Текст книги "Lethal"

Автор книги: Sandra Brown

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She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I won’t call in the cavalry.”

“All right. Do you think your friend would hide you for a couple of days?”

“Why a couple of days?”

“Because that’s how long Hamilton gave me.”

“He gave you less than that.”

“Will she hide you?”

“If I ask her to.”

“She wouldn’t betray your trust?”

Without an instant’s hesitation, she gave an emphatic shake of her head.

“That means she can’t call in the cavalry either,” he said.

“That would be the last thing Tori would do.”

It went against his nature, as well as his training and experience, to trust anyone. But he had no choice except to give Honor the benefit of the doubt. As soon as he was out of sight, she might very well sic Doral Hawkins on him, but that was a risk he had to take.

The alternative was to keep her and Emily with him. If he did, they could very well get hurt or killed. He didn’t think even he, who’d seen unimaginable atrocities, and had inflicted a few himself, could handle watching the two of them die. It was his fault they were in this. He should have left Honor blissfully ignorant.

But second-guessing was a waste of energy, and he didn’t have time for regret.

“Okay. You’re about to put that implicit trust in your friend to the test. What’s her number?”

“It won’t work if you call. I’ll have to.”

He shook his head. “If you do, you could be implicated.”

“Implicated? In what?”

He glanced at Emily, who was singing along with Elmo. The ditty had annoyed him at first, but he was used to it by now and, most of the time, able to tune it out. Coming back to Honor, he spoke softly. “Implicated in any shit that may come down when my deadline expires.” Her green eyes stayed fixed on his; he read the question in them. “If I do nothing else, I’m going to take care of Doral Hawkins.”

“Take care of?”

“You know what I mean.”

“You can’t just kill him,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I can. I will. I am.”

She turned her head away and stared through the bug-spattered windshield at the glowering sky. Visibly distressed, she said, “I’m so far out of my element here.”

“I realize that. But this is my element, so you’ve got to trust my judgment.”

“I know you’re doubtful about Stan. But he would—”

“Not an option.”

“He’s my father-in-law, Coburn. He loves us.”

He lowered his voice even more, so that Emily wouldn’t be distracted from her singing. “Do you want Emily around to witness the confrontation between him and me? Because you know it will eventually come down to that. Do you think he’s going to let me just walk into his house and start going through Eddie’s things? No. Whether he’s guilty of partnering with The Bookkeeper or Marset, or an honest citizen safeguarding his dead son’s good name, he’s going to resist my intrusion. With force. Not only that, he’ll be good and pissed with me for dragging you and his granddaughter into this.”

Her expression was a giveaway. She knew he was right. Even so, she continued to look miserably indecisive. He gave her only a few seconds before prodding her again. “What’s Tori’s number?”

She raised her chin stubbornly. “Sorry, Coburn. I can’t.”

“You don’t trust her enough?”

“This is my mess. How can I drag Tori into it? I’ll be placing her in danger, too.”

“Tough choice, I know. But it’s the only one you’ve got. Unless…” He tipped his head toward Emily. “You trust Doral Hawkins to spare her life. I wouldn’t bet on it. You might.”

She gave him a baleful look. “You always use that.”

“Because it always works. What’s Tori’s number?”

Chapter 28

Even before Tori checked the light beyond her shutters, she knew by instinct that it was an ungodly hour for her phone to be ringing.

She groaned and buried her head deep into her pillow to escape the noise. Then, remembering the events of yesterday, she rolled toward her nightstand and grabbed her phone. “Hello?”

“Tori, did I wake you up?”

Not Honor and not Bonnell, who were the only people on earth whom she might forgive for calling her at dawn. “Who’s this?”

“Amber.”

Tori scowled and flopped back down onto her pillow. “What? And it had better be good.”

“Well, just like you instructed me, the first thing I do each morning after turning off the alarm is to turn on the sauna and whirlpool in both locker rooms so they can be getting hot. Then when all the lights in the studio have been turned on, I unlock the front door, because sometimes there are people waiting—”

“For godsake, Amber, get to it.”

