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Emmy tugged at his collar by way of things that needed improvement.

Then she looked for a way to change the subject.

She was too brittle right now to keep setting a stoic example.

Fortunately, there was a low-hanging lever she could pull that would bring the difficult part of this conversation to an abrupt end.

“I need to tell you something, too. There’s no good way to get it out, so I’m going to be blunt. Tommy and I decided a while back that when Papa was gone and Grandma had to be moved into the facility, we were going to sell the house.”

Cole sat up in the chair. “What?”

“You need to clear out all your stuff by the end of the month.”

“Mom—”

“I’d put in a quick call to Uncle Penley if I was you. Celia told me there’s no way Tommy will move his hat collection out of the guest room.” Emmy stood up to leave. “Keep watching the interrogation. Let me know if I need to hear anything.”

“Mom—”

“Acting Sheriff,” Emmy corrected, which was enough to shut him up.

Emmy left the door ajar so the air would circulate in the stuffy room.

She needed to check emails, arrange the duty roster, check in with the deputies.

Her mind filled with a long to-do list as she started up the hallway.

Her body had other ideas. A tingle shot through her spine, some kind of primal warning.

Not the tickle or the Don’t Feel Right , but a long-simmering grief that she’d spent the last few days keeping at arm’s length.

Her office was at the end of the hall. Gerald’s office, too.

The lights were still off. His rain jacket was still hanging on the hook.

She pushed open the door to the women’s toilet.

To her surprise, Jude was standing at the sink.

Her hands were braced on the counter, head down.

The unflappable, ice-cold interrogator was gone.

Tears were streaming down her face. It was as if every sick, twisted word that had spewed from Walton Huntsinger’s disgusting mouth over the last seven hours had finally caught up with her.

Emmy felt deeply ashamed to witness such a private moment. She started to leave.

Jude said, “Don’t go.”

Emmy felt trapped on the wrong side of the door. Jude looked utterly destroyed. There was no way she wanted anybody to see her like this.

Jude laughed at her discomfort. “I see Myrna taught you to be terrified of tears.”

“I think it’s a genetic predisposition,” Emmy said. “Like how some people think cilantro tastes like soap.”

“That’s a variation on the olfactory receptor genes reacting to the aldehydes in the leaves.

” Jude had learned some tricks from Myrna, too.

She seemed more composed as she used her finger to neaten her eyeliner in the mirror.

Her eyes went to Emmy’s reflection. They had the bathroom to themselves.

They were the only two women in the station. “It’s okay to feel your feelings.”

“Sure.” Emmy wasn’t going to stare at her navel in the toilet with her estranged older sister. She put them back on safer ground. “We’ve got Dale on felony murder for Cheyenne and Madison, right?”

“Yes.” Jude went into the stall to get some toilet paper.

“He gave Virgil and Walton material support for the crimes. He cleaned the Audi afterward in order to help them cover up the murders. He’ll probably plead down to life in prison in exchange for testifying against Walton.

The good news is, Dale will never be able to hurt another girl again. ”

Emmy wanted to feel more relieved than she did. “What about Adam? Was he really duped?”

Jude wiped her nose. “That’s what my gut is telling me.”

Emmy’s gut was telling her the same thing. “Adam will still go down for threatening Brett’s life and violating his bail.”

“And rape,” Jude said. “Barbara Jericho deserves justice.”

Emmy hoped she got it. “Dale Loudermilk was on the hook to Virgil. It had to be more than child porn on his laptop. Dale might have actual victims in the real world.”

“You’re right.” Jude leaned against the counter. “I’m going to pull some strings with my old bosses. See if they’ll let me take on Dale as a side project. I think I can get him to talk.”

“Dooley Prison is only a thirty-minute drive from here.” Emmy shrugged. “I mean, I assumed you’d stick around for Dad’s funeral, but—”

“Are you sure, Emmy?” Jude’s poker face was gone again. She was raw, nearly breathless with need. “I’d really like to pay my final respects to Dad, but not if it makes you or Cole uncomfortable.”

Emmy couldn’t stand seeing her so vulnerable. “What about Tommy?”

“He told me he’s good if you’re good.”

Emmy knew that her brother could always be relied upon for at least that. “I’m good.”

“Thank you.” Jude paused, giving herself another moment to reset. “Listen, I know therapy is a dirty word around here, but you’ll need to talk to someone about what happened with Virgil. Not only because of the betrayal. It’s a hell of a thing to kill a man.”

