The Bad Daughter(45)

“Go ahead.”

“Have you talked to Dylan Campbell?”

“He walked into the station first thing this morning and introduced himself.”

“That cocky bastard. And?”

“He claims he was in Las Vegas on the night of the shootings, showed us a receipt from the hotel where he stayed, claims he did pretty well at the tables. We’re waiting on video confirmation. Should have it by the end of the day.”

Shit. “And Donny Warren?”

“I talked to him.”

“And?”

“Says he knew Tara casually, but that they definitely weren’t having an affair.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Not sure.”

“Does he have an alibi for that night?”

“He says he was home in bed. Asleep. Alone.”

“So he doesn’t have an alibi,” Robin clarified.

“Or a motive,” Prescott said.

“That we know of.”

“That we know of,” the sheriff agreed.

Robin debated telling Sheriff Prescott about the events of the previous night—how she’d seen Landon sneak out of the house after midnight, how she’d watched him climb onto the back of a motorcycle and drive off into the darkness. Anything to deflect suspicion from Alec.

“Are you all right?” the sheriff asked. “Your face is kind of…”

Scrunched up? Robin pushed at her cheeks with her fingers, as if trying to smooth away any errant signs of emotion. Damn it. “I’m fine.”

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

Again Robin considered telling the sheriff about the events of the previous night. Again, loyalty toward her family won out. “No,” she said finally. “There’s nothing.”



* * *



—

“Cassidy seems to be making great progress,” Robin said to her sister as they were driving home. “The doctor said that if she continues to improve at this rate, she could conceivably be released by the end of the week.”

“Which begs the question…where exactly is she going to go?” Melanie asked. “I know I said she’d come home with me, but I didn’t mean forever. I have enough on my plate.”

Robin gave the question a moment’s thought. Melanie wasn’t being unreasonable. And Cassidy had admitted to being scared of Landon. Her cavernous new home was a crime scene, her mother dead, her stepfather in a coma. She wanted nothing to do with her newly resurfaced biological father. Her grandparents were God knows where. Which left only foster care.

Or me, Robin thought. Was she really prepared to take Tara’s child back to Los Angeles to live with her? What would Blake think of that? “Look. There’s something I need to talk to you about. It concerns Landon.”

“What about him?”

“I saw him. Last night.”

Melanie’s shoulders tensed. She turned the corner abruptly and pulled the car to a stop at the side of the road, shutting off the engine, then swiveling around to face her sister. “What exactly did you see?”

“I saw him go downstairs and out the front door. I followed him. Do you think we could leave the air-conditioning on? It’s so hot…”

“You followed him,” Melanie repeated, ignoring her request.

“It was after midnight. I was worried…”

“You were curious,” Melanie corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Robin told her sister about Landon waiting by the side of the road and the motorcycle that picked him up, watching as Melanie’s hands formed fists in her lap. “Help me out here, Melanie. I’m trying to understand.”

“Your trying to understand is going to land my son behind bars. I’m sure the sheriff was salivating when you told him this.”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“No?” Melanie looked momentarily relieved. “Well, that’s something, I guess. Thank you for that.” She restarted the car, pulling away from the curb with such a jolt that Robin’s head almost hit the front window, despite her seat belt. Neither sister said another word for the duration of the ride home. “Who the hell is that?” Melanie asked as they turned onto Larie Lane.

Robin looked toward the late-model white Lexus sitting in her sister’s driveway, her gaze shifting to the man beside it, who stood looking anxiously toward them. “Oh, my God.”

“You know this person?” Melanie asked.

“I don’t believe it,” Robin said, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice. “It’s Blake.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


She couldn’t stop looking at him.

They were walking down the road, the same route she’d taken with her sister the day before, and every few seconds Robin snuck a peek at him, just to make sure he was really there, that he wasn’t a figment of her overripe imagination.

They’d spoken only a handful of sentences since she stepped out of the car. She’d wanted to race into his arms, smother his beautiful face with kisses, but something about the rigidity of his stance, the set of his jaw, the flatness of his gaze, had stopped her, warning her to keep her distance. “Thank God you’re here,” she’d wanted to shout. “What are you doing here?” was what she’d said, stepping into an awkward embrace, Blake’s lips missing hers to graze the side of her hair.