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“Anything,” he said quickly. “You can come live with us in Denver, I’ll send you money for a bus, just get your stuff and get out. They’re toxic.”
“Thanks,” she whispered. “Right now, I just need advice.”
He paused for a moment on the phone.
“Shoot,” he said.
She cringed at his word choice.
“I think Mom and Dad are planning to kill the lawyer.”
* * *
Two hours later,people were streaming out of the Granite Valley police station as Quinn walked up the steps, stomach twisting nervously. A couple people cast glances in her direction — and of those, one or two looked twice, recognizing her — but most of them seemed happy to be getting off work for the day.
Over the phone, George had nearly shouted at her: “Go to the police! Of course you should go to the police!”
So here she was.
“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist, looking bored behind a desk.
Quinn swallowed.
“Yeah, can I, uh, talk to an officer please?”
The woman looked at her skeptically. Quinn couldn’t tell if she was a shifter or not, but she was tall, even sitting down, and had a no-nonsense air about her.
“What’s the nature of your concern?” she asked.
Quinn could practically feel the other woman’s eyes sliding over her face, with an expression she’d come to recognize.
It was the Where do I know you from? expression, and Quinn hoped the woman didn’t figure out that she’d seen Quinn on TV, standing behind her hateful parents.
She put her hands on the counter to steady herself.
“I have information about yesterday’s shooting,” she said.
From the corner of her eye, she could see a couple of uniformed officers turn to look at her, but she stared straight ahead, her eyes boring into the other woman’s.
The other woman’s eyebrows went up, but she maintained her cool.
“I’ll be right back,” she said smoothly, then walked into another room, leaving Quinn in the room with everyone staring at her.
Please don’t go tell everyone in town that I’m here, she thought. She knew how news travelled in towns this size: fast.
Really, she didn’t care who found out that she was there, as long as the church group didn’t, and especially her parents.
Your own parents wouldn’t do anything to you, she thought to herself. They cut off George, but they didn’t kill him.
She took a deep breath. Voices sounded from the other room.
Your parents aren’t the only ones involved in this, she reminded herself. Someone else is doing the actual shooting, and he probably doesn’t care at all about you.
The fist around her heart tightened.
“Get Ash to talk to her,” a male voice said, rising slightly in the other room.
For the second time that day, Quinn found herself trying desperately to listen while acting like she wasn’t listening.
