“Charlie, I have no reason to believe you would. Since you came into Lane’s life, your aunt and I have noticed a difference in her. A good difference. I don’t know what the future holds for either of you, but I’m going to share a piece of advice I’ve lived by in my forty-eight years of marriage to your aunt.” Sheriff Huggins’s eyes locked on to Charlie. “Never stop being the man Lane deserves.”

Chills had permanently staked out territory across Lane’s skin as she drove down Old Ogeechee Road and away from Miguel’s home. What had scared him? Had she set him off by showing up unexpectedly? Her gut told her it was something more, and for now she was thankful she and Noah were safely driving away from whatever was putting fear into Miguel’s eyes.

“Momma, can I visit those alligators again?”

Lane looked over her shoulder at Noah sitting in his car seat. His eyes, no doubt, searching the muddy swampland they were passing for any sign of real alligators. “I’m not sure, buddy.”

Would she take Noah back to Miguel’s? When she had the idea to bring him muffins, it was really an excuse to check on him. Make sure he was alright even though she was the one who’d suffered a bruised cheek from his outburst. But what had caused his outburst? And why hadn’t he been coming to the Friday Night Clubs lately? Lane tried to remember the last Friday he’d shown up. Her throat grew thick. She calculated the weeks again. Was that right? Was the last Friday Night Club Miguel showed up to really the week before Sydney died?

Suddenly it wasn’t chills Lane was concerned with. Her stomach rolled at the dark thought. Not Miguel. He was not violent. Quiet, reserved, maybe a little nervous—but never violent. Lane caught her reflection in the rearview mirror and focused on the bruise marring her cheek. It was an acc—

Lane’s attention shifted from her reflection to the two cars following her. They were a ways behind her, but from the way they seemed to be growing larger they were moving fast. Too fast. And one of the cars was on the wrong side of the road. Were they racing?

Old Ogeechee was a two-lane stretch of highway sandwiched between swampy marshland. There was nowhere for Lane to pull over to let the moronic drivers pass without her truck slipping off the road completely. Pulling her focus back to the road in front of her, Lane tapped her foot on the brake. Maybe they’d think there was a cop ahead of her and slow down, but a quick glance in the rearview mirror showed they either hadn’t seen her warning or didn’t care.