Killman Creek (Stillhouse Lake #2)(109)

Sam’s waiting with a beer for me, and I gratefully take it and sink down next to him on the new couch. The old one was filthy, and anyway, it’s time. It’s time for new things. Fresh starts.

“Mike called,” Sam says, then takes a deep pull of the beer. Connor settles in on the other side of him, and when Sam puts an arm around his shoulders, he doesn’t flinch. He takes out a book and starts reading, but that’s expected. It’s a new book, I realize. One I haven’t seen before. That seems significant, but I don’t know why. “He’s going to be tied up in DC for a while, but he says hi. Rivard’s executive assistant rolled hard the second he knew the old man was locked up. He gave Mike the keys to the kingdom.”

“Everything?” I ask, giving him a look. The trauma of Baton Rouge sometimes seems like a nightmare, a month out, but suddenly it’s vivid again. Memories of empty, hungry eyes. The gun kicking in my hand. I can still feel the shock traveling through my arm, up my body. Feel the blood on my face. I take a breath. “You’re sure? Everything?”

“Almost a thousand arrests just this week,” he says. “All over the world. Including the ones who bought tickets to the show that night.”

That’s code, and I understand it. The show. The one where I was to be tortured to death. I shiver a little and huddle closer to his warmth. “That sounds good.”

“They’re going to get all of them. Rivard was a businessman; he kept excellent records. Even the trolls are getting hauled in and booked.” Sam laughs a little bitterly. “Not that it’s put a dent in your hate mail, but give it time.”

“So Mike’s okay?”

“Mike,” Sam says, “is the new golden boy of the Bureau, and I think he likes it. Oh, one more thing. The forensic work on the videos finally came in: faked, of course. Not that you had anything to prove to us about that. Any of us.” He looks over at Kezia, at Javier, at the kids, and I feel gratitude well up inside. Over this past month, each of them has come to me and told me when and where they’d come to the realization that they were wrong. Predictably, maybe, my daughter was the last.

Sam apologized first. Not that he had anything to be sorry for. Oh, the kids believed me first, I think, but it took an adult admitting it before they were comfortable saying so. I think they get that reluctance to show vulnerability from me. I hope that I can show them something else, now.

I tip my head up and look at him. He kisses my forehead, a quick brush of lips that leaves me warmer. This is sweet. And I’m so grateful for that. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, offering me his bottle. We clink glass. “The FBI’s putting out a public statement tomorrow that completely clears you. The end.”

I sigh a little. It was a minor issue, given everything else that’s happened, but I’m glad it’s settled now. “You and I both know that isn’t true,” I tell him. “There will always be some people out there who don’t believe it. Any of it.”

“In a fight between some Infowars-swilling neckbeard and you, I know who to put my money on,” he says. He takes another drink, and I can tell that he’s trying to make it casual when he says, “About my cabin. Seems like the owner wants me to sign another lease starting next month. Rent’s going up, too.”

“I see.”

“So I might be homeless pretty soon.” There’s a slight, teasing question in his voice. I smile, but I don’t look up.

“That would be sad.”

“So sad.”

“And I suppose you might need a place.”

“Now that you mention it. Got any leads?”

Lanny and Dahlia are whispering together. Giggling now. “Oh, just get it out there,” Dahlia says. “We all know.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, turning a page. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Mr. Cade, you’re welcome to move in here.” I feel a tremor, though I mean it. This is a huge step for me. An expression of trust I wasn’t sure I could ever give anyone again.

“You sure?”

This time I do glance up. His eyes are steady and kind, and I catch my breath, because there’s a look there I’ve never quite seen before. Intense, as if he’s seeing me for the first time, all over again.

“I’m sure,” I say. There used to be a minefield between us, but all those bombs are gone now, blown up, and what’s left in its place is good ground. A good place to build. It’ll take work, but I’ve never been afraid of that.

“Dinner’s ready!” That’s Kezia, from the kitchen. “I didn’t cook it, so it’s safe, I swear.” The running joke of the past few weeks has been Kezia Claremont’s inexplicable talent for ruining absolutely everything she tries to cook. It’s a gift.

“She made an effort, though. She burned some toast,” Javier says as Kez carries a big pan of roasted chicken and vegetables to the table. “Let’s eat before Boot gets it all.”

Boot rolls over at the mention of his name and licks his chops. I pat him, and he grunts and closes his eyes. He’s recovered better than any of us.

“Yeah, get everything on the table,” I say, then slip out from Sam’s warmth to put on my coat, hat, and gloves. “I’m just going down to check the mail. Be right back.”