Page 31 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

I don’t think he understands how big an ask he’s making. “Honey, with the podcast and everything else, it’s just not the right time.”

He shakes his head, clearly disappointed, and pushes up from the couch. “There’s always going to be something. There always is,” he says before turning and retreating to his room.

I stand, intending to go after him, but I change my mind. Any response I give him is going to be borne out of my usual instincts to protect him and his sister. He’s heard it all. He knows the arguments and understands the reasoning, but that’s not enough anymore.

What he needs is for me to listen to what he’s saying and think about it. To truly consider his point of view .

But the dangers are still out there , my mind screams. The number of threats online has multiplied exponentially. The hate against our family is relentless.

And it’s never going to go away. That’s the point Connor was trying to make. He’s tired of letting that fear drive him. Or rather, he’s tired of letting that fear drive me, and me in turn driving him.

I think about what it must have taken for him to confront me about all of this. To stand up for himself. If anything, it’s proof that the thousands of dollars a year in therapy has been money well spent. It’s remarkable how self-aware Connor is and how well he knows himself and his needs.

There was a time when I knew his every need. It’s time for me to admit that’s no longer the case. He’s told me what he needs. I have to listen.

With uneasiness churning in my stomach, I retreat to my office. It still isn’t fully set up—just a desk with my laptop plugged in and a lamp. We haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying, so we haven’t figured out how much unpacking and rearranging we should do.

The first thing I do when I sit at my desk is send out feelers to try to find out if there are any good barns nearby that we can check out for Connor.

He’s loved riding so much that I hate to see him have to let it go.

While there don’t seem to be any equine therapy programs in the area, his regular therapist from home agreed to continue meeting with him via Zoom so at least he’ll have that consistency.

After sending those emails, I do a quick internet search. Once I have the phone number, I call our car insurance company and inquire about how much it will cost to add Connor to our policy. Then I look for a drivers-ed course nearby and fill out an interest form.

Letting him get his license is something I can give him. I just have to figure out how far I’m willing to go without breaking myself.

Later, Taylor from work calls with an update.

“You want the good news or the bad news?” she asks.

Out of habit, I stand from my desk and push the office door closed. Not that it matters. Lanny is out on a long run while Sam and Connor have gone to the hardware store to pick up supplies for some upgrades they have planned for the kids’ bathroom.

Once I’m seated again, I force myself to take a deep breath. “Good news first. There hasn’t been enough of that lately.”

“Your podcaster, Madison Westcott, looks clean.”

Some of the tension leaves my shoulders. “Really?” I should have expected that, given I’d done my own background search on her, but Taylor has skills and access to databases that I don’t have.

“You sound surprised.”

She’s right. “I guess I don’t have much faith in most folks these days.”

“Smart,” Taylor agrees. “I can send you the receipts if you want them, but she has somewhat of an alibi for the night Varrus was murdered. Records show her checking in at 2:25 p.m. and her computer logged into the WiFi at 2:37. She watched YouTube videos until 4:43. Credit card receipt from a second hotel showed she purchased two beers at 5:31.”

“That second receipt is from drinks with me,” I note.

“I pulled her phone records too. Location data has her cell phone in the area of the hotel the whole time.”

“Which just means her cell phone was there. It doesn’t prove she was,” I point out.

“It’s not the most airtight alibi ever,” Taylor agrees.

I try to picture it: Madison checking into her hotel, setting up her computer, then sneaking out again to track down Leo, drag him to my house, and murder him.

There was only a half-hour or so window between the time I left the house to meet her, and when she showed up at the bar.

With traffic, that wouldn’t have left her much time to kill Leo and get cleaned up before meeting me.

“Okay. Thanks for looking into that. And the bad news?”

“Rowan is trouble. I mean, the kind of trouble you don’t want to mess with.”

I slump in my chair as an anxious tension squeezes my gut. “Tell me more.”