“That’s when I check the main number’s voice mail. This morning, somebody left a weird message at 5:58, just a few minutes before I opened up.”

“Well, what was it?”

“ ‘What does Barbie see in Ken?’ ”

Tori sat bolt upright in bed. “That’s all she said?”

“Actually it was a man.”

Tori thought on that for several moments, then said, “Well, isn’t it obvious to you that it was a crank call? Don’t bother me with crap like this again.”

“Are you coming in today?”

“Don’t count on it. Cover for me.”

Tori ended the call and bounded out of bed. She skipped doing her hair and makeup, which she never skipped, and dressed rapidly in the first clothes her hands touched when she reached into her closet. Then, grabbing her keys and handbag, she left through the front door.

But halfway to her car in the driveway, she noticed a beat-up panel truck parked at the curb across the street, about a third of the distance to the corner. Anyone inside it would have an unobstructed view of her house. She couldn’t tell whether or not anyone was behind the wheel, but Doral’s words came back to her. I’ll be on you like white on rice.

Maybe she’d been watching too many crime shows on TV, maybe she was being super-paranoid, but she’d never seen the truck on her street before, her best friend had been kidnapped yesterday, and she’d been threatened and manhandled by a local hoodlum.

She’d rather be paranoid than stupid.

Rather than continuing on to her car, she bent down and picked up the morning issue of the newspaper that was lying in the wet grass. Pretending to read the front page, assuming a casual saunter, she retraced her steps back into the house and soundly closed the door behind her.

Then she quickly went through her house, slipped out her back door, and, cutting a path that couldn’t be seen from the street, walked across her lawn, which melded into that belonging to the house directly behind hers. There was a light on in the kitchen. She knocked on the door.

It was answered by a handsome, buff young man. He was cradling a smug-looking cat in his arms. Tori despised the cat, and the feeling was mutual. But she adored the man, because he’d once told her that in his next life he wanted to be an unapologetic diva bitch just like her.

He was a client who never missed a workout. Well-defined biceps bulged when he pushed open the screen door and motioned her in. “This is a surprise! Hon, look who’s come to call. Tori.”

His partner in this, the only gay marriage in Tambour, whose body was equally buff, entered the kitchen as he speared a cuff link into his sleeve. “Hell must have frozen over. I didn’t know you ever got up this early. Sit down. Coffee?”

“Thanks, no. Listen, guys, can I borrow a car? I gotta go… somewhere… in sort of a hurry.”

“Something wrong with your Vette?”

“It’s making a funny noise. I’m afraid it’ll quit on me, and I’ll be stranded.”

She hated telling them such a transparent lie. They’d been excellent neighbors, and over the years had become loyal friends, dispensing expensive wine and commiseration each time she got divorced. Or married, for that matter.

They looked at her, then at each other, then back at her. She knew that they knew she was lying, but if she tried to explain, they would drive her to the nearest loony bin.

Finally the one with the cat asked, “The Lexus or the Mini Cooper?”

Upon seeing Stan, Crawford exclaimed, “What the hell?”

Under other circumstances, Stan might have enjoyed the deputy’s humiliation and bafflement, but he could feel the egg on his own face. Unused to being made a fool of, he was trying very hard to keep his dignity intact and his fury under control. It wasn’t Crawford he wanted to lash out at, however. It was the man who, twenty-four hours ago, had robbed him of Honor and Emily.

“My daughter-in-law’s cell phone,” he said, extending it to Crawford.

He snatched it from Stan. “I know what it is and who it belongs to. How the hell did you get it, and what are you doing here with it?”

“Well, one thing I’m not doing with it is playing Thomas the Tank Engine games,” Stan retorted.

Crawford activated the phone. From the screen, the cartoon steam engine smiled up at him.

“It’s Emily’s favorite game,” Stan told him.

“So they have been here.”

