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

something happens, understand? Do everything they say, when they say it.”

“What if they’re not really cops?” she asks, and that pauses me in the act of dragging a shirt over my head. I tug it down and turn to look at her. “Like back at Stillhouse Lake? What if they’re fakes?” She sounds really, really scared. And I have to admit she ought to be, because we’ve had that experience before. But this . . . this looks different.

“Honey. We’re in the middle of a city suburb, in a neighborhood. The police will not be fake. We’ll ask to see their badges. Okay?”

She grabs a breath and nods. “Okay. Are they here for you, or—”

“I don’t know.” It’s a horribly likely possibility, since I was just impersonating a police officer. Maybe Len did go to the police and file an assault complaint. Maybe there was a 911 call, and they somehow, despite all my precautions, traced it back to me. I don’t know. I just know that we have to handle this right, and carefully. “Go tell your brother to do the same thing I told you. Go. Now.”

By this time, I have my jeans on. My shoes. And Sam’s dressed too.

Lanny flies out of the room and heads for her brother. Sam and I exchange a look, and he says, “Stay calm. Let me take the lead, okay?” That’s a leap of trust, and I know he’s right. If they’re here for me, better he go first and find out. I resist the urge to unlock the gun safe, to have a weapon in my hand. This is not the time.

I follow him down the hall to the living room, just as the first volley of firm knocks hits the front door.

Sam looks back at me to be sure I’m calm and okay, and I just nod. He swiftly disarms the alarm and opens the door.

The officer standing there has his gun drawn and ready, and he sweeps Sam with a head-to-toe assessment before he says, “Knoxville Police Department, identify yourself, please.”

“Sam Cade,” he says. “I live here. Can you show me your badge?”

The cop holds out his identification and looks past him, to me. Here it comes. I brace myself for the inevitable. “Gwen Proctor,” I say. “I live here too.”

The officer says, “Who else is in the home?”

“Lanny and Connor, our kids,” Sam says. “That’s it.”

“Okay, sir, please show me your ID.” Sam reaches slowly for his back pocket, removes his wallet, and displays it. The officer nods. “I need you to step out, please. Sit down on the curb by the police vehicle, there’s an officer there waiting.” He keys his radio and reports something I don’t catch, because my pulse is thudding hard in my ears. I know what’s coming next. I’m ready. I put my hands up.

But he gives me an odd look and says, “Ma’am, put your hands down. I need to see some ID from you too.”

“In my purse,” I say. “Right there next to you. May I get it?”

“Slowly.” I take the purse down from the shelf and open it. I tip out my wallet on the side table and pull out my ID. He inspects it. “Ma’am, please join the gentleman at the curb and have a seat. I’ll get back to you.”

“Wait, what?” I blink. “What—why are you here?” At least I have enough presence of mind not to blurt out, Aren’t you here to arrest me, but it’s a close race.

“We have a credible threat against members of your household,” he says. “Before you exit the residence, please tell me if there are any firearms on the property.”

“Yes. In gun safes.”

“And who has access to those?”

“Just me and Sam.”

“Okay. I’m going to need you to exit the residence now. I’ll bring out the kids.”

I swallow hard and press my luck. “Officer, it’s better if I get them. May I do that, please?”

He hesitates for a long few seconds, then nods. “Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

I knock on Lanny’s door first and say, “Honey? Come on out. It’s okay.” She does, breathing fast. She’s gotten dressed too. “Go outside and sit next to Sam.”

She looks at me, trying to gauge if it’s really okay or if I’m just saying it is, but she goes.

I knock on Connor’s door. I’m not surprised to see he’s calm and collected and ready too. “I heard,” he says. “It’s okay, Mom.”

But it isn’t. The policeman says, “Connor Proctor?”

“Yes sir.”

“Please turn around and put your hands on the wall. Spread your legs. I’m going to need to search you for weapons. Is there anything in your pockets that might cut or stick me?”

“N-no sir.”

It hits me hard, and late, that the officer didn’t search me. Or Sam. Or Lanny.

Only my son.

My voice is sharp when I say, “What the hell is going on?”

The officer ignores me. He searches Connor with calm efficiency, steps back, and keys his radio. “Bringing him out now.” Then he finally turns his attention to me as he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, holding him in place. “Ma’am, you can ask the detectives about the specifics, but someone posting as your son threatened to kill you, Mr. Cade, and your daughter. We’re going to need to question all of you. I’d appreciate it if you’d cooperate fully.”

I barely hear any of that after Your son threatened to kill you. I hear a high, thin buzzing in my ears, and I have to brace myself against the wall. A photo of the four of us rocks on its hook, and I grab it to steady it. My voice, when it comes, sounds oddly flat. “That’s wrong. Connor didn’t do that. Let him go.” I don’t look at my son. I don’t dare, and I can’t even think why. Maybe because I’m afraid he’ll think I’m doubting him.

The officer, of course, doesn’t let go. He fixes me with a cool, assessing look that tells me he’s ready if I decide to flip out