Heartbreak Bay (Stillhouse Lake) Rachel Caine (best e book reader for android .txt) 📖

“They took him to a vet, but he seemed to check out okay, according to the note. Just shaken up. They need somebody to pick him up from the vet’s office.” She gives me the address, and I text it to Prester’s cell phone. It’ll be on the way for him, and if I know Kezia’s dad, he’ll want that dog close to him anyway. A small comfort in what has to be a very difficult time for him. He doesn’t often show it, but Kezia is his whole world. I’ve feared for my children before. I understand how agonizing it is, and how desperately, claustrophobically lonely.

Then we wait. Sam and I hold hands; the kids quietly whisper to each other and check their phones like their lives depend on it. I keep thinking, what if, but I don’t let it get any further than that. I can’t. It’s hard for me to trust, to love. I can’t afford to lose a friend like Kez.

“Ma’am?” My head jerks up as the lady at the counter motions to me. “She’s been moved to a room. Here you go.” She slides me a piece of paper with the number on it. “Elevator to the left.”

They’re taking this seriously. A uniformed Knoxville police officer is standing guard by her room, and he checks our IDs before he allows us in. “Don’t get her riled up,” he tells us, and I nod. “She’s supposed to rest.”

Kezia is, predictably, not resting. Oh, she’s in bed, and she has a bandage around her head, and scratches and bruises visible on exposed skin. But she’s got a tablet device and is blinking to focus as she types.

“Hey, friends,” she says, and puts it aside with a warm smile. But it’s fragile, I can see that. She’s not herself. Seeing someone like her—someone so young—hooked up to an IV and monitors makes my heart race with anxiety. “First thing is, I’m okay. Just got a good knock on the head and some cuts and bruises.”

“And a broken rib,” I say. “That’s what they told us.”

“Only hurts when I laugh. Or cough. They’ve strapped it up.”

There’s absolutely no sign of giving up in this woman. She’s still got her teeth sunk deep into this. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “Kez . . . the baby . . .”

“Baby’s fine,” she says, and blinks. Her eyes clear a little. Her left hand, the one not tethered to the IV, moves to cover her stomach. “Tough little thing, thank God. We’re okay.”

For now, I think. I am deeply worried.

A little sharpness comes back into her gaze as she reads my expression. “I was following him, Gwen. I nearly had him. Swear to God I did. Close enough to smell that bastard.”

“Too close,” I say, and take her hand. She feels warm—not feverish, thank God. Her fingers squeeze mine. She’s broken off a couple of nails, and I wince when I see the ragged edges. “How?”

“I hunted down video along the way. I expect he was hoping to get it himself first, and when he realized what I was doing, he wanted to stop me.” She pulls in a sudden breath, and winces. “Boot’s okay, right? They told me he was, but—”

“Boot’s fine,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

She nods, but she’s still frowning. Her gaze is distant, blurred by the medication she’s on. “Gwen, he had me. I was down. He could have killed me but he didn’t. Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just glad you’re okay. Kez, no more, okay? No more chasing. No more poking around. It’s enough now. Let the FBI and TBI take care of this. He’s on the run, and he’s not going to get away.”

“He hasn’t gone anywhere, and he could have. He should have.”

“You need to promise me that you’re giving this up. For real.”

“Why?” She studies me for a second or two. “Will you?”

“I’ve got my own problems,” I tell her. “I’m going to step back. And I’m asking you to do that too. Please.”

“I’ll be fine. This is my job, Gwen.”

“No. Your job ended when this got kicked upstairs, you know that. And you need to stay safe. Hell, even the Knoxville police are taking this seriously. That’s why there’s a guard at the door.”

“Is there?” She looks startled. “I didn’t ask for one.”

Prester must have called somebody and demanded protection. I know that, and she must realize it, too, from the way her expression changes. It’s more of a cop mask now, trying to keep her feelings to herself. Pain medication renders it a little less effective.

“My cop daddy thinks I’m a target,” she says. “I don’t think so. I think he just wanted to warn me off. He could’ve taken me out if he’d wanted to.”

“Maybe,” Sam says, and steps up next to me. “But are you willing to risk your baby’s life on that?” I didn’t tell him—it was Kez’s secret, not mine—but he couldn’t have missed the discussion just now. I’m not sure she intended him to hear, but he has. I’m glad he knows.

Kez blinks slowly, and I see her realize that Sam’s right. And I’m very glad Kez has protection stationed right outside. “Okay,” she says. “Maybe you’re both right. Maybe I’ve been going at it too hard.” I see tears form in her eyes and spill over to form glistening tracks down her cheeks. She quickly wipes them away. “Damn. That’s the drugs.”

Drugs and stress. I squeeze her hand. We move back and let the kids talk to Kez a little while Sam and I linger near the door. I don’t like how any of this is unraveling . . . Kez, hurt and sidelined, at least for a while. Me, frustrated and unable to see where my own enemies are hiding in the trees while they take potshots at all of us.

We stay an hour, and Kezia’s already asleep before Prester and her father arrive; I warn them with a finger to my lips, and the tears