”
After a moment, he squeezed back. “I’m trying.”
“I’m glad.”
Trying to lighten the mood, I turned and waved my free hand at the cluttered apartment. “What do you think of my new digs?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Not bad. A little cluttered.”
“A small price to pay for more privacy.”
“Even with your roommate?”
“Even so.” I paused. “It’s good to be home, you know. I just couldn’t live at home.”
“Are you home, then? For good?”
A familiar fluttering began, directly behind my sternum. For good was another way of saying forever.
“For as long as I need to be,” I said, trying to keep the fluttering under control. It was as close to the truth as I could come, as much of a promise as I could make to Noah or anyone else—including myself.
The corner of Noah’s mouth curved upward, and he laced his fingers with mine. “Sounds like a start.”
Acknowledgments
Once again, I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to my nursing experts: Katt Solano, who never lost patience while (repeatedly) explaining the basics of maternal-fetal medicine; Faye Collins, who generously answered eight million questions about how emergency rooms work; and my baby sister, Kris, who, in between saving lives and working on her doctorate, walked me through the finer points of hospital procedures in every department. (She also gave me the world’s cutest nephew, because she’s an overachiever.) Thank you, ladies, for your kindness, your knowledge, and the work you do every day. If there are medical mistakes in these pages, the fault is entirely mine.
Book people are the best people, and library people are the best kind of book people. Lauren Hilty is proof of that. She and the rest of the staff at the Grayslake Library cheered me on and made sure there was always a study room open. Andrea Larson and the rest of the Cook Library team welcomed me into their ranks and fed me cake; Marla Littlefield provided HR expertise; Aarin Olson explained the art of “accidental” fires.
I am forever grateful to Ryann Murphy, Melanie Bruce, Heather Marshall, Shannyn Schroeder, and Stacey Kade for their compassion and wisdom, and to Melonie Johnson and Clara Kensie for their constant encouragement and insight. Were it not for Lynne Hartzer, Loretta Nyhan, and Eliza Butler, this book wouldn’t exist. Thank you, ladies, for being both an anchor and a beacon, and most of all a lifeline.
Thanks to Joanna Volpe, fearless leader and big dreamer, for all that you do—and for making me believe those big dreams too. I’m indebted to the entire team at New Leaf Literary and Media, including Kathleen Ortiz, Mia Roman, Pouya Shabazian, Devin Ross, Jackie Lindert, and especially Danielle Barthel, for always going above and beyond the call of duty. I am indebted to the team at Crooked Lane Books, including Dan Weiss, Matt Martz, Anne Brewer, Sarah Poppe, and Jenny Chen (who has the fastest response time of anyone in publishing), for giving Frankie such a good home. Thanks, too, to Dana Kaye and Julia Borcherts, wizards of publicity and all-around excellent people.
I am astonishingly lucky to have parents like mine: smart, good-hearted, supportive, and loving. What a tremendous example you’ve set—and how high a bar. Thank you for every single thing you do, for all of us. And thanks to Kris and JT, for lots of things—love, support, laughter—but especially for granting me unlimited nephew-snuggling privileges.
Finally, because I am the kind of girl who saves the best for last, I couldn’t do this, or anything else, without the patience and encouragement of my family: my brilliant, beautiful children and Danny—best husband, best friend, best person I know. You are my heart and my home.