“As you noted on her LinkedIn profile, she’s worked in cyber security for years—decades at this point. Her specialty is as a white hat hacker, specifically a penetration tester. She’s one of those people you hire to try to break into your systems—digitally and physically—to find the flaws.”

“Yeah, I saw that she’s a hacker.”

“No, she’s not just a hacker. She’s next level. She’s someone people hire to outsmart other hackers,” Taylor says without hesitation.

My stomach drops. “Wonderful. We all know I’ve had such great luck with hackers in the past,” I say bitterly.

Early on, when we were first on the run, I’d worked with a hacker named Absalom.

He taught me how to reinvent myself, how to avoid getting doxed, and how to keep Melvin from finding us.

Only to discover that he’d been working against me the entire time, leading me right into my ex-husband’s trap.

“This woman is good, Gwen. It wouldn’t surprise me if my digging around didn’t ping some sort of digital tripwire and alert her to the fact that she’s being looked into.”

I curse under my breath. “Would she be able to track it back to you?”

“I’d like to say no because I’m pretty damn good at what I do, but so is she. I give it 90-to-10 odds she doesn’t pin it on me.”

So, a 10% chance Rowan realizes she’s being investigated and tracks it back to Taylor and, by extension, me. Not bad, but not great either. “If she does pin it on you, it’s not even much of a leap to work out that I’m involved.” I run a hand down my face.

“If you want, I can stop looking. Cancel the searches on Madison as well. Tiptoe away and hope Rowan doesn’t catch sight of any digital footprints.”

I shake my head. “Maybe it’s not a bad thing if she realizes I’m digging into her past. Let her know what it’s like to be hunted for once.” I tap a pen on the desk in thought.

“Any indication she was working to help Varrus stay off-grid?”

“None that I could find. But, like I said, she’s pretty good. If anyone can cover their tracks, it’s her.”

“What about her working with Madison? Any evidence of them having a relationship outside of the podcast?”

“Negative on that as well. Though I did find something else. The executor of Leonard Varrus’s estate opened probate a few days ago and filed his will.”

I hold my breath, pretty sure I know what’s coming.

“Varrus left his entire estate to Rowan Applegate. She now controls everything involving the Lost Angels.”

“Given that Varrus was the beneficiary of Miranda Tidewell’s estate, he likely left behind a fair amount of assets. I’m guessing the Lost Angels aren’t hurting for money—not that they ever were.”

“She’s also vowed to continue his mission, which essentially means continuing what Miranda started a few years ago.”

“Let me guess, exposing me as the murdering woman I am and the mastermind behind Melvin Royal’s crimes?”

“Pretty much. Except they don’t refer to you as woman . They use a bit more colorful language when describing you.”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to stave off the headache I feel threatening. I knew this was the likely outcome of Taylor’s investigation, but I still hoped maybe things weren’t as bad as I thought. If Rowan is as rabid as Miranda and Leo, no amount of reason is going to stop her .

I suddenly feel exhausted. You knock down one, and another comes along. First Miranda, then Leo, now Rowan. If we find a way to get rid of her, someone else will just take her place. It seems the supply of Melvin’s victims is unending.

“Did you happen to find any weaknesses? Skeletons in the closet? Something I can use to defuse her anger?”

“She’s got two kids. She’s militant about keeping them offline—no social media accounts, no photos online anywhere.”

I snort. Good luck with that. I was the same way with Lanny and Connor when we were on the run from Melvin. They chafed at those rules for a long time, but now I can’t remember the last time Lanny asked me for permission to set up an account on whatever social media site was trending at the time.

Probably because she already did.

“So, Rowan’s kids aren’t online. Know anything more about them?”

There’s a slight hesitation before Taylor answers the question. “They’re eighteen and fifteen. A girl and a boy.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Almost exactly the same ages as Lanny and Connor.

If we lived in the same neighborhood, our kids would go to the same school.

Be in the same class. We’d have run into each other at PTA meetings and the after-school pickup line.

