Stillhouse Lake (Stillhouse Lake #1)(49)

That smile tells me he’s not done.

That we’re not done.





6


Darkness already has a firm hold as I make the turn on the road out to Stillhouse Lake. I go too fast, speeding around the inky turns, hoping no one is walking this path tonight, or driving with lights off.

They aren’t. It’s quiet, and I pull into my driveway with a sense of relief, which is paradoxical because this home, this sanctuary, isn’t safe anymore. It’s an illusion. It’s always been an illusion.

Sam Cade is sitting on the porch drinking a beer as I pull up and shut off the Jeep’s headlights. I reach for the tablet to shut it off, only to find that the battery’s completely drained. I stow it and take a couple of breaths to compose myself. Somehow, I never expected to arrive and find everything okay.

Even though that was my fondest hope.

I get out and walk up to join Sam on the porch; he silently hands me a cold Samuel Adams, which I twist open and swig gratefully. It tastes wonderfully like coming home.

“That’s a hell of a quick trip,” he says. “Everything okay?”

I wonder what kind of vibe I’m giving off that he’d ask. “Yeah. I think so. Just some business I needed to take care of. It’s done.” No, it isn’t. Nothing is done. I thought he’d get the message, but instead he wasn’t even worried. He isn’t afraid of me.

That means I’d better be afraid of him. Again.

“Well. We got the deck frame built out. A few more days to put the boards down and waterproof, and it’ll be ready to use.” He hesitates, then says, “Gwen, the police came around about an hour ago. Said they wanted to reinterview you about, you know, the girl in the lake. I told them you’d call.”

My stomach lurches, but I nod and hope that I seem just fine with that. “I guess they’re still grasping at straws about the dead woman. I was hoping they’d settle that by now.” Or is this something new? Something courtesy of Mel?

“Guess nothing’s settled, since they haven’t caught the killer,” he says. He takes another drink. “You’re not holding back anything, are you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I only ask because I didn’t like the feeling they gave me. Just be careful when you talk to them, okay? Maybe take a lawyer along.”

A lawyer? My first impulse is shock and rejection, but then I reconsider. It might be a good idea. I could confess everything about my past to an attorney, and he’d have to keep it under seal. Maybe finally unburdening myself would feel good. And maybe it wouldn’t. If I still can’t fully trust Sam with all my secrets, trusting some country lawyer out of Norton would be nearly impossible. It’s a small town. People talk.

I change the subject. “How are the kids?”

“All fine. Pizza for dinner. They’ve got homework. Not too happy about it. The homework, I mean. They were really into the food.”

“Well, that’s normal.” I suddenly realize that I’m starving; I’ve gone without anything more solid than coffee and a soft drink all day. “Any pizza left?”

“With two kids? You’re dreaming if you think they didn’t finish a large all by themselves.” Sam smiles a little. “But I ordered two for that very reason. Just needs a little heating up.”

“Sounds like heaven. Join me?”

So we find ourselves sitting at the kitchen table in companionable silence as I eat two slices and think about a third. Lanny breezes in from her bedroom to grab an energy drink and steal a slice. She raises an eyebrow and says, “You’re back.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled.”

She rounds her eyes and flutters her hands and pitches her voice into the annoying, saccharine level. “You’re back! Oh, Mom, I missed you so much!”

I nearly choke on my pizza. She smirks and retreats to her room, slamming the door even though she doesn’t need to. That makes Connor stick his head out. He sees me and gives me a quiet grin. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. You need any help with your homework?”

“Nah, I got it. It’s easy. I’m glad you’re back.”

From him, it sounds sincere, and I smile back with real warmth. The warmth fades as Connor withdraws back into his room, and I’m faced with a stark reality: Mel knows where we are. He knows. He talked about Brady. Specifically about my son.

The answer’s obvious. Javier has the van ready. All I have to do is drive the Jeep over and pick up the van, load us up, and go. Find a new place to start over. We can use the emergency IDs I have buried in the geocache fifty miles from here; I’ve also split part of the money there, and I’ll leave it for now. I have better than thirty thousand with me, still. I’ll have to pay Absalom in Bitcoin to get us new, clean papers and backstories once we burn these identities, and that’ll cost us another ten thousand, at the least. From the ease with which he does it, I can only think he works for some shadowy spy agency where false identities are as common as junk mail.

Melvin expects me to run; he said as much. But everyone runs from the monster. Everyone except the monster slayer, a voice in my head says. Not Mel’s, this time. My own. It sounds calm, and cool, and utterly capable. Don’t do this. You’re happy here. Don’t let him win. You have the upper hand, and he knows it. He doesn’t want to die, and you can always, always pull that trigger.