“Those are my late son’s clothes,” he said, motioning to the damp heap on the boat console. “There’s food and water below. Empty cans and wrappers. Yes, they were definitely here, but they’re gone.”

To Crawford’s further consternation, Doral joined them from the cabin below. The deputy holstered his gun and placed his hands on his hips. “Mrs. Gillette must have called you and told you where she was. Why didn’t you notify me?”

“Honor didn’t call anybody,” Stan said stiffly. “I already checked her call log. It’s been cleared. Even the calls she and I exchanged yesterday are no longer on there.”

The deputy’s eyes shifted back and forth between them, landing on Doral with an accusatorial glare. “If she didn’t call you, then one of your late brother’s friends in the police department must have tipped you that we’d got the signal.”

He was right, of course. A police officer, who was a friend to both Fred and Doral, had called Doral with news of this latest development. Out of loyalty, Doral had in turn called Stan. While Crawford was still pulling together a team, the two of them had been speeding here.

But even with the head start, they’d arrived only minutes before Crawford, which had been long enough for Stan to determine that the ramshackle boat had recently been inhabited. The sheets on the bunks were still warm, although he’d hated making that observation, especially in front of Doral. It unnerved him to think of his late son’s widow, and Emily, of course, being that cozy with Lee Coburn.

Coburn wasn’t so careless as to leave the phone behind. He’d left it deliberately, using it as a decoy to attract the posse to the boat, while he was moving away from it and taking Stan’s family with him.

It was galling.

He and Doral had been talking about Coburn’s caginess before the arrival of Crawford and his team. “I’ve bribed everybody I know to bribe, Stan,” Doral had said with disgust. “Nobody can, or will, say definitely.”

It hadn’t taken long for the rumor to circulate through the police department, then beyond, that Lee Coburn might be a federal agent who’d been working undercover in Sam Marset’s trucking firm. Which would put an entirely different spin on Sunday night’s massacre.

About that, Stan’s feelings were ambiguous. He hadn’t quite determined what he thought of that and how, if it was true, it affected him.

But Doral had. He’d told Stan, “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. Coburn shot my brother in cold blood. I don’t care if he’s a felon, a feeb, or the prince of darkness, I’m gonna kill him.”

Stan understood the sentiment. Regardless of who or what Coburn was, he’d made an enemy of Stan when he’d cast suspicion on Eddie. And now Honor’s reputation was being compromised. If Coburn had taken Honor and Emily as insurance for a safe getaway, why hadn’t he abandoned them by now? If his reason for taking them had been ransom, why hadn’t he demanded it?

And if Honor was a hostage, why hadn’t she left them a trail they could follow? She was a clever girl. She must realize that dozens of law enforcement personnel and volunteers were scouring the countryside in search of her and Emily. Surely she could have figured out a way to leave subtle signposts.

If she had wanted to. That’s what gnawed at Stan. What kind of sway did this man Coburn hold over her?

Doral had remarked on the close quarters of the cabin below, and then had looked at Stan, his eyebrows raised. And now Stan could tell that Crawford’s thoughts were moving along that same track.

Stan bluffed. Taking an aggressive stance, he said to Crawford, “I suggest you stop wasting time and begin tracking where Coburn took my family from here.”

“I’ll get on that myself,” Doral said and started to go.

Deputy Crawford put out a stiff arm to stop him. “Don’t you have a funeral to plan?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that I understand why you’d want to hunt down your brother’s killer and get revenge. But this is a police matter. Nobody invited you to participate. And if I find out who’s feeding you information from inside the P.D., or from inside the sheriff’s office, I’m going to nail his ass to a fencepost.”

Doral moved Crawford’s arm aside. Smirking, he said, “I’d pay to see that,” then left the boat.

Crawford ordered two of the officers to search the craft for clues, starting with the cabin. They clumped down the steps. He sent the rest out to search the surrounding area for footprints, tire tracks, anything.

