I moved to the bathroom then, slowing peeling off the dressing that had been placed on my wounds in the hospital.

In the shower I let the water soak into my wounds and closed my eyes, as hot lightning danced under the pinks of my eyelids, the water pouring deep into places that touched my nerves.

After I got dressed in my bedroom, I rolled back the carpet and took the pile of papers from my floor safe. The ones I’d printed from Harrington’s file but never finished reading before I’d left for the bar.

I could hear Remy and Abe in discussion about Vankle and Hartley out in the living room. Apparently, while I was knocked out in the hospital, Abe had done the notification of Vankle’s mom. She was also Lauten Hartley’s mom.

“‘One son worked hard and the other hardly worked,’ the mom said.” This was Abe’s voice.

“That’s it?” Remy asked.

“Mom said Lauten loved his little brother. And he’d been cleaning up for him his whole life.”

“And little brother had probably been doing dirty work for big brother his whole life,” Remy said.

I came out with my duffel, and the two went quiet.

“I got a text from Lonnie at County that Beau is in great spirits,” Remy said, breaking the awkward silence.

“Well, that’s a piece of good news,” I said.

I turned to Abe. “Don’t mess up my house.”

“Don’t come back and mess up my crime scene,” he said in response.

I grabbed Purvis from the yard, walked down the steps, and got in the car. Headed to Marvin’s.

As I drove over to my father-in-law’s place, I thought of the craziness of the last ten days. Of the school shooting and the sting at the bar that had gone south. But mostly, I found myself thinking of Kelly Borland.

Had I been too hard on her?

A man had threatened Kelly with violence, and she’d agreed to do what she thought was best in order to survive.

Was it more than that?

Could I forgive her?

Or, like Remy said, was I making it impossible for anyone to live up to the bar set by Lena Marsh?

58

September 6, 5:32 p.m.

Kelly Borland dropped her keys into the blown-glass bowl near the front of her apartment and used the back of her left high heel to push the door closed.

It was a Friday night, and she laid a dress she’d just picked up, still in its dry-cleaning plastic, over the back of her favorite armchair.

She moved into the kitchen.

“Jesus,” she said, her voice caught in her throat.

The man she’d bumped into outside of Jed’s place. The one she’d caught spying on Jed. He was sitting in the dark in her living room.

His figure was half shrouded in darkness, his hair slicked back with product. He wore a gray shirt and dark pants, a black blazer over it.

“How the hell did you get in here?” she asked.