“I’m thirty-two, ma’am.”

“Too young,” she repeated.

“I’m thirty, Grams,” Kara said.

Em just looked at her with raised eyebrows. Kara didn’t need this argument.

She went with Em to Flo Abbott’s house. Flo lived in the country, halfway back to Spokane. Five acres in the middle of nowhere, and there was no reason that Glen Hamilton would know about this place. She’d made sure they weren’t tailed, and was confident that her grandmother would be safe here. While Kara didn’t think that he would go after Emily, she couldn’t take the chance.

She felt comfortable, at least, letting Em stay out here, and the Sheriff’s escort promised they would check on her frequently. Flo herself had a shotgun by the door, and assured Kara that she would shoot first, ask questions later. Kara didn’t need to hear that. One pull on the shotgun and Flo would probably be knocked on her ass.

But in addition to at least six cats, Flo had two German shepherds who would make good protectors.

“Don’t open the door to anyone,” Kara reminded the two women.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Flo said. “Can you stay for a bite?”

“It smells great, but I really can’t.”

Em walked over and put her hands on Kara’s shoulders. She looked up and said, “You be careful, Kara. I know you think you have to do this, and I won’t tell you that you can’t. Not that you’d listen to me. But I love you, and you need to know that.”

Kara wasn’t good with emotions, but ever since Hamilton hit the kid, her emotions had been going up and down. Andy’s death made them even rockier. “Love you, too, Grams.”

She left before she did something stupid like cry.

She slipped back into the police car—the front seat this time, which made her feel more in charge.

“Your grandma’s going to be okay,” the officer said.

“Yes, she will. Have they had the press conference yet?”

“Over and done. Packard let the fed talk almost the entire time. It was brief and to the point. Glen Hamilton is wanted for the murder of a police officer and civilian. No connection to the Triple Killer, but when asked by the press, Costa said he’s wanted for questioning in both previous Liberty Lake murders. He’s considered armed and dangerous, yada yada. Where to? The station?”

“Head there, I’m going to call Maddox.”

The phone rang twice before Brian picked up. “Em’s safe with Flo Abbott. Sheriff will patrol regularly. What’s happening?”

“Costa convinced me to stay at the station all night,” Brian said. “I didn’t argue. No way is Hamilton getting in here, not with our security. You don’t need to babysit me.”

“I love babysitting,” she said. “But seriously, if you’re staying put and I don’t have to worry about your safety, I want to be in the field.”

“I understand. Costa’s still here—wants to talk to you.”

A second later, Matt came on the line. “You’re not staying with your grandmother?”