When he and Stan were alone, Crawford said, “I couldn’t help but notice the name of the boat, Mr. Gillette. Honor.”

“It belonged to her father.”

“Past tense?”

“He died several years ago.”

“She owns it now?”

“I suppose.” Honor hadn’t mentioned her father or his boat since his demise. It had never crossed Stan’s mind to ask what had become of the trawler. It was hardly a coveted legacy.

Crawford said, “You might have mentioned the boat yesterday.”

“I didn’t think of it. In any case, I wouldn’t have known where it was moored.”

“You didn’t keep track?” he asked, sounding surprised. Or maybe skeptical.

“No. I didn’t like her father. He was an aging, dope-smoking hippie who called himself a shrimper but was actually a ne’er-do-well who never had two nickels to rub together. He wore beads and sandals, for godsake. Look around,” he said, raising his arms. “He lived on this boat. The condition of it speaks to the kind of person he was.”

“And yet your daughter-in-law came here to hide.”

Stan actually took a threatening step toward the deputy. “I resent the implication that Honor is hiding from me.”

Crawford wasn’t intimidated. He didn’t back down. “You’ve heard the rumor about Coburn being a fed.”

He stated it as fact. Stan said nothing.

Crawford pulled a knowing frown. “Come on, Mr. Gillette. You’ve heard the rumor. What do you think about it?”

Stan wasn’t going to confirm or deny anything to this man in whom he had little confidence. “All that concerns me is the safe return of my daughter-in-law and grandchild. I’m going to leave you now and try to find them myself.”

Crawford sidestepped to block Stan’s path. “Couple of things first.” He paused for a beat, then said, “Mrs. Gillette obviously had access to her cell phone. So why didn’t she call 911? Or you? If she wanted to be found, wouldn’t she have done that instead of letting her little girl play games on her phone?”

Stan schooled his expression not to change. “You said a couple of things.”

“You might want to reconsider who you ally yourself with.”

“Why?”

“I received an initial ballistics report. The bullet that killed Fred Hawkins didn’t match any of the ones fired during the warehouse mass murder.”

Stan was quick with an explanation. “Coburn would have dumped the guns he used at the warehouse. They’re probably at the bottom of a bayou. He used another to shoot Fred.”

“Or,” the deputy said, drawing out the qualifier, “he wasn’t the warehouse shooter.”

Chapter 29

She’s a babe.”

It was the first time either Coburn or Honor had spoken in five minutes. Even Emily sat still and untalkative in Honor’s lap, having stopped the game of her own invention with Elmo and lapsed into the same brooding silence.

Coburn looked at Honor. “Come again?”

“Tori will knock your eyes out. She’s a babe.”

“What Tori is,” he said tightly, “is not here.”

“She will be.”

“We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

“She’s a busy lady.”

“At six o’clock in the morning?”

“Her fitness center opens early.” Although she knew that Tori didn’t personally open the club each morning, she was trying to reassure Coburn, and possibly herself, that Tori would show up. “Eventually someone will check the business line for voice mail messages. If you had called her cell phone—”

“We’ve been through that.”

They had. He’d rejected calling Tori’s personal phone for the same reason he didn’t want Honor placing the call herself. “Anything that goes down will be on my head, not yours,” he’d said.

“Tori and I could be accused of aiding and abetting.”

“You could say I used your kid to coerce you.”

“I could swear to that under oath.”

“There you go.”

Now, as they sat waiting for a sign from Tori, Honor said, “As soon as she gets the message, she’ll come. We just need to be patient.”

But he looked like a man whose patience had run out an hour ago when they had arrived at the designated place. He looked around now and, not for the first time, expelled his breath while mouthing words that Emily shouldn’t overhear. “We’re like sitting ducks. Right out in the open.”

“Well, what did you expect of a secret meeting place?”

“I expected it to have walls,” he fired back.

“It’s safe. No one knows about it except Tori and me.”

“Maybe she forgot that silly code.”

“She didn’t forget.”

“What’s it mean, anyway?”

