Page 48 of Sinister Secrets

“Everything okay?” Jake asks, watching as I jerk a pair of slacks and a blouse from the closet.

“That was Sheriff Kingston. Gordon’s mom is asking to speak with me.” Although demanded was the word he used. I wonder what about. “I’m going to have to head into town.” Giving him an apologetic look, I add, “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I was planning on going over everything with Chelsea today, make sure she knows who gets fed what, how much, and when so hopefully she can take over this coming week.”

“I can do it.”

“You sure?” I ask, threading a belt through my holster and drawing it tight.

“Yeah, no problem. Hey.” Catching me by the hand, he presses his lips to my palm, then draws me down for a kiss. “Don’t let him get you worked up.”

“I won’t.”

His expression as I grab my purse and hurry from the room clearly says he doesn’t believe it. And he’s not wrong. By the time I’ve made the drive into town and jogged across the Gator Glade Sheriff’s Department parking lot, it feels like every muscle in my body is tied in knots.

“Finally,” Kingston says, throwing his hands in the air.

“It’s been”—I pull out my phone and check—“sixteen minutes, Lyle,” I say, hating the defensive tone in my voice. “Shall we look up your response times out to the Sanctuary on any of the occasions you’ve been called?”

His annoyed expression morphs into something bordering on guilt.

“What’s got her so worked up, anyway?” I ask.

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t say. Just kept yelling for me to get you down here, pronto.”

“Well, let’s go see if we can figure it out and calm her down, shall we?”

Though the look on his face lets me know he was planning on throwing me to the she-wolf alone, he straightens his spine, tucks his sloppy shirtfront into his waistband, and joins me by the door. Gordon’s mom rolls irritated eyes toward the entrance as I step inside. The instant she sees me, she’s on her feet.

“You!” Spit flies from her mouth, spraying my cheeks as she seethes the word. Her finger almost touches my nose as she jabs it into my personal space.

“Mrs. —” Realizing I still don’t know her new surname, I change tack. Setting a hand on her shoulder, I gesture to the chair she was just using. “Please. Take a seat. I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

She jerks out from beneath my palm. Her narrowed eyes sear into mine, her mouth a thin, angry slash.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You’re what’s wrong.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I thought you were Gordon’s friend, but you weren’t. Not at all.”

“We were friends,” I say, doing my best to erase the image of his hate scrawled across our senior yearbook, knowing I need to defuse the situation. “Back when we were in high school, he was one of my best friends. You know that.”

She shakes her head, my words falling on deaf ears.

“If you were friends, you never would have betrayed him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What do you think I did?”

“I don’t think, I know, and I have the proof to back it up, too. Is that why you’re working his case? So you can cover it up?”

“Cover what up?”

“You killed his girlfriend.”

“Who?”