Page 62 of Darkwater Lane

I close my eyes and drop my chin to my chest, trying to quiet the emotions churning inside me. “Thank you for coming.”

She squeezes my arm. “That’s what family’s for.”

I take a deep breath and let it out, struggling to find my center once more. “I guess I need to go wake up our lawyer in the middle of the night and get my partner out of jail. Again.”

17

GWEN

It’s sunrise by the time we leave the police station. Once our attorney, Claudia, arrived from Knoxville and started mentioning body cameras and explaining in exquisite detail the lawsuit she planned to file against the officers involved in beating Sam, the department decided it would just be best if they dropped the pending charges.

“Look, as much as I like clients who pay their bills on time, if you could manage to stay out of trouble, it would make all our lives much easier,” Claudia said as she got into her car for the drive back to Knoxville. It didn’t sound like a joke.

As if it were that easy.

A medic tended to Sam’s wounds while he was in custody, but he still looks pretty terrible. His nose has a cut across the bridge, and one of his eyes is swelled half-shut. Several of his ribs are bruised, and while he tries to hide it, it’s clear he’s in pain. He winces as he slides into the passenger seat of my SUV.

When we reach the house, I sigh as I pull into the driveway. Half my winter garden is chewed up from where the police carshaphazardly parked last night, and the remnants of our front door lie scattered across the porch.

Because of the damage, I couldn’t set the alarm before we left, which means the house has been completely open and vulnerable for hours. I grab my gun from the safe in the back of the SUV as Sam gets his from his truck. He takes the lead, crouching low and staying alert as we approach the front door from the side.

He catches my eye and holds up three fingers. I wait until all are down before following him inside. We sweep the house quickly and methodically, checking under every bed, through every closet, and even in the attic. Once we’re sure no one else has snuck in and is waiting to ambush us, Sam rummages through a crate in the panic room until he finds our debugger.

He uses it in every room, slowly checking the floors, walls, ceilings, and shelves. Once he’s done, he gives me a thumbs-up. No hidden cameras or mics, thank goodness. It’s only at that point that I allow myself to slump into one of the kitchen chairs. I lean my elbows on the table and thrust my fingers through my hair.

“Why does it always have to be so damn hard?” I ask, thoroughly exhausted.

“Would it be worth it if it was easy?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

I notice his smile, then, and realize he was joking. I’m glad for that little moment of levity. My heart needed a break from the crushing strain of it all.

“We need to reprogram the alarm,” I tell him. “The cops know the old code, and who knows who they’ve shared it with.”

Sam winces as he slides into the chair across from me. “I guess I should head down to the hardware store and pick up a new door before whoever swatted us decides to get more creative or aggressive.”

“It was the Belldenes,” I tell him. “Kez is pretty sure of it. Shesaw one of their trucks parked off to the side of the road on her way to the house.”

Sam’s expression turns stormy. “They’ve gone too far. It was one thing with the viper in the mailbox and shooting out my truck window. The cops fired shots last night. Connor could have been hit.”

I feel physically sick at the thought. “Kez said she’d talk to Jasper again. We could file charges since swatting is illegal, but who knows if anyone will care that much.”

“They won’t. If the Belldenes cared about the law, they wouldn’t flout it like they do.” He shakes his head. “We’re just going to have to get creative, that’s all.”

“Like what?” While I’m all for waging war against the Belldenes for our right to live in Stillhouse Lake, we’re already fighting enough battles. We don’t need to add more.

Before he can answer, my phone pings with a text.

Taylor

Looks like you’ve been busy.

It’s followed by a link to a news site. I click on it, already bracing for what I’ll find. It’s a picture of Sam from the night before, hands cuffed behind his back and head down as a cop guides him into a patrol car. Above it in bold is the headline:Murder Suspect Implicated in Child Sex Trafficking Ring.

My stomach starts to ache.

“What is it?” Sam asks.