We might have even become friends, grabbing coffee after drop-off and sending texts about the latest deals at the grocery store.

That is, if my ex-husband hadn’t murdered her sister.

Now, I understand the reason for Taylor’s hesitation. Realizing how much Rowan and I have in common hits a little too close to home. “Maybe I need to appeal to her mother to mother.”

“I’m not sure about that. If you bring up her kids, she might view that as a threat.”

Fuck, Taylor’s probably right. “Any chance you can check her whereabouts the night of Varrus’s murder?”

“Already done, my friend. The only activity I could find on any of her credit cards was a charge for $30.47 at a gas station in Soddy-Daisy, Tennessee.”

“You’re making that name up.”

“Promise you I’m not.”

“So, what’s the significance of her getting gas in Soddy-Daisy?”

“It’s about two hours north of Atlanta and two hours south of Knoxville.”

My heart skips a beat. “Rowan lives in Atlanta.”

I can hear the smile in Taylor’s voice when she says, “That she does.”

“That puts her on the road to Knoxville the night Varrus was murdered.” Which suddenly makes her a more viable suspect. “I’m going to reach out to the Knoxville PD and let them know.”

“I’ll email a copy of the receipt I pulled. That should help them out.”

“Thank you, Taylor. Seriously. You have no idea how much I appreciate you looking into all of this.”

“Of course. That’s what friends do—we have each other’s backs. I’ll keep looking into Madison, though it might take me a couple of days. One of my other cases blew up last night when a client in a rather sensitive position misplaced his phone during a date with a sex worker.”

I’d worked cases like that before and knew how time-sensitive they were. “Whenever you get the chance,” I tell her. “J.B.’s work comes first. I get that.”

“Thanks, Gwen. Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

We say our goodbyes, and I immediately call Detective Gutierrez. He’s not at his desk so I leave a message on his voicemail, telling him what I’ve found and letting him know I’m forwarding him a copy of the receipt.

Then I sit back in my seat and look out the window through the leaf-stripped trees to the sliver of lake visible from my office. It’s a beautiful day, the surface of the water reflecting the brilliant blue sky overhead. Sunlight glints off the ripples left in the wake of a boat speeding past.

I allow myself a moment of optimism. Rowan sounds like a potential person of interest in the Varrus case. At the very least, it should be enough to take the pressure off Sam for a bit while they investigate any potential ties.

When Sam and Connor get back, I pull Sam aside and tell him what I’ve learned about Rowan.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and I watch as relief washes over him.

“I know I shouldn’t be happy,” he says. “And I’m not.

I hate the idea of Callie’s sister being capable of something so cruel and vicious. ”

“But knowing that she blames me in part for Callie’s death and hates you for ‘sleeping with the enemy…’” I put air quotes around that last bit. “It gives her a motive for trying to set you up.”

“I know better than anyone how grief twists your mind. Sometimes, the pain is too great, and you have to channel it into something else. That’s why I got involved with the Lost Angels to begin with.

It was easier to hate than to grieve. Still, I like to believe I never would have gone as far as Miranda, or Leo, or—potentially—Rowan. ”

I like to believe that too, though he did go as far as tracking me down and renting a house next door so he could spy on me and eventually force me to confess my role as Melvin’s Little Helper.

But what matters is that once he met me, once he met my kids and spent time with us as a family, he realized he was wrong.

But what if he hadn’t met you? a small voice in my head asks.

What if you’d never hired him to fix the roof?

What if he hadn’t brought Connor home after he was beaten up at school?

What if he hadn’t sat in our kitchen eating all those dinners, or out on the deck drinking beer and watching the sunset?

What if we’d never gotten to know each other? He’d have never had the chance to change his mind. He would have continued harboring that grief and rage .

What, ultimately, would he have done with it? He wanted a confession. But when he didn’t get it, would he have turned violent? Would he have killed?

He says he never would have gone as far as Miranda, or Leo, or Rowan, but how can anyone know that until they’re pushed to the edge and beyond?