“Yep.” Emmy was going to leave it at that. Of all the things she didn’t want to think about, Virgil was the thing she did not want to think about the most. “How long is it going to take you with Dale Loudermilk?”

“As long as it takes,” Jude said. “I think I’m going to stick around for a while either way. I know we’re strangers, but I’d like to change that.”

Emmy felt the awful sensation of tears stinging her eyes. Her body was working against her again. She had to get some sleep before she turned into a full-on basket case. “You’re right. We’re strangers.”

“We are,” Jude agreed. “But sometimes it’s good to have a stranger around if you ever need to talk it out.”

Emmy blinked, trying to stop the tears. Instead of Jude, she saw Gerald’s office. His empty chair. The photos he’d printed out and framed himself. They used to talk over their desks occasionally, just the two of them, the people who had never talked to anybody had talked to each other.

She said, “Yep.”

Emmy wiped her eyes as she walked back into the hallway.

She tried to take in a breath, but the pain from her bruised ribs felt like a burning hot poker pressing into her chest. The usual number of phones was ringing in the squad room.

The FBI support staff and volunteers had gone home.

Third watch was already patrolling the streets.

The two sheriff’s detectives were at their desks.

It occurred to Emmy for the first time since Gerald’s death that she was solely in charge of the force now.

There was no one backstopping her. No one to turn to but herself.

“Chief Clifton?” Sherry Robertson looked pissed off, which meant she’d seen the video of Emmy and Hannah talking to each other in the jail complex. “Can I have a moment?”

Without thinking, Emmy nodded the woman into her office.

She didn’t realize what she’d done until she was reaching for the light switch.

The fluorescent bulbs popped on. Two desks, one facing the other.

A folding chair that could be turned in either direction for visitors.

Emmy looked down at the floor. Her boots had already crossed the threshold.

She couldn’t sit right now. She leaned against her desk and waited.

Sherry said, “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that I’m going to have to release Hannah Dalrymple.”

Emmy wasn’t going to get into that. “What about Paul?”

Sherry crossed her arms, but she didn’t press the Hannah issue.

GBI agents were trained to be diplomatic with bumbling local law enforcement.

“He’s sobered up and finally listening to his lawyers.

They want the death penalty off the table.

He’ll confess to shooting Gerald if we agree to life in prison without parole. ”

Emmy knew that a plea deal meant there wouldn’t be a trial. Hannah would not be asked to testify under oath. Witnesses would not take the stand. Paul’s defense attorneys wouldn’t try to pick apart the case. He would plead guilty for murdering her father, then he would die in prison.

She said, “Have you asked Tommy how he feels?”

“He said it was up to you.”

Tommy never failed to deliver. “Give Paul the deal. My family’s been through enough. So has his.”

There was nothing more to say. Sherry left.

Emmy closed the door. She looked at the empty office.

Photos of Cole and Emmy in uniform. Tommy in a porkpie hat.

Celia with her cat. Citations on the wall.

A picture of the governor, another of the president.

There was no paperwork on Gerald’s desk.

The last few weeks had been hard on him.

The cancer had metastasized to his spine.

Some days, the pain had made it hard for him to dress himself in the morning.

Emmy knew that she should take a moment. Give herself time to grieve. Process what she had lost. Find a way to work through it. Instead, she took her phone out of her pocket and called Dylan.

“Babe?” He sounded worried. “Are you okay?”

She realized he wasn’t panicked about the phone call. It seemed like a lifetime had passed between now and Emmy killing Virgil and finding Paisley. For Dylan, it was only a handful of hours.

All she could tell him was, “I’m at the station.”

“Has the GBI interviewed you about the shooting yet?” Dylan sounded like a lawyer. “They’re not allowed to talk to you without representation.”

“My union rep’s on the way.” Emmy felt her throat go tight. She hadn’t called to talk about killing Virgil. “Hannah’s being kicked loose.”

Dylan needed a second. “How did that happen?”

“I tainted myself as an eyewitness by joking with her on the jail CCTV.”

“O-kay,” Dylan drew out the word.

“It’s not just that. No one could put her hands on the gun when it was fired. The GBI couldn’t build the case. They’re going after Paul. His lawyers are talking him into a plea deal to avoid rolling the dice at trial.”