And if that meant watching the true-crime docs that her brother liked so much until her usual eleven p.m. bedtime, then so be it. She didn’t start until two tomorrow afternoon—she could sleep late. In fact, she planned to. She planned on being exhausted.

Arlo stood. “There’s been a pileup on the interstate. Denver wants all hands on deck.”

The news didn’t surprise Della. It’d been storming for the last two hours. Heavy rain, hideously loud thunder, and lightning illuminating the entire house. The lights had even flickered on occasion, too. And it was almost a guarantee that every time the weather turned nasty there’d be some idiot traveling too fast for the conditions wreaking havoc on the interstate.

But tonight, that was at least going to work to her advantage.

“Okay. Sure.”

She stood as he headed to his room to get dressed, tapping her fingers on her leg impatiently. He was back five minutes later, dressed in his uniform, his hat in one hand, his raincoat slung over the opposite arm.

“Be careful out there, okay?”

She knew he would be. Arlo was an experienced officer—he’d probably be the most experienced one on the scene—who was a stickler for doing things by the book. But the conditions would be dangerous. Dark and wet and slippery. And then there was the other side of things. The human side. Having to sort through twisted wreckage to rescue people who could be critically injured.

Recover bodies.

It was a hell of a job, and Arlo had witnessed some terrible things in his career. It never seemed to affect him, though. He always seemed so…stoic. She’d been the exception, of course. Della’s rescue and what she’d suffered in her marriage had affected him deeply. He’d shared some of those feelings with her and Selena in those early therapy sessions.

But everything else seemed to slide off him like Teflon.

Another flash of lightning lit up the house, and the lights dimmed again momentarily.

Arlo scowled at the fixture overhead. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

Della was going to be fine. More than fine. But she knew why he was concerned. “Of course. I have my flashlight, don’t worry.”

He nodded uncertainly. “I’ll keep you up-to-date if it looks like I’m going to be there for hours.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

He left then, and, out of habit more than necessity, she locked the door after him. Most people didn’t lock their doors in Credence. In a place where everybody knew everybody else and had for generations, there was very little petty crime. But in the beginning, before the news of Todd’s death in prison, Della had locked up obsessively. Arlo had even installed locks on the windows for her so she’d feel safe in his house.