“As I’ll ever be.” She caught a glimpse of Lily standing in the doorway to the house, Phee next to her, Chloe in her arms. Nikki waved to her daughter and blew her a kiss. Chloe responded by blowing her own and nearly slapping Lily in the face by throwing out her arm.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Pierce backed out of the drive. He placed his hand over hers for a second. “This is a good thing,” he said.
“I know. You don’t have to convince me.”
“Good.”
They drove out of the city, and Nikki rolled down her window, letting the fresh air invade the interior and waft through her hair.
It had been a rough two months, but things were looking up. Sol, Pierce’s partner, had sustained a wound to her shoulder in the apprehension of Jamison Kittle, but she’d survived, claiming the scar as her first “war wound” and back on the job. Thankfully, Pierce hadn’t been injured. Nor had she in her final battle with Duke Wheelan.
Chloe’s hair was growing in where the monster had yanked out a handful, and she seemed none the worse for wear. Two nights sleeping with Nikki and Pierce and no more nightmares. Nikki was still upset that a monster had broken into their home and assaulted their child, probably to kidnap Chloe and use her as bait, so he could lure Nikki out. For all his proclaimed faith, Wheelan had no soul.
As for Phee, the girl had been more traumatized, but was seeing a child psychologist and healing. She had also shown an interest in ballet and karate classes, having been impressed by her mother and aunt’s prowess in taking down the Savannah Slasher.
Luck had been with them that night.
Nikki had gotten her exclusive.
Tom Fink had been pleased, up until the point where she turned her last story in and told him to shove the job. Well, not in such blunt terms, but he got the message, and her only regret was that she would miss Roy, who had been horrified that she was leaving him. “How can you do this to me?” he’d asked over beignets and coffee. “You’re leaving me in the lion’s den!”
“Please, no references to the Old Testament,” she’d said.
“Too soon?”
“Waaay too soon,” she’d said. “And it probably always will be.”
“Oh, not for you, Nikki Gillette,” he’d argued. “You rebound faster than Tom Brady.”
“He’s a football quarterback, not a basketball player, for the love of God, Roy,” she’d said and caught the twinkle in his eye, as he took a sip from his coffee “Oh, I see, you’re just messing with me.”
“Well, you deserve it for abandoning me.”
He’d survive, she thought now, and she wasn’t abandoning him. She’d make a point of keeping in touch while she wrote her next book on the Savannah Slasher, to her agent, Ina’s, unending joy.
Yeah, life was settling back to normal.
Whatever that was.
Maybe she was about to find out.
She braced herself.
“You’re sure about this?” Pierce asked as he parked the Jeep in front of Bart Yelkis’s home, a cabin-like house on a few acres not far from the city.
“Yes.” Nikki took a deep breath and reached for the passenger door. “Let’s go.”
“There’s no changing your mind,” he reminded her as he cut the engine. “Once the deed is done—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I said I’m fine with it.” She opened the passenger door and stepped outside.
“Okay, then.”
“Look,” she said, as they walked up a cracked concrete path, past a carport that housed an older-model Chevy truck and an electric bike. Toby’s bike. Pierce had said the kid had moved back home after couch surfing and living with his aunt, but being here with his dad didn’t work.
“Let me do the talking,” Pierce said, as he rapped on the bent screen door.
