With a loud snort, the animal shut his eyes again. What the heck? It was almost as if the wolf was laughing at her.
Gena giggled. “He’s funny, isn’t he?”
Not really. “What’s his name?”
“He hasn’t told me.” Gena continued rubbing the thick pelt.
Mia ran a shaking hand through her hair. Maybe her mother needed an adjustment on her medication. “Um, does he talk to you?”
Gena rolled her eyes. “Of course, he doesn’t talk to me, Mia. Geez. Do you think I’m that off my rocker?” Her shoulders stiffened, and she looked up. “Oh. Well, I guess I can see how you’d think that. I really am sorry. I mean, given all the problems when you were young.”
Mia leaned against the doorframe, her hand remaining steady on the gun in case she needed to shoot the beast. “Mental illness isn’t anyone’s fault, Mom. I’m just sorry it took so long for the doctors to figure out the best regimen for you.”
“Remember that shirt you tie-dyed for me when you were eighteen?” Gena grinned.
“Yes. Schizophrenia sucks—at least that’s what the voices say.” Mia laughed. “You got such a kick out of it.”
Gena shoved the wolf gently, and he stretched to his feet before loping off the deck and into the forest. “I figured if we could laugh about it, then everything would be okay.” She stood and smoothed down her pants. “Everything is still going to be all right, Mia El.”
“I know, Mom,” Mia said softly. “I’ve always known.”
Gena’s smile erased Mia’s lingering doubts. “Then maybe it’s time we both started living again. You know, have some fun.”
“Sure.” Mia forced an answering smile.
Gena studied her. “By the way, I believe in you. If you say there’s another psycho out there after you, then there is one. Trust your instincts, sweetheart.”
“I want to be wrong.” Mia relaxed her hold on her gun.
“You’re not.”
Mia shuffled her feet. “But what if—?”
“You do not have schizophrenia, Mia. Stop worrying about that happening to you.” Gena shook her head.
“It’s hereditary.” Mia tried to breathe normally.
“Yeah, maybe in some families. In others, the inflicted person did so many drugs as a teenager, the brain malfunction happens organically.” Gena flushed. “I did drugs. I’ve told you that.”
“I know.” But, what if? What if the paranoia and fear were organic—and not real? “Sweet dreams.” Mia shuffled across the worn planks and dropped onto a chair. “I want to stare at the lake for a bit.”
Gena nodded and plodded back inside. “Night.”
“Night,” Mia whispered, watching the darkness and trying to relax. The night pressed in with a hint of a chill.
The lake lay quiet and dark, barely lit by the moon’s valiant effort to pierce the cloud cover.
Seth moved into the moonlight like an elemental piece of the night. She knew he’d show up. She had no clue how she understood him so well. But as an investigator, she’d learned to trust her instincts. As a woman…well, now. There had been no question the man would show.
He stood under the filtering rays of the moon, his face in shadow, his focus on her. Somewhere between the fancy ball and the evening of death, he’d changed into faded jeans and a worn T-shirt. All predator, he was big, quick, and dangerous…and she wanted nothing more than to take him on right now—to share the wild anger ripping through her.
She dropped her feet to the rough wooden planks. “Mandy’s dead.”
He stalked forward, purposefully striding over the warped steps before dropping into the matching wicker chair. “I know.”
“Who killed her?”
“That, I don’t know.” Seth scrubbed both hands over his face. “My father offered condolences to her parents an hour ago. Pete was there.”
