Page 51 of Our Daughter's Bones

She recalled how Hannah had held on to nothing of Abby’s. She’d held on to her cigarettes, sucking on them desperately while they slowly sucked the life out of her, instead.

“What the hell was that?” Nick’s sharp voice came from behind her.

“What?”

“Why did you mention my father?”

“I heard that the FBI director agreed to the request when he found out that a senator’s son was on the case.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Troy?”

“Duh.”

“That gossip shithead. There was no need for that. We’re at their daughter’s funeral.”

“I wasn’t rude. If he treats you with decency, it means he’ll cooperate more, and it will help the investigation. Plus, he was being an ass.”

“He’s allowed to be an ass, Mack. Parents aren’t reasonable, especially when their child dies.”

Mackenzie looked away, her tongue tied and heavy in her dry mouth.

The rain softened, now falling sparse and infrequent. But the swirling gray clouds augured a storm later that night.

Nick’s phone rang. “One sec.”

As he turned away, she wandered off around the church.

The crowd had thinned. Almost everyone had rushed into the cars to avoid the rain. A few lingered, waiting for cabs or talking.

“You should have treated her better!” a voice barked over the hush, coming from the other side of the building.

“You know nothing! Stay out of it!”

“You never deserved her. You piece of shit!”

Mackenzie jogged around the church. She rounded the corner and discovered Quinn hunching over a boy lying on the ground. His black hair covered his face, but his roar was loud as he kicked the boy in the gut.

The boy grunted in pain, clutched his stomach and curled in a ball. Quinn ran his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. Mackenzie saw the fury in his eyes.

“If I hear you talking shit like this again, I willendyou!” Quinn hissed through his teeth. His eyes lifted and fixated on Mackenzie watching them. He clenched his jaw and glowered at the boy before stalking away. Mackenzie saw him climb into a nearby Bentley.

Slowly, the other boy stood up with his arms wrapped around his torso. He was significantly shorter and skinnier than Quinn, a black suit engulfing his skeletal frame. Thick glasses sat haphazardly on his thin nose.

“You okay, kid?” Mackenzie called out.

He nodded and raised a hand before limping away. What just happened? Who was this boy? As she watched him go toward his beat-up car, she knew that he didn’t belong in the same social strata as Erica and Quinn. Not rich, not a football player. So where did he fit?

Fingers grasped Mackenzie’s shoulders. She spun around, her hand automatically going to the gun in her waistband.

Nick raised his eyebrows at her hand, hovering over her weapon.

“Churches keep me on edge,” she blurted.

“Why? Is it the godlike presence that stands for all good?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is it?”

“Need a ride to Tacoma?”