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“I gave the cops your name so you could come right in,” he told me.

Because he never thought I’d make it there.

My eyes locked on his face. He shivered hard.

“Folks,” a man said, walking over, looking at Neil and Cece, “it seems we have a development and something we all need to discuss.”

They looked at the man as he pointed to me.

“Are we free to talk in front of these men?”

“Oh God, yes,” Cece told him. “Detective Baylor, this is my son’s domestic partner, Trevan Bean, whom we told you about, and his… friend?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Conrad told her. “And Landry’s as well. I’m Terrence Moss.”

I turned to look at him, confused for a minute until it hit me. This was a police detective that he and I were being introduced to. It had never even crossed my mind, how close Conrad himself was standing to danger. And he was doing it for me, there for no other reason.

“Thank you for being here, Terrence,” she told him. “We appreciate you coming all the way from Detroit with Trevan.”

“Yes, we do,” Jocelyn nodded, tears leaking from her eyes as she clutched at me.

“So, what?” Scott demanded, annoyed. “Jesus, do you have news? We need to do something… he could be really hurt and… what?” he barked at the detective.

He turned to Neil. “Two men, Joshua Beatty and Topher Jones, were just found dead on Highway 15.” And because he was looking at Neil, I knew he was already aware that Neil knew them. His fixed regard, the squint of his eyes, was not good.

“Joshua and Topher.” Scott said the names, trying to think of something, trying to dredge something from his mind. “Joshua and…. How do I…? Oh, I know. Dad, aren’t those friends of Brendon?”

“Who’s Brendon?” I asked.

Scott turned to me. “He’s our maid Christine’s son.”

I looked back at Neil. “The maid’s son. Does he live here?”

“Yeah,” Scott answered for his father. “He lives in one of the larger cabanas down by the lake, close to the one you and Landry were sharing. His mother used to live there, too, before she passed away.”

“Who is Brendon’s father?” Conrad asked.

I turned to look at him. Everyone did.

“Why is that important?” Scott asked him.

He turned to look at the detective. “I think it’s very important.”

“As do I,” Detective Baylor agreed. “So we checked. No father on record.”

“How did they die?” Neil asked the detective, his voice sounding almost robotic. “The two boys.”

“They weren’t boys, Mr. Carter, but to answer your question, they were both shot in the head with a small caliber handgun.”

He nodded and dropped down hard on the chair beside him, like he had just been drained of life—boneless, soulless, just empty.

“Mr. Carter?” The detective said his name sharply.

“He promised me no one would get hurt.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Who promised what, Mr. Carter?”