Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“You shouldn’t smoke,” she murmurs, turning her head my way, and I let out a puff of smoke.
“I know.” I lean into the banister next to her.
“They aren’t even hiding it,” she whispers, breaking the silence after a long moment.
“I caught that too.”
“Maybe I should just tell him I know. You know, just get it over with.”
“What will happen if you do that?”
“I don’t know.” She rubs her lips together. “I thought he’d panic and make it hard for me to leave, but now, I think…” She shakes her head. “I think he’ll be relieved that it’s all out in the open.”
“You’ve already gotten both of us on this ride, babe. I think you need to follow your original gut instinct and handle your shit before you confront him.”
“Miranda.”
“Pardon?”
“My name is Miranda, not babe.”
“Right.” I smile.
Jesus, I should not be smiling right now. Not with her.
“Maybe you’re right.” She sighs. “I just…. God… I just want to rip his stupid face off and tell him what a dick I think he is.”
“You’ll get your chance to do that.”
“True.” Her eyes meet mine, and her voice softens into a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you apologizing for your husband fucking my wife?”
“No.” She lets out a hollow laugh. “I’m sorry that you can’t confront her or… you know, do whatever you’re going to do.”
“I’ve got shit I need to sort out too. The extra time might help me out in the long run.”
“Do you guys have kids?”
“No.” Relief and devastation twist around my insides. That dream crashed and burned after the miscarriage, after I knew my marriage was over but before I was willing to actually toss in the towel.
“Thank God.” She shivers, and I toss my half-smoked cigarette into a standing ashtray a few feet away.
“You should go inside. It’s cold out here.”
“You’re probably right.” She glides away from the banister and heads toward the doors. Stopping before she reaches it, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Good luck, Tucker. I hope everything works out for you.”
“Yeah, you too, babe.” I watch her disappear inside, and I take a couple of beats before I follow her in. When I don’t see Naomie or Bowie but spot Miranda talking to a woman near the bar, I take off for valet and wait for them to get my SUV, putting this evening out of my head so I can focus on work—the one steady thing in my life.
CHAPTER FIVE
tucker
Standing on Kristen’s mother’s front porch the next morning, with the sun just beginning to touch the sky, I watch the color drain from Barbara Stable’s face when she answers the door. I don’t know if it’s mother’s intuition or a sixth sense, but she knows why we’re here before Miles or I have even said a word.
“Mrs. Stable,” I greet, dipping my chin. “Do you mind if we come in to talk to you for a few minutes?”
Without a word, she holds open the door for us to step inside, and her thin frame that has only gotten frailer since the first time I met her shakes as she leads us to her eat-in kitchen.
“Would either of you like some coffee?” She looks around like she just realized where she’s standing.
“No thank you, ma’am.” Miles pulls out a chair for her and waits for her to take a seat. When he sits down across from her and takes her hands, whatever strength she had been holding onto to keep the tears at bay washes away in an instant.
“Please don’t tell me she’s gone.” The whispered plea is barely audible through the stark pain in her voice.
“We’re sorry,” I say quietly, hating that fucking word. The five letters will never encompass the regret, sadness, or the anger I feel for her loss. How could they? But then, what are you supposed to say to someone who is hurting? No words will ever be enough to soothe away the anguish, not in this kind of situation. Not when a mother has lost her seventeen-year-old daughter to a monster who should not exist.
“How?” She looks between us, and I listen to Miles explain some of what we found out this morning. Each detail opens wounds that will never truly heal, not for Barbara, and it’s times like this that I hate my job. It’s times like this that I wish I didn’t have the need to right a wrong so someone else didn’t have to feel the same fucking pain I’ve felt.
A useless endeavor on my part.
There is always another victim, always another family left behind, feeling helpless after the tragic loss of someone they love.
Last night, when I made it out to Madison, the coroner was already on site. And before the sun was even up this morning, Miles and I joined him while he completed the autopsy on the girl found in the woods. He confirmed what we already knew.