Page 25 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

Her eyes widen with shock, and her lips part on a sharp intake of air. “What?” The word is little more than breath. “Leo? How?” She stumbles back a step and then sits, pressing a trembling hand over her mouth. “Oh, God.”

Her reaction seems genuine. Still, my natural paranoia stops me from believing her completely.

“No wonder they arrested Sam.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, thanks to your podcast. Episode two blaming Sam for killing Leo at Stillhouse Lake really helped. Half the world already thought Sam murdered him.”

She flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help,” I snap.

She stares down at her lap. I cross my arms, acutely aware once again that I’m not carrying my firearm.

After a moment, she says, “I didn’t kill Leo.

And I didn’t lure you out of your house so someone else could kill him.

If you recall, you’re the one who reached out to me .

Yes, I’m the one who suggested we meet, but how in the world could I have ever planned for this?

Why would it ever occur to me that you would call me out of the blue like that? ”

She has a point. The probability that she was involved in Leo’s death is low, but I’m used to ending up on the shit side of statistics. What’s the probability that you end up married to a serial killer? That he’s able to escape from jail and hunt you down?

“I get that you don’t think very highly of me,” she finally says.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I tell her.

“I’m not a bad person.”

I shrug. She’s still young. Maybe she hasn’t realized yet that there’s really no such thing as good people and bad people. We’re all capable of being both.

Madison shifts, looking up at me. Her face is cast in shadows from the police station, softening the edges of her features. “I can help you.”

I scoff. “I don’t need your kind of help.”

“You do, though,” she says.

I shake my head and turn to leave.

“Adnan Syed,” she says.

I start walking, and she jumps up and chases after me. “James Reyos. Curtis Flowers. Dennis Perry.”

I keep walking.

She scurries around me to block my path. “All men whose convictions were overturned because of the publicity generated by a podcast. I can do the same for Sam. Create a new podcast focused on you, him, and your family. Get people on his side. Make them believe he’s innocent.”

“Sam is innocent,” I say through clenched teeth.

“When has actual innocence mattered? Not in the court of public opinion. So, sure, let’s say he’s not convicted by a jury.

So what? You were acquitted, and look how Melvin’s crimes still follow you.

The same will happen to Sam. Everyone will just assume he did it and got off on some sort of technicality. ”

“We’ll be fine,” I tell her dismissively.

“Yeah, but what about your kids?” she says to my back.

A flash of rage sears through me that she would bring up my kids. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“What’s it going to be like for Lanny when she goes to college and everyone whispers behind her back? What’s parents’ weekend going to be like for her? And what about Connor?”

I turn and slice my hand through the air between us. “Do not bring my kids into this.”

“That’s not realistic, Gwen. You have to know that. You’re not going to be able to protect them from the fallout from this.”

A part of me recognizes the grain of truth in her statement, but I’m unwilling to acknowledge it. I can’t. Not right now.

“Look,” she says, her tone softening. “Publicity matters in high-profile cases. It shouldn’t, but it does. A podcast can frame how people see the case and think about Sam.”

That’s awfully rich, coming from her. “Even if I agreed with you, why in the world would I choose to work with you of all people?”

“Because listeners see me as an authority on Melvin Royal right now. And if I start telling your story, people will listen.”

I press my lips together, not certain whether I agree with that or not. It doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.

She must see that because she says, “It’s Sam’s best chance. You have to know that. We frame the narrative before the cops can. We point out the weaknesses in their case. We use public pressure to make it untenable for them to pin this on Sam.”

She pauses, letting her words sink in.

Just then, I hear the rattle of the police station doors and glance toward the entrance in time to see Sam step outside. My heart clenches .

I hadn’t realized until this moment how terrified I was that they might detain him.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I tell Madison with a dismissive wave.

I turn and race toward Sam. I still have a million questions for him, and I’m mad as hell that he’s been hiding things from me, but all of that can wait.

What matters now is that he’s not in jail.

He pulls me into his arms, and I press my face against his shoulder.

There was a part of me that wondered if I’d ever be able to do this again.

If they would just charge him and ship him off to jail where I’d only be able to talk to him through a glass divider.

I inhale, letting his scent fill me. “I was worried,” I mumble into his neck.

He holds me tightly, and I can feel the way his breath catches. “I was too.”

Eventually, I step back from Sam’s embrace, but we keep our hands twined together. I’m not sure when I’ll feel ready to let him go. Claudia, our lawyer, waits at the base of the stairs, and we start toward her. “What’s the status of the investigation?” I ask.

“As of right now, they don’t have imminent plans to press charges, which is good news. The bad news is that Sam is still their main suspect, and they’re gunning hard to dig up as much as they can on him. The minute they think the case is solid enough, they’ll be taking it to the grand jury.”

The news is like a punch to the gut. I can’t believe this is happening.

“Gwen, they want to talk to you as well,” she adds.

I open my mouth to respond, but she holds up a hand. “Before you say anything, there’s something you need to consider. Technically, I can represent both of you, but only if you each sign a waiver acknowledging the potential conflict of interest.”

Sam frowns. “What conflict?”

She looks between us. “That you’re both potential suspects. ”

“Neither one of us had anything to do with Varrus’s murder,” I remind her. “So, there’s no conflict.”

“Except that if they charge Sam, his best defense may be to blame you,” she points out.

“I would never do that,” Sam says.

There’s no doubt in my mind that he wouldn’t do anything to put me in harm’s way, even if it would keep him from going to jail.

Claudia looks at us each in turn, her expression calm but serious. “You’re paying me for my legal expertise, and I’m giving it to you. Having separate lawyers is in both of your best interests. Gwen, I have several very well-respected colleagues and I’m happy to give you a recommendation.”

I know we need to consider her advice, but it’s not something I want to think about right now. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. “I’ll think about it. When can we go back to our house?”

Claudia grimaces. “Unfortunately, it’ll be a while. Several days, at least, while they process the crime scene. I asked the detectives to allow you in to retrieve what you’d need to stay elsewhere, but they said that wasn’t possible.”

Which means we have nothing but the clothes on our backs. Not even toothbrushes and toothpaste. We’ve faced worse situations, but still, it’s not ideal.

Sam squeezes my hand. “We’re together, and the kids are safe. We’ll figure it out.”

The lawyer nods. “Give me a call tomorrow and we can discuss next steps,” she says to Sam.

“Claudia—” I hesitate, not sure I really want the answer to this question. But hiding from reality never works out. We need to know what we’re up against. “How worried do we need to be?”

She looks at both of us in turn and then lets out a long breath.

“I wish I could tell you I wasn’t worried but…” She holds her hands out to the sides and shrugs, leaving it to us to fill in the blank.