Page 57 of Darkwater Lane (Stillhouse Lake #7)

It takes a moment for me to be able to speak around the ache in my throat. “I love you too.”

I’m not sure if he hears me or not. His breathing has already fallen into the deeper, steadier rhythm of sleep. I sit, listening to the familiarity of it. How many nights have I lain awake in bed, the sound of him filling my ears?

How close did I come to losing that tonight? The thought alone threatens to doubles me over in pain.

“You shouldn’t have gone after Madison,” I whisper, not wanting to wake him. I clutch his hand tighter. “You can’t risk yourself like that. We need you.”

I realize this must be how Sam felt sitting by my hospital bed after I chased after Jonathan Watson and ended up nearly falling to my death: this same mixture of rage and pain and terror and helplessness.

“We have to find a different way to live our lives,” I tell him. “No more getting shot. No more hospitals.” Of course, if saying it could make it true, we’d have already found a way past all of this long before.

I run my thumb across his knuckles, slowly tracing the rise and fall of his bones.

“I have a confession. There were times I thought you might have been the one behind the sicko murders. Maybe I should feel sorry for that, but I’m not sure that I do.

A part of me feels like, as your partner, I should have trusted you and believed in you, but…

that’s where I went wrong with Melvin. I gave him my blind loyalty, and look what happened. ”

I continue tracing the bones of his hand, down the length of his fingers. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you. I do. I just think that perhaps trust isn’t about blind faith, but maybe instead it’s about allowing yourself to ask questions and facing the reality of whatever answers you find.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Though maybe this is a conversation to have when you’re actually conscious.

” I lean forward, cupping his cheek gently.

“What I know is this: I love you, Sam Cade. I believe in you. And I plan to live the rest of my life with you, so I need you to get better and then stay whole and safe so we can enjoy it together.”

I stay that way for a moment, my thumb tracing his cheekbone, the machines chiming and beeping, his chest rising and falling steadily. I promise myself that things will be different. This time, we’ll find a way through.

The exhaustion of the day catches up with me, and I’m hovering on the edge of sleep when my senses ping that something is off. I straighten immediately and swivel toward the door, just as it swings shut with a soft click .

Standing in front of it, blocking the only exit, is Lilah Belldene, matriarch of the Belldene clan.

My stomach jolts, my body shifting instantly into threat mode. I lunge for the emergency call button on the other side of Sam’s bed, but she steps forward and yanks it away before I can grab it.

I search wildly for a weapon, but there’s nothing useful.

So, I push to my feet and tighten my hands into fists.

I’m pretty certain Lilah knows her way around a fight and likely plays dirty.

Given my exhaustion and recent dunk in the frozen depths of Stillhouse Lake, I’m not sure how much energy I have, but I won’t make it easy for her.

I assume she’s here because of the rumors that Sam and I are the ones responsible for the feds raiding their property. I don’t doubt she’s seeking retribution. I try to head her off. “I wasn’t the one who tipped off the feds,” I quickly tell her. “Neither was Sam.”

I glance toward the bed. Sam’s still asleep, oblivious to what’s going on around him. Right now, he’s between Lilah and me, and I don’t like how vulnerable that makes him. I shift to the side, moving away from him and drawing her attention away with me.

“I know,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We got word it was that reporter livin’ out by your place. Some folk might argue she wouldn’t’a been here if it weren’t for you. So, I ain’t got no problem laying a bit of blame at your feet. But this ain’t about that.”

I notice the bags under her eyes and the worry lines caked into the foundation covering her forehead.

She doesn’t look as put-together as she normally does, which is understandable given the warrant out for her arrest. Which makes it even more strange that she’s here, where someone might see her and call the cops.

“What’s this about, then?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.

“I hear you’re the one who picked up my girl and been taking care of her. ”

So that’s what this is about. Florida. Does she think we kidnapped her? That we’re somehow holding her against her will?

“She asked us for help,” I tell her, bristling.

“And you gave it to her. She okay?”

I hear the worry in her voice. As a mom, I know that feeling well. I don’t plan on telling her where Florida is, but I can give her this at least: “She’s safe.”

She nods once, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “Have the feds come ’round to talk to her?”

My stomach sours, wondering if Lilah’s here hoping to intimidate Florida into keeping her mouth shut.

I refuse to let Florida be any kind of pawn.

“Not yet. When they do, they’ll have to contend with our lawyer first. I don’t plan on letting the authorities get anywhere near Florida without legal representation. ”

She smiles. “Good. She never did nothing wrong. She wasn’t a part of any of this.”

“I know.”

“She tell you she got into college?” She smiles faintly, admiration gleaming in her eyes. “She’ll be the first of us to go. She’s always had her head in the clouds, that one.” I hear the pride in her voice. It’s the same as I’ve felt for Lanny.

