Page 15 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

After dinner, she and Lanny disappear into Lanny’s room and Connor heads to his to work on homework.

Sam retreats to our home office with his laptop.

Even though he leaves the door cracked, it’s pretty clear he wants to be left alone, so I take a long shower and fall into bed.

I try to wait up for him, but I drift off at some point, waking again in the early morning hours.

The first thing I do is check the house alarm.

Vee isn’t always the best about arming it when she leaves.

I note the telltale flash of red, indicating it’s active.

Of course, that would be the case if she didn’t leave…

I grab my phone and pull up the tracking app.

Her icon is parked at her apartment complex, which means she made it home safely last night.

Lanny’s and Connor’s phones indicate they’re here, and I resist the urge to slip down the hallway and crack open their doors just to be sure. Instead, I start a pot of coffee and carry a steaming mug to my office.

Sam’s laptop is charging on the table in the corner, and I can’t help but glance around my desk to see if he left any indication of what he was working on.

I’ve noticed he’s been spending more and more time online lately, and while it could easily be re-certifications or trainings for work, my gut says it’s something else.

He’s been obsessed with tracking down Leo in order to definitively prove his innocence, but as far as I know, he hasn’t had any better luck than I have. I worry that Sam’s hunt for exoneration may lead him into some pretty dark corners of the internet, but ultimately, I have to trust him.

I’m behind on my work for J.B., so I decide to start on that instead of Sicko Patrol. I finish up the report I’ve been drafting and am compiling the supporting docs to go along with it when Lanny pops her head around the doorjamb. Her expression is comically hopeful.

“No, you can’t borrow the car,” I tell her before she can even ask.

She lets out that sigh-slash-groan that only teenagers can master. “Seriously Mom? How long are you going to punish me?”

“It’s not a punishment,” I tell her. “It’s a precaution.”

She crosses her arms and scowls. “It might as well be a punishment,” she grumbles. “You let me drive to school last week just fine. I don’t see why that has to change because of some stupid podcast.”

We’ve had this debate so many times, I don’t even have to say anything. I just look at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Fine,” she says with a huff before turning and retreating to her room to finish getting ready.

Sam’s next, bearing a refill of coffee. I take it gratefully and inhale deeply before swallowing a long sip. I don’t care that it burns my throat. It’s heaven. I let out a contented sigh.

“You know the sounds you make are borderline indecent,” he says .

“Is that the reason you bring me a fresh mug every morning?” I ask.

He gives me a sly smile. “That might be part of it.”

Normally he would punctuate a statement like that with a kiss, but instead he moves toward the chair in the corner of the office and takes a seat.

It’s only then that I notice he closed the door behind him when he came in.

He must have something on his mind that he doesn’t want the kids to overhear us discussing.

My grip around the mug tightens. “What’s up?”

“I spoke with Rowan Applegate last night.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “What?”

“She’s Callie’s sister. In some weird way, that makes us family. I thought maybe if we talked, I could change her mind about us. You know, like me getting to know you changed my opinion of you.”

I think back to the summer I first met Sam. At the time, I hadn’t known about his connections to the Lost Angels or that he held me responsible for his sister’s death. I had no idea that he was trying to get close to me so he could exact his revenge.

He makes a good point. It’s easy to demonize and victimize others when you don’t see them as actual human beings—as people with families and dreams and fears, just like you.

“Since she’s the de facto head of the Lost Angels now and a co-host of the podcast, I was hoping she might be willing to take down the show once she understood how it was affecting us.”

“Did it work?”

He lets out a snort. “No. If anything, I’m afraid I may have made her angrier.” He shifts in his seat, looking frustrated. “I tried to tell her that Callie wouldn’t want this—she wouldn’t want people demonizing me and threatening my family.”

From everything Sam has told me about his sister, that sounds like her.

Sam shakes his head. “Rowan was apoplectic. She screamed that I had no idea what Callie wanted because I didn’t know her.

She said I didn’t grow up with her, didn’t comfort her after she had nightmares in the middle of the night, or help her pick out her prom dress, or dry her tears after her first boyfriend broke up with her.

I wasn’t there for her then, and I wasn’t there for her when she died. ”

Sam’s voice catches, and I know Rowan’s words struck him deep.

I move around the desk and crouch in front of him, my hands on his knees.

“Your sister was taken from you when you were kids. It wasn’t your decision to grow up apart from her.

You can’t blame yourself for that. You’d have been there for all of those things, if you’d been allowed to stay together as a family. ”

“I should have tried harder to find her. I shouldn’t have waited for her to find me.” There’s genuine guilt and regret in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. I wish there was something I could say to relieve his pain, but there isn’t.

He takes a deep breath, pressing his fingers against his eyes to stem any tears. “I told Rowan we were both Callie’s siblings and we both loved her. We were the only two people in the world who could claim Callie as a sister, and we should try to get along to honor her memory.”

“That’s a beautiful thought,” I tell him.

“Rowan didn’t think so. She told me she would take out a restraining order against me if I ever contacted her again.”

I knew Rowan had her issues with us, but I didn’t realize they were that extreme.

“Then she said something about natural consequences and that the Lost Angels weren’t backing down and we deserved everything coming our way.”

I rock back on my heels. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

He shakes his head ruefully. “It certainly doesn’t.”

“Do you think she’s planning more than the podcast?”

“She was angry, Gwen. As angry and bitter as I felt in the months after Callie died. ”

He’s talking about the months when he hated me so much he wanted to see me dead. It sounds as though Rowan feels the same.

She should get in line. I have a whole folder on my computer dedicated to the legion of folks who would like to see me dead.

