Mary held her wrist like it hurt. “Your house? You need to calm down.”

“You did it again,” Caitlin said, the image of Hartman’s eyes now replaced by Mary standing next to Troy Woods in a bar.

“Did what again? Chill out, Caitie. You didn’t even have those files a week ago.”

Caitlin felt her chest tighten. “That’s not the point. They can’t just—”

The pounding in her chest drove her words away. She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Caitie?”

She tried to breathe, heard the rush of waves. Mary’s face morphed, flew up and sideways, ended perpendicular—or maybe that was her.

*   *   *

“For a skinny girl, you’re pretty heavy.”

Caitlin saw Mary’s face, felt water. She looked down, found her naked body in a foot of water.

“How did I get in the tub?”

“Unicorns, Caitie. How do you think?”

Mary stood in the bathroom doorway. “Do you need to go the hospital?”

“No, I guess I had a panic attack.”

“Duh.”

Caitlin leaned forward. “Mary—”

Lubbers put a hand up. “Don’t. Are you going to drown if I leave you?”

Caitlin took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine now. I’m so sorry.”

“You might be tomorrow. Between the BPD and the FBI, you might be really sorry. I’m going home. I’ve got a whole bunch of work and three classes tomorrow. Your boyfriend left you some towels.”

“Mary—”

Too late. Caitlin heard the front door slam. She sank into the water, closed her eyes.

Had she really tried to punch a police chief?

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Take a bath,” Greenwood had said. “This will all work itself out.”

What a crock of shit. No one cared about finding Angela Chapman. Not compared to covering their own asses.

She turned the hot water handle and put her hands under the pouring spout. The water in Lake Lemon was nowhere near as warm. She took another deep breath and sank beneath the surface, remembering her daytime plunge—the feel of the underwater grass, the mud floor of the reservoir, the calm glow of the sun at the top of the dark water. She stayed in the deep until her mortal need for breath brought her back to the light. She sat up, brushed the water from her eyes, found herself back in the bathroom.

A robe and two thick towels waited for her on top of the closed toilet seat. She reached over, found one of the smaller files from the big box of Chapman tucked between the towels. She grabbed the file with wet hands, read the handwritten label.

Possible Suspect—Lakshmi Anjale.

Caitlin jumped out of the tub and read the file, sitting wet and naked on the cold tile floor. After her second pass of the ten-page document, she shuffled into the living room, found her phone, and sent a text: We need to talk right now.

Chapter 57

CHAPTER

57