Blake shifted into Park and snuffed the headlights.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her home was another hundred feet up the driveway, and she longed to see that it was okay. A thousand warm memories filled those walls and the acres around them. She’d give just about anything to go inside, curl beneath her grandma’s quilt by the fire and pretend the last two days were nothing more than a nightmare. Sadly, her old normal was her new fantasy. Mornings of scrambling eggs in the kitchen without feeling stalked were probably gone forever, but if that was all she lost to Nash, she’d count it as a win.
His posture was rigid at her side, eyes focused and square jaw clenched.
“I thought we were in a hurry to grab the key and get to Kara’s?” she asked.
He pulled his phone from the cup holder and typed something against the screen. “Your porch light is out.”
“So?” She eyeballed the shadows cast from her roof over the front yard. “I haven’t been home. No one was here to turn it on.”
He finished prodding his phone and set the device in his cup holder. “I turned it on when we left.”
Marissa pulled her attention back to Blake. “You think Nash came back here?” The photo he’d taken of her and Blake came to mind. “He was here while we were. You think he stuck around and took the bulb after we left.”
“Maybe, but why?” Blake narrowed his eyes on her home. “I don’t know what to expect from him anymore, which, I suppose, is exactly what he wants.” He scooped her house key from the cup holder and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants.
“Are you worried?” It was hard to get a read on him when he wore that blank agent expression.
“No.” He flicked his gaze to the side-view mirror outside his door. “I’m pissed.”
Right. She was the worrier. He was the warrior.
The sheriff’s cruiser rolled into view beside them, the headlights flashing over her home.
A great gasp tore through Marissa’s chest. A figure dressed in white swung from her porch rafters. She shut her eyes shut and prayed, shamelessly, that it wasn’t her sister.
* * *
BLAKE CLIMBED OUT like a ghost and shut the door behind him. He gave her a sour look and pointed through the glass. As if she needed to be warned not to follow. As if she hadn’t seen enough murder victims to last her ten lifetimes.
Cole opened the cruiser’s passenger door and raised a massive black flashlight at the figure. Wind whipped the thing into a near horizontal position, and Marissa let out a cry of relief. Whatever was wearing the gown wasn’t human. No one weighed so little that they would float like that, not even in the force of a brewing storm.
The Garretts met in the beams of the sheriff’s headlights. Together they charged toward the gown and her mysteriously darkened home. West and Blake went inside, flipping the porch light on behind them.
Cole prodded the gown as it flipped and twisted in the wind, partially filled by what now appeared to be an inflatable doll in a long blond wig.
Marissa’s home illuminated room-by-room. Living room. Kitchen, bedroom, bedroom, back porch. She winced with each new light, praying that Blake was safe and Nash wasn’t waiting there to surprise him.
Cole stayed in near-constant motion, patrolling the perimeter, until the others returned to view. Their silhouettes were relaxed now, knees no longer locked, shoulders slack. They’d even removed their right palms from the butts of their weapons.
Marissa strained to hear them, but they were too far away, and the winds were gaining strength, getting louder by the gust.
A tornado of emotion built in Marissa’s empty stomach. If the coast was all clear, and the woman in white was only a doll, then why was she still locked in the truck? Why hadn’t she been invited to join them in whatever they were discussing?”
Clouds passed over the moon, casting the men into darkness. She could see them if she squinted, but only barely. Marissa craned her neck to curse the clouds.
The loaner phone buzzed in her pocket. She freed the tiny device and checked the caller ID. Her parents’ home number glowed on the screen. “Hi, Mom,” she answered.
“Hi.” Her mother’s voice was soft. Controlled. Marissa recognized the tone immediately. She was being brave. It was the same tone she used when anyone was sick or hurt. “I’m sorry to call again. I just wanted to know you’re still okay.”
Marissa smiled against the receiver, hoping her effort carried though the line. “I’m good. I promise. Very safe. I’m constantly surrounded by lawmen who are all about my well-being.” She forced a nervous laugh. At the moment, at least three of them were intentionally leaving her out of their conversation, but she doubted that news would make her mom feel any better. It was certainly frustrating the daylights out of Marissa. “Any word from Kara?” she asked, redirecting her thoughts. She knew the answer already, of course. If her mom had any news about Kara, she would have led with that.
“No, but I missed a call earlier. I didn’t recognize the number, and there was no message. I didn’t call back. Do you think I should have?”
Marissa fiddled idly with her jacket’s zipper. “Probably not. If it was Kara, I think she would’ve left a message or kept calling until you answered.” Or called Marissa. “You should tell Mr. Garrett. See what he thinks.”
“Okay. I will.” Her mom’s voice wavered. “I made up your old room today. In case you change your mind about staying with us.”
“Mom.”
“I know.” She sniffled. “Our old Sheriff Garrett showed up after you left. He came out of retirement for this.”
“Hey,” Marissa interrupted. “We’re going to get through this. We’ll be stronger for it.”
Her mom didn’t respond.
Marissa imagined her mother pressing tear-soaked
