Page 42 of Deathtoll

“So mean. But guess what, baby sister?Twilightis thirteen. Babies who were born while you were trying to decide between Edward and Jacob are nowteenagers.” Kate smirked as she strode into her bedroom with panache.

God, she’d missed this, the teasing, the sibling one-upmanship, even the occasional fight she’d had with her sister. She was glad Emma was staying. And she was determined to enjoy every single day they were together again. She didn’t think it would be permanent, just until Emma figured out what to do next.

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, Kate pretended she’d forgotten all about Ian, but she was on alert, checking her phone when Emma wasn’t looking. No texts from Hope Hill about any trouble there. No calls. No updates from the captain—which meant Ian was still out there all alone, not getting help.

“What are you going to do about the Ian guy?” Emma asked as they were going to bed.

“If he reaches out? Anything I can to make sure he receives the right treatment. Right now, he’s just plunging himself into more and more trouble. I wish I’d passed him my phone number before Bing carted him off yesterday. I didn’t think of it at the time.”

“You couldn’t have predicted that he’d go on the lam.”

Kate nodded and stepped into her bedroom, ready for some rest.

She slipped her gun into her nightstand drawer.

Moonlight hit her empty bed, emphasizing it as if the room was a stage set for a play calledMy Lonely Life. Since she didn’t want to think about missing Murph, she turned to the window. The moon was rising, kissing Betty’s roof before parting from the ridge and moving along on its celestial journey. The house that was no longer a home sat dark and silent, a sad and abandoned vibe about it already.

Kate sighed. Maybe she was just projecting.

She looked up at the sparkle of stars in the clear October sky. “I’m going to miss you, Betty.”

As she settled between the sheets, she thought of the funeral service, the chapel filled to the brim. Everyone had something nice to say about Betty Gardner, about her kind heart and gentle spirit.

Kate even dreamed about her, but in the dream, Betty was her grandmother. They were having tea and cookies.

An odd sound woke her in the middle of the night, a vaguely familiar metallic snick. A few seconds passed before she could identify it: a door being unlocked.

Betty’s back door, to be specific, less than a dozen feet from Kate’s bedroom window.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes and glanced at her clock.

Two a.m.

Without turning on the light, she slipped out of bed to look outside. Betty’s house sat enshrouded in darkness and silence, same as when Kate had gone to bed. The neighborhood slept, all at peace.

Probably dreamt the sound.

Kate rubbed her forehead, then padded out to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was just jittery. As much as she knew Ian wouldn’t come after her to hurt her, her subconscious was on alert out of habit. She’d spent too many years of her life on the run, always on her guard.

She’d barely taken the first sip when she happened to glance out the window over the sink.

“What the—” she said out loud, sputtering.

A pickup she knew all too well sat in front of her house by the curb, with Murph sleeping behind the wheel.

Dammit.

Bing must have called him too about Ian’s escape.

Kate drained the glass, then set it on the counter with a hardclink, braced her hands on the edge of the sink, and looked at the man who was doing his best to drive her crazy on a daily basis.

The übervigilance was so completely unnecessary. Ian McCall wasn’t going to come to her house in the middle of the night. He was probably back at home in Virginia by now.

Kate watched as the shadow in the truck moved, Murph shifting slightly in his sleep.

His bad shoulder is going to kill him in the morning.

Her heart twisted, because of course it did.