“It means Ken’s a dork.”

He muttered another vulgarity.

Okay, so the phrase was silly, considering their ages now. But when she and Tori had first sworn an oath on it, they’d been giggling girls. Then they’d continued to use it into their teens to communicate whenever one needed to see the other immediately. It meant, “Drop everything, come now, this is an emergency.”

Of course when they were in high school an emergency had amounted to an adolescent trauma like heartache over a boyfriend, a hateful teacher, a failing grade, and, in Tori’s case, a missed menstrual period. Today’s emergency was for real. “Why here?” he asked.

“Here” was an ancient live oak tree that had roots bigger around than Honor, snaking along the ground in every direction from its enormous trunk. It had withstood centuries of hurricanes, blights, land developers, and other hazards. Imposing and magnificent, it almost appeared artificial, like something a Hollywood set designer had constructed and plunked into the clearing.

“Meeting out here in the countryside added to the thrill of sneaking out, I suppose. We discovered this place on the day I got my driver’s license. We were exploring because we could. We came across the tree out here in the middle of nowhere and claimed it as our own.

“From then on, we met here to talk about things that were too sacred even to share over the telephone.” She could tell he wasn’t quite getting it. “Teenage girls can be terribly dramatic, Coburn. It’s hormonal.”

He made a nonverbal sound that she couldn’t interpret, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. Threading her fingers through Emily’s hair, she said wistfully, “I suppose one day Emily will be sneaking out to meet—”

She broke off when Coburn sat up, suddenly alert. “What kind of car does she drive?”

“A Corvette.”

“Then that’s not her.” He reached for the pistol at his waistband.

“Wait! That’s not her car, but that’s Tori. And she’s alone.”

The small, unfamiliar red-and-white car bumped across the creaky wooden bridge and then followed the rutted path toward the tree, stopping twenty yards short of it. Honor opened the passenger door so Tori could see her. Emily scrambled out, jumped to the ground, and broke into a run, shouting, “Aunt Tori!”

Tori alighted from the Mini Cooper and was waiting to catch Emily and swing her up into her arms. “You’re getting so big! I won’t be able to do this much longer.”

“Guess what,” Emily said, wiggling free of Tori’s hug.

“What?”

“Coburn said if I would just be quiet and let him think, then he would get me an ice cream. Only not now. Later. And guess what else. We slept on a boat that used to be where my grandpa lived. Not Grandpa Stan, my other grandpa. The beds were funny and didn’t smell nice, but it was okay because we’re on a ’venture. I woke Coburn up, and when I did, he said a bad word. But Mommy told me that sometimes grown-ups say words like that when they’re very upset. But Coburn isn’t mad at me, just at the sidjeeashun.”

When Emily wound down, Tori said, “My goodness. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, don’t we?”

Over Emily’s shoulder, she was looking at Honor and telegraphing a hundred unspoken questions. She kissed Emily’s cheek, then set her down. “Let me talk to your mommy for a minute.”

She extended her open arms to Honor, and the two of them embraced. For several moments they just held each other tightly. Finally, Tori released her and sniffed back tears. “I could kill you for causing me such a fright. I’ve been worried sick.”

“I knew you would be, but there was no help for it.”

“The news stories led me to fear… Well, I’m just awfully glad to see that you and Emily are still in one piece. Did he…? Are you…? God, I’m so relieved,” Tori said emotionally. “You look like something the cat drug in, but you seem fine.”

“We are. Basically. I’m sorry you were so afraid for us. He wouldn’t let me call you until this morning. And even then he wouldn’t let me call you directly. I wasn’t sure you’d get the message. But he—”

“ ‘He’ being him?” Tori was watching Coburn as he came toward them. When her gaze moved back to Honor, her perfectly waxed eyebrows were raised. Speaking in an undertone, she said, “Kidnapper? I should be so lucky.”

Ignoring the remark, Honor made the introductions. “Tori Shirah. Lee Coburn.”

