Garrett braced when she finished her litany and instantly looked to the front window.

It was going hit.

Now.

“Guess she couldn’t,” Marscha whispered. “Couldn’t live without it. Couldn’t live with it.”

It was then the tear fell. Just one, down her cheek to hit her pajama top.

Then she dropped forward. Face in her knees, her back bucked in a way that looked painful, and her sob tore through the room with such force, it felt like a physical thing.

They’d get no more and both Garrett and Mike had long since learned that when it hit, two cops hanging around, watching or attempting to ease a pain that had no relief other than time, was unwelcome and unwanted.

Their job was to catch the bad guy.

Garrett was already on the move.

Mike was too.

“You’ll stay with her?” Mike muttered to Ellen.

“Yeah, Mike,” Ellen muttered back.

“Favor, Ellen,” Garrett said. “She’s got any info on Wendy’s friends—names, numbers, anything—get those down. We’ll also need access to the rest of the family after Marscha gives them the news. Yeah?”

Ellen nodded.

They exited the house, but Garrett did it with his hand inside his jacket, going for his phone in his pocket.

“Need two minutes,” he said to Mike as he moved off the front walk into the yard and not toward the vehicle at the curb, which was now surrounded by five cops, the ME, and Jake, their crime scene guy, who was taking pictures. There were also neighbors. They were hanging back on a sidewalk across the street, but they were there.

“Bet you do,” Mike murmured, moving down the walk toward the scene.

Mike, obviously, was in the know about Ryker, Ryan, and Jaden Cutler.

Garrett stopped in Marscha Derian’s yard, engaged his phone, and slid his thumb on the screen, vaguely annoyed that today would not be the day he’d have time to get a new phone.

But most of his attention was on what he was doing, not his phone.

It was also not on the beginnings of a homicide investigation.

He put the phone to his ear.

She was busy getting her kid ready for school. The phone not close. Whenever he called, or even texted, if her phone was close, she answered right away.

This time, it was answered after four rings.

“Uh…boss, school doesn’t start for an hour,” Cher said in greeting, her voice warm and filled with humor. “Can’t confirm I dropped my kid off safely just yet.”

“Get somewhere that is not close to your boy,” he ordered.

“What?” she asked, no longer sounding warm and amused.

“Get somewhere where Ethan can’t hear this discussion.”

She didn’t reply and he knew she didn’t because she was doing as she was told.

He also knew she was there when she asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Wendy Derian was murdered this morning, shot three times.”

Cher said nothing for a beat before she said softly, “I don’t know who that is, Merry.”