We may be different in almost every way, but there is one thing Lilah and I share. We’re both mothers who care for our families above all else. I think that’s one reason she never followed through on taking us out.

“Florida’s a good kid,” I tell her.

A look of sadness crosses her face. “She is. We offered for her to come with us, but…” She trails off. Clears her throat. “You’ll take care of her?”

“As if she were my own,” I say without hesitation.

“Even if she and Lanny ain’t together no more?”

I’m surprised to hear that she knows about Lanny and Florida’s relationship. I search her face for any judgment, but don’t find any .

“Florida saved Connor’s and Sam’s lives when they were kidnapped before. She encouraged Lanny to go after her dreams. I owe her. So yes, I’ll take care of her regardless of what happens between her and my daughter.”

“I don’t want any of what’s going on with the rest of us gettin’ in the way of Florida’s dreams. You hear me?

” She leans in, eyes meeting mine to make sure I’m listening.

“You tell her she comes first. Whatever it takes, she comes out of this clean. If that means cooperating with the feds, then that’s what she’s to do. ”

My smile is a bit sharper than I intend when I say, “Trust me, I’ve got no problem making sure she saves herself at your expense.”

The corner of her mouth lifts at that. “Jasper’s taken off already,” she tells me. “Feds won’t find him. I’m on my way to join him.”

“Isn’t that going to be a little tough with a warrant out for your arrest?”

She waves a hand. “We been good to the citizens of Norton. That buys a lot of goodwill. They tend to show appreciation for that kind of thing.”

That’s one way of saying they bribed the hell out of anyone who might stand in their way.

She looks at me pointedly. “I’m sure there will still be plenty of folk willing to do us favors after we’re gone.”

Which means, if she wanted to continue her reign of terror over us, she could. We both know all I would have to do is open my mouth and shout, and I’d probably bring down enough trouble that she couldn’t escape. But I also recognize that she’s offering me a truce of sorts.

We help take care of Florida, and they let us live in peace.

I tell her, “You’re lucky to have lived in a community that cared so much about you. I hope we find that same level of belonging once you’re gone. ”

It’s my way of laying claim. Letting her know we have a right to stay if we want.

She smiles tightly. “I’m sure you will.”

She hesitates for a moment and then lifts a hand, running a finger along the side of her mouth as though wiping away an errant speck of makeup. “You tell her…” Her voice cracks. “You tell her we love her and to take care.”

“You could always tell her yourself,” I offer. “Turn yourself in. Let her come visit you.”

She twists her lips. “We got folk who depend on us. Can’t do much for ’em behind bars.”

“The feds aren’t going to give up on finding you. Being on the run isn’t a great life. Take it from someone who lived that life for several years.”

She looks at me with pity. “I’m sure you tried your best, but you ain’t exactly the type to know how to work the system. We knew this day was coming. We’ve been planning how to get out for a while. We’ll be okay. We’re retiring early—gettin’ out of the game. You tell Florida not to worry about us.”

She steps closer and places a hand on mine.

Her touch is gentle, but her fingers are calloused and rough.

Working hands that have seen tough times and made it through.

“We ain’t even, Gwen.” It doesn’t escape my notice that she calls me Gwen.

The first time we met, she was relentless in calling me Mrs. Proctor.

I stiffen, waiting for the inevitable threat.

“You taking care of Florida means we owe you one. Say the word, we’ll repay that debt.” She meets my eyes and smiles. “Just think if you’d known us back in the day. We’d have taken care of that Melvin problem of yours right quick.”

She pats my hand, then turns to make her way out of the room. “You be good now, y’hear?”

The moment she’s gone, I swing to check on Sam. He’s still asleep. He missed the entire confrontation. I’m not even sure he’ll believe me when I tell him.

I’m still marveling at Lilah’s complete about-face several moments later when there’s a knock at the door. At first, I think it might be her returning to tell me she was just kidding and that my family and I have twenty-four hours to leave town or else. Instead, it’s Detective Diakos.

He’s usually so put-together that it’s strange to see him in jeans and a sweatshirt with a Norton Police Department windbreaker. His hair is still windblown from the boat, and there’s a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw.

I wait for him to smile. When he doesn’t, my stomach sinks. His expression has me worried.

“How’s Sam?” he asks.

“Concussion,” I answer succinctly. “He doesn’t remember anything that happened,” I add. I want to make it clear that Sam is in no shape to be interrogated.

He nods. “The doctor said that was a possibility and to give it time. But I’m not here for him.” The implication is that he’s here for me. I steel myself, waiting.

“Some new evidence has come to light,” he says. “I think it’s time we talk.”