Tori gave him the inviting smile that men couldn’t resist. “Charmed.”

He didn’t acknowledge either the greeting or the smile. Instead he was looking toward the far side of the bridge that Tori had crossed in order to reach them. “Is your cell phone on?”

She was taken aback by the question and the abrupt manner in which he’d asked it, but answered immediately, “Yes.”

“Get it.” She looked at Honor, and when Honor nodded, she dropped her coquetry, retrieved her cell phone from her handbag in the car, and handed it to him.

Coburn asked, “Were you followed?”

“No.” Then, “Hey!” when he took the battery out of her phone.

“You’re sure?”

“I made sure.” She told them about the panel truck she’d seen parked on her street that morning. “I didn’t like the looks of it, so I went out the back way and borrowed the Mini from my neighbors. No one followed me.”

“What made you suspicious of the panel truck?” he asked.

“I thought someone might be watching the house. Doral Hawkins came to see me yesterday.” She went on to relate what had happened. “He’s more than a little pissed that you shot his brother. At least it’s said that you shot and killed Fred.”

To her implied question, Coburn merely nodded.

She eyed him speculatively, but when no explanation was forthcoming, she continued. “Doral told me that if I heard from Honor, I had better notify him first, or else.”

“He threatened you?” Honor asked.

Tori shrugged. “Let’s just say that he made himself understood. But screw him. Stan, too.”

“When did you talk to Stan?”

She recounted their conversation. “It vexes me to give him any credit at all, but I must admit that he was less obnoxious than usual. I guess fear has taken the shine off his brass.”

“What’s he afraid of?” Coburn asked.

Tori sputtered a laugh. “You left a trail of dead bodies, then you disappeared, taking Honor and Emily with you. Stan has a right to be more than a little concerned, don’t you think?”

“Coburn didn’t murder those men in the warehouse,” Honor said. “And he didn’t take Emily and me by force.”

Tori shifted her gaze from one to the other and said drolly, “I sorta gathered that.” Then, placing her hands on her hips and glancing down at her disassembled phone, she asked, “So, what gives?”

“The fact is that he’s—”

“No.” He put his hand on Honor’s arm to stop her from revealing his identity. “The only thing she needs to know is that you and Emily must stay underground until all this shakes out.”

“She deserves an explanation,” Honor argued.

“You said she would help with no questions asked.”

“I know that’s what I said. But it’s unfair to let her go on thinking that you—”

“I don’t give a damn what she thinks.”

“Well, I do. She thinks you’re a killer.”

“I am.”

“Yes, but—”

“Excuse me.” Tori held her raised hand palm out to stop Honor from continuing, but it was Coburn she addressed. “Keep your secrets. I’ve already volunteered my services.” Then she said to Honor, “Emily isn’t afraid of him, and kids are supposed to be good gauges of someone’s character. Like dogs.”

“Emily is four. She’s infatuated because he’s a novelty.”

“Yeah, well, I trust her instincts. Possibly even more than I do yours. In any case, you summoned me, and I’m here. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Get them away from Tambour,” Coburn said before Honor could speak. “Right now. Don’t stop for anything, don’t return home, don’t tell anybody that you’re going. Can you do that?”

“Of course. Where do you have in mind?”

“I don’t.” He looked at Honor, who shook her head.

“My dad’s shrimp boat was my only ace.”

Tori said, “I own a house on the far side of Lake Pontchartrain. Across the bridge. Would that do?”

“Who knows about it?” Coburn asked.

“Husband number two. I got it from him in the divorce settlement. The house in exchange for me keeping quiet about his… Never mind. It turned ugly. Anyway, the only reason I wanted the house was to spite the jerk. I don’t use it on a regular basis, I don’t even like it that much. It’s been months since I was there.”

Honor was listening to them, but she was watching Emily, who was still wearing the clothes in which Honor had hastily dressed her yesterday morning before fleeing their house. Her hair was unbrushed. There was a patch of dirt on her knee and a tear in the armhole of her top. Meals had been irregular and not very tasty. She’d slept in an uncomfortable, smelly bunk.

