What could Caitlin tell the girl that wouldn’t destroy her? If Angela Chapman was still alive—and two years was a whole lot of if—she’d have survived unimaginable hell. She’d remember the man’s hands, the helplessness, the vivid image of Troy Woods’s smile seconds before he knocked her head against a chuck of rock—

Caitlin shook her head. Not Troy Woods—Angela’s attacker.

Caitlin reached for her bag and got to her feet. “Let’s stop for today. It’s too nice out.”

Lakshmi rushed to pack up as well. “I’m off all weekend. What’s the next step?”

Caitlin started walking toward the Ernie Pyle Building. “Before we go to Greenwood, we need to show a correlation between the produce deliveries and the sale of pot.”

Lakshmi trailed a few feet behind. “How do we do that?”

Caitlin’s chest felt heavy. She kept moving. “We find the weak link, the corner boys. Two years ago, Frodo had to drive Kieran and Dave to parties. Who’s driving Frodo around?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get close. That whole frat hates me.”

Caitlin stopped. A version of the questions she’d accused Lakshmi of asking earlier remained unanswered in her own mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed on her temples. “Then we wait for a bit. I need to take care of some things.”

When she opened her eyes, Lakshmi looked terrified. “Are you okay, Caitlin? You seem—”

Caitlin grabbed her by both shoulders. “You’re a strong, intelligent woman, Lakshmi Anjale. Handle your business.”

She left her on the sidewalk and let the tears have their party all the way back to the cottage.

Chapter 29

CHAPTER

29

CAITLIN DIDN’T WAIT for the tub to fill. She leaned back against the basin, forced her naked skin to accept the still frigid surface, watched her arms turn to goose flesh.

You must control it.

The steady stream warmed the cold enamel under her bottom.

You must.

She splashed her face.

Control.

When the water reached a foot, she went under, let her hair drift around her face. She opened her eyes and stared up at the white ceiling, lost herself in a wash of color. Warm amber from the light over the sink gave way to the cool blue from the last bits of afternoon diffused by the window.

Same colors as a hospital ceiling.

Twenty years earlier, Deputy Sugar stood at her bedside with the stocky build of a bulldog, a face lined by years of Indiana winters, and a clipboard in his hand.

“Miss, I’m Deputy Lyle Sugar with the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department. You’re in the hospital.” The bass in his voice rumbled like tires over snow. “Can you tell me your name?”

The ring of Caitlin’s phone brought her back. She sat up, pulled her wet hair away from her face, answered the phone. “Caitlin Bergman.”