Mission Road (Tres Navarre #6)(78)

It wasn’t fair.

She looked down at her brother’s face, pale and perfectly sculpted, so much like the clay bust. She heard her counselor’s voice: Take control. You’ll never be free of him otherwise.

She picked up the policewoman’s baton.

AFTERWARD, SHE RAN DEEP INTO THE woods. Cactus tore at her legs. Branches scraped her face.

She didn’t look back.

She stumbled in a stream, dropped the baton in the water. She kept going, running from the sound of the police siren somewhere behind her, impossibly thin and weak, but growing steadily louder, like a lament from the other side of the world.