Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake #4)(87)

23

GWEN

I call every person I know who can be of help.

The war council convenes at Stillhouse Lake, at our old house with the shotgun holes in the drywall and signs of struggle everywhere. Before everyone arrives, I go to Connor’s room and open the door. It’s neat, as it usually is, like he’s just stepped out. Books racked on every available shelf. He always makes his bed, even when I’m telling him that we’re leaving this place, maybe for good. I know that some of that is his need to exert control over a life that’s often seemed wildly chaotic. But I also think he’s just careful, even at thirteen.

I sit down and pick up his pillow, then silently hug it and breathe in the scent of my son. I want to cry. I can’t. The pain is fierce, but it also burns away all the worry. We can get him back. We will.

I put the pillow back and smooth it down, and I go to the living room as the doorbell rings. Lanny and Vee are sitting uneasily on the couch, holding hands. I don’t like it, but I don’t discourage it either. Lanny needs this now. And so does Vee, most probably. “Mom? Do you want me to make tea or something?” Lanny asks.

“Sure, honey,” I tell her. “See what we’ve got. Maybe make some coffee too.” I have the feeling it’s going to be a long night.

Kezia and Javier Esparza are the first to get here. I haven’t seen Javi much recently; he’s been off doing his own thing running the gun range and visiting family, but he and Sam always keep in touch. Javier is a badass. He’s an incredible shot, and one of the best, most polite shooting instructors I’ve ever seen, while also not putting up with anyone’s bullshit—which can be considerable out here in not-exactly-liberal rural Tennessee. He doesn’t talk much about his days in the Marine Corps, but I know he was highly trained and almost certainly highly decorated. Javier is someone I need at my back right now . . . and I’m grateful, so grateful, that he’s willing to be here.

Javier doesn’t say a word when he walks in; he just gives me a hug and sits down. From him, that’s a lot. Banter is his usual way of expressing emotions, but when he’s silent like this, he’s very, very focused. I wouldn’t want to be his enemy, ever, but especially when he’s in this mood.

Kezia’s right behind him, and her hug lingers a little longer. “You all right?” she asks me. I try to smile. “Yeah, okay, I see.” She glances at Vee and Lanny, both in the kitchen taking down mugs from shelves. The last time she saw my daughter was when she took her statement taking the blame off Olly Belldene. “Girls okay?”

“They’re all right,” I say. “Worried, of course. I’m trying to keep them occupied.”

“Anybody else coming?”

“A few more,” I tell her. It’s a bit of an understatement.

When I try to step away, she holds me in place. “You made a deal with the Belldenes, didn’t you?” I don’t answer that. I don’t want to lie, not to her, but I can’t tell her the truth either. She finally just shakes her head, lips pressed into a hard line of disapproval. “You’re on the wrong side of this, Gwen.”

“I’m on the side of my kids,” I tell her. “And I know you are too. Thank you for being here.”

“Well, Prester would have come, too, but one of us needs to be here in Norton. He also said thank God whatever mess you’re in is not in our town for a change.”

I have to laugh, because I can almost hear Detective Prester saying it. I didn’t ask him to come tonight, but I’m not surprised, either, by the fact he knows. Norton doesn’t deserve the two detectives it’s got, and I’m sure the locals don’t know how lucky they are.

J. B. arrives next, but when I open the door she doesn’t come in. She gestures me outside and points out at the far end of the road, where it disappears down a dip in the hill. “I really hope that isn’t a problem.” I see the line of cars as it comes around the curve. Six of them—big, black SUVs. Two of them park down on the road. The other four turn in, and maneuver into our already-packed space in front of the house. It’s a lot. I imagine our neighbors around the lake are paying close attention and wondering what kind of trouble I’m in this time.

We stand quietly together on the porch and watch. J. B. says, “FBI?”

I nod. “Go on inside,” I tell her. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She goes, and I wait, breath misting in the cold air. This is the kind of night Sam and I like—crisp, bracing, the sky full of stars and the lake shattering that light into glitter. We’d sit out here on this porch with a bottle of wine, sharing a blanket, fingers twined together. Blind, contented peace.

I want that back so badly.

FBI Special Agent Mike Lustig unfolds himself from the passenger side of the first SUV. A big, powerful African American man with a handsome face that eases into a restrained smile when he sees me. More people start getting out of the SUVs—like Lustig, they’re serious people in suits. Lustig’s wearing his FBI badge on his hip, which he normally doesn’t; he’s in full Bureau mode right now.

“Agent,” I say, and offer my hand. He shakes it. We’re a little more formal than the rest of my friends, at least right now, after Wolfhunter. He made choices I didn’t like. One of them was working with Miranda Tidewell to try to get Sam away from me. He’s never fully trusted me, and I doubt that’s going to change. “Thanks for coming. And”—I gesture to the rest of it—“bringing the cavalry.”