Mama’s recipe.
Sara coasted into a parking space by the front door. She should take a moment to breathe, to calm her pounding heart, but the exercise would be futile. Nothing could calm her.
She adjusted the purse on her right shoulder as she got out of the car. Her left hand tucked into the pocket of the cardigan. She held onto the gun so it wouldn’t bump against her hip as she walked toward the entrance.
Two men with rifles were on either side of the concrete stoop. Their backs were to the wall. Their eyes tracked Sara as she climbed the stairs.
Behind her, a car engine turned off. Doors were opened and closed. Sara did not turn to find Will again, but she knew what he was doing as he followed her from a distance. Her lover was an inveterate list maker. He would be mentally cataloging all of the possible outcomes—
1. Brock confesses and gives himself up
2. Brock confesses and doesn’t give himself up
3. Brock takes Sara hostage
4. Will shoots Brock
Sara added her own addendum—
5. Brock explains how this is all a terrible misunderstanding
Inside the empty lobby, Sara adjusted her purse so the camera pointed straight on. The receptionist had put an out to lunch sign on the counter. A plastic clock with adjustable hands read 1 p.m., indicating the time of her return.
Sara drew in a shallow breath. She gripped the strap of her purse. She tightened her hand around the revolver.
She felt lightheaded as she walked down the corridor. She heard Will and Faith enter the lobby. Sara desperately wanted to turn around, but she wasn’t sure she could keep moving forward if she saw Will again.
Eight to ten seconds.
That was how long Amanda estimated it would take to breach Brock’s office.
Sara doubted it would take Will more than three.
The door to the warehouse was five steps away. A bead of sweat rolled down her chest. She could feel it slip past the concealed mic, pool into her bra. She glanced at the photographs on the wall.
David Harper, Employee of the Month.
Hal Watson, Facility Manager.
Dan Brock, Director of Embalming Services.
A map of the state was taped beside Brock’s photo. Shaded blue areas indicated AllCare’s territory. This was a newer version than the map in Brock’s office. White County was solid blue.
My stomping ground.
Sara heard the chatter of low voices. She turned around. Faith was clearing the employees out of the breakroom. Will had his hand on his rifle, finger resting along the trigger guard.
Their eyes met one last time.
Sara took a deep breath.
She opened the door and walked into the warehouse.
Her senses were overloaded. The smell of formaldehyde. The harsh overhead lights that sharpened every corner of the room. The thirty stainless-steel tables were empty but for one. An embalmer had washed the hair of the deceased woman at her station. Her hand stroked back and forth as she combed out the tangles.
Sara checked that the wooden shutters on Brock’s office windows were closed. She cleared her throat. She told the woman, “Hal asked if you could come to his office for a second.”
“Hal?” the woman repeated, surprised. “I just need to—”
Sara checked the shutters again. “Go.”
The woman’s eyes went to the breakroom window, then back to Sara. She put down the comb. Removed her gloves. She untied her apron as she quickly walked away.
Sara felt her heartbeat triple as she neared Brock’s office. Her hands had started to shake. Years of practice as a doctor, a surgeon, and a medical examiner had given her the ability to mute her emotions. Standing outside Brock’s closed office door, she found herself unable to flip the switch.
He was one of her oldest friends.
He was a rapist.
He was a murderer.
Sara knocked on his door.
“Sara? Is that you?”
The door swung open.
Brock was smiling his same old smile. He went to hug her, but she backed away.
“S-sorry.” Sara panicked over the stutter. She had planned this part. She had known he would try to hug her because they always hugged. “I’m getting a cold. I don’t want you to catch it.”
“I’ve got the constitution of a goat after working in this place.” He waved her in. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go to lunch. I had to prepare for a meeting.”
Sara’s left hand stayed in her pocket. The revolver was coated in her sweat. She forced her legs to move. She looked around, expecting everything to look the same as it had the day before.
Nothing was the same.
Brock had cleaned his office. He must’ve worked through the night. The overflowing files had been tidied away. The forms and purchase orders were neatly stacked in labeled trays. His desktop was clean but for two large ring-binders. Each one was at least three inches thick. The vinyl covers were dark green. She could see the AllCare logos embossed in gold on the front. She tried not to look nervous as she glanced at the closed slats on the wooden shutters.
They could not see out. No one could see in.
“Sorry it’s so warm in here.” Brock had unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt. He was rolling up his sleeves. “Do you want some water or something to drink?”
“No, thank you.” Sara worked to keep the tremble out of her voice. “You straightened up.”
“I was so ashamed yesterday after you left. I don’t usually let things get that bad.” He motioned toward the small table. “Have a seat. Can you stay a while?”
Sara placed her purse on the table, making sure the camera was pointed toward the other chair. She sat all the way back, putting as much space as she could between them.
Brock said, “Maybe I shouldn’t risk getting your cold.”
Instead of taking the chair across from her, Brock went behind his desk and sat down.
The thick binders were in front of him. Sara