“I also asked her if she knew Leo Varrus was still alive.”

This surprises me. “Really? What did she say?”

His mouth twists. “That I was unhinged to ask her about a man I killed.”

“Great,” I groan. I stand, returning to my seat at the desk. “So, that confirms she thinks you’re a murderer.”

“Looks that way. It sounded like she viewed Leo as a father figure, even more so after her dad passed away a couple of years ago. They grew close while working on the podcast together. She said she viewed it as a legacy to continue his mission.”

“His mission to ruin our lives,” I clarify.

He nods. “She more or less took over the Lost Angels when he disappeared.”

I look down at my coffee mug, processing that information.

I think about what I’d discovered about Rowan earlier—that she worked in cybersecurity and likely had the kind of skills necessary to help someone like Leo to live off-grid.

“Do you think there’s any chance she helped Leo set you up? Maybe she’s in it with him?”

He shrugs. “If she did, she’s a hell of an actor. Her grief was pretty intense when I brought up Leo. I think she genuinely believes he’s dead and that I had something to do with it. But I’ve been wrong about people in the past.”

“I already asked Taylor from work to look into her. I guess we’ll see what she comes back with and go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam says.

I’m just turning back to my computer when he adds, “That’s not all. I heard from work. They shifted the schedule around. I’m no longer on deck to fly to Syracuse later this week.”

I’d been expecting more bad news, but this is a pleasant surprise.

Not that I mind Sam’s job taking him away for days at a time, but I always prefer having him home.

Unlike many couples our age, we actually like each other and enjoy spending time together.

“Maybe we should set up a date night for Friday?” I suggest.

“They’ve taken me off the schedule completely,” he clarifies. “I’m effectively grounded. Indefinitely.”

I let out a breath like I’ve been socked in the gut. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

We’re both silent for a moment as the news sinks in. “Did they say why?”

“Not really. They gave some bullshit HR spiel about reviewing policies, but I think it’s pretty obvious it’s because of the podcast. All my lessons have also been canceled. They’ve given my students to other instructors.”

Anger begins running through me, hot and fierce. “They can’t do that. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Apparently they’ve already had students call in concerned about being alone with me. No one wants to fly with a murderer.”

“You’re not a murderer.”

“Fine. Alleged murderer.”

“That’s ridiculous! Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

He gives me a pointed look. “You of all people should know how that goes.”

Fair enough. “Fine, so they cancel your lessons for a while. But that shouldn’t affect your cargo flights.”

He spreads his hands wide. “I guess they’re worried about bad press from being associated with me.”

I ball my hands into fists. Whatever happened to companies standing by their employees? “Did they fire you?”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “Not officially. If they did, they know I could make trouble over wrongful termination. They claim they’re just suspending me until they complete their review. And they’re still paying my base salary, which I suspect is to keep me from complaining too loudly.”

Any relief I feel that he’s still getting paid is overshadowed by how wrong this whole thing is. Sam loves to fly—he always has. Grounding him has to be crushing. Especially since he’s done nothing wrong.

“What are you going to do?”

“First, I’m going to take Lanny to school. Then I’m headed out to the airfield. Apparently HR has some paperwork for me to review. Conveniently, they’ve also packed up everything from my locker for me to bring home.”

“They cleaned out your locker?” Any hope I had that this might be temporary evaporates.

Sam nods at my sudden understanding. To anyone else, he might look relaxed and casual, but I can see the tension in the way he holds his body, the stress lines radiating from his eyes, and the twitch in the muscle along his jaw.

It’s the expression in his eyes that hurts, though. He’s devastated.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

He places his hands on his knees and pushes up from the chair. “Just like everything else, we’ll get through it,” he says with a heavy sigh.

“What can I do to help?” I ask.

A smile drifts across his face. “Don’t lose your job,” he says, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

That gives me an idea. “You know, J.B. is always looking for folks who can help out on cases on a contract basis. I can reach out to see if she has anything. Might at least give you something to do.”

“I appreciate it,” he says, bending to drop a kiss on my cheek. “I really do. I’ll think about it.”

Lanny calls impatiently for Sam from down the hall, and he rolls his eyes. “Or maybe I’ll just expand my current hobby as family chauffeur.”

“I hear it doesn’t pay very well,” I tell him in a deadpan voice.

That gets a chuckle out of him, and I enjoy the sound as he retreats from my office.

Once Sam and Lanny are gone, I sit and stare at my computer screen, lost in thought. Sam has been through much worse in his life, and I know he’ll land on his feet. This is just another setback among many. Still, he’s being punished for something he didn’t do. That isn’t fair.

Indignation begins churning in my gut. Injustice has always enraged me, and this time is no different. Flying isn’t just a job for Sam, it’s a passion. And now he’s lost that because of the fucking podcast.

Before I can think twice about it, I search my email for Madison Westcott , the name of the other host of The Royal Murders .

She’d reached out to me nearly a year ago to introduce herself and ask me if I would be willing to be interviewed.

I’d barely glanced at her email and ignored her request the same way I ignored all the others.

At the time, her email hadn’t stood out in any way. She hadn’t been the first journalist—or person claiming to be a journalist—to email, nor would she be the last.

Sure enough, her phone number is listed at the bottom of her email. As I tap the number into my phone, I stand and move around my desk, hesitating at my office door as I listen for the sound of Connor stirring. When I’m confident he’s still asleep, I close the door and press the green call button.

Sam couldn’t convince Rowan to stand down, but perhaps I can talk sense into Madison. It’s a long shot, but I have to try. Doing nothing isn’t an option anymore.

She answers on the third ring.