Yet she seemed perfectly content and carefree, heartbreakingly innocent of the seriousness of their situation. She’d found a stick and was humming happily as she used the tip of it to etch patterns in the mud.

“She’ll need some things,” Honor remarked.

“We’ll get whatever she needs.” Tori gave Honor’s arm a reassuring pat. “No one is looking for me. I’ll take care of everything.” To Coburn, she added, “But I’ll wait until we’re almost there before I stop to shop.”

“As of now, you can’t use credit cards. Do you have plenty of cash?”

“I have some,” Honor reminded him.

“Money is one thing we don’t have to worry about,” Tori said. “I can get what I need. All I have to do is ask.”

“Ask who?” Coburn wanted to know.

“My current beau.”

“No. Nobody can know where you are.”

“He wouldn’t tell.”

“Yeah, he would. If the right people got to him, he’d tell.”

He said it with such conviction that even Tori was daunted by what he implied. “We’ll pool our resources and make do.”

He appeared satisfied with that, but stressed that Honor and Emily must get into hiding before being spotted.

“Gotcha,” Tori said. “No one would know to look for me in this car.” Then her expression clouded. “The only person I worry about is Stan. If he tries to contact me again, and I don’t respond, he’ll smell a rat. I would be the logical person that Honor would come to for help.”

“He may figure out that she’s with you, but he can’t know where,” Coburn said.

Tori turned to Honor. “That’s okay with you? There’s no love lost between him and me, but the man is beside himself with worry over you and Em.”

“I know it seems cruel to keep him in the dark.” Honor glanced over at Coburn, but saw no softening of his resolve. “But that’s how it’s got to be. For a little while longer at least.”

“You have your reasons,” Tori said. “But I dread the showdown when Stan finds out that I provided the wheels when you ran away from home.”

“I’m not going with you.”

Honor’s declaration startled Tori speechless. Coburn was more outspoken. “The fuck you’re not.”

She had been silently debating this with herself and had come to the conclusion that she couldn’t just dust her hands of this, which would be the safe and practical thing to do. It had occurred to her, not in one blinding instant of enlightenment but gradually over the past couple of days, that she was done with being safe and practical.

Since Eddie’s death, she often had resented Stan’s interference in her life, but she’d done nothing to discourage it. She had allowed him and others to protect her, to shepherd her through rough times, and to oversee her decisions as though she was a child who needed constant guidance.

She’d had much more independence when she was married. Eddie had regarded her as an equal, a woman who was allowed and, indeed, encouraged to form her own opinions and to act on her decisions.

Widowhood had fettered her. It had made her insecure and cautious, afraid to relocate, or explore employment options, or to do anything other than remain in a rut comfortably lined with memories of her happy past. Stan’s supervision had fostered her timidity. She didn’t like this woman she was now. She missed the more confident Honor Gillette that she had been.

Squaring off against Coburn, she said, “I’m not going to let you just brush me off.”

“Not going to let me? Watch, lady.”

“You’re the one who dragged me into this.”

“I didn’t have a choice then. Now I do.”

“So do I.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. My choice is the only one that counts, and I choose for you to go with your friend here.”

“I’m going to see this through, Coburn.”

“You could get killed.” He pointed toward Emily where she was still playing with her stick. “You want to leave her an orphan?”

“You know better than to ask that,” she shot back angrily. “But this time I won’t be cowed or coerced. I want answers to the questions about Eddie.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

“That’s just it. I need to get them.”

“Not your job.”

“But it is!”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Because I didn’t do it before.”

His chin went back.

She hadn’t expected to blurt out that admission of guilt, but now that she had, she pressed on. “I should have insisted on a more thorough investigation of Eddie’s car wreck. I didn’t. I was told it was an accident, and I took the explanation at face value. I never posed a single question about it, not even after the officer who found Eddie was murdered so soon after.