Page 127 of Wild Sanctuary

Keep it together, Monroe. You can do this.

“That’s really helpful, thank you so much.” I switch to my brightest, most professional journalist voice. “And roughly what year would that have been?”

There’s a pause on the line. Thankfully, Alma is smart enough to hear the shift in my demeanor. “Someone’s there.”

“That’s right.”

She gasps. “Oh God. Is it him?”

“Mm-hm. Go on, I’m listening.”

Marcus appears in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his hands together. He tilts his head at me with a questioning look, and I hold up one finger, giving him a polite smile that takes every ounce of control I have.

He nods and goes to the counter to top up his coffee.

“Stan told me he’s meeting Marcus somewhere today. I don’t know where.” Alma’s voice is barely above a whisper. “But you need to get away from him.”

“Mm-hm, I agree. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m going to call the sheriff right now. Then I’ll call Mr. Hartley⁠—”

“Other way around.” I cut her off, unable to keep the words behind my teeth. Wyatt Hartley is the only person I trust right now. “Please.”

“I’ll do it straight away.”

Marcus takes his seat across from me, settles back, and smiles at me the way he’s always smiled at me as the words I spoke to Wyatt not even an hour ago reverberate through my mind.

Someone we sit across a table from every day. Someone who smiles at us and asks how we’re doing and means it, right up until the moment they don’t.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. I’ll follow up with you soon.”

I hang up and slip my phone into my jeans pocket, then I pick up my coffee and take a sip.

“That sounded important.” Marcus smiles at me. “Source for the article?”

“Background research.” I’m amazed at how steady my voice sounds because inside, every cell in my body is screaming at me to run. “You know how it is. Chase ten leads, maybe one pans out.”

“Your dad was the same way.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Always said the truth had a way of surfacing if you gave it enough time.”

I wrap both hands around my mug so he can’t see them shaking.

“He did say that,” I manage. “He really did.”

Marcus reaches across the table and pats my hand, and it takes all my willpower not to recoil.

“He’d be so proud of you, sweetheart.”

29

DAISY

“Thank you, Marcus.”

The words come out almost normal.

His hand is gone from mine now, but I can still feel the weight of it. The feeling makes me want to run to the sink and scrub my hands until the skin he touched peels off.

The urge to throw my coffee mug at the wall and watch it shatter is worse.