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“I’m not sure how much more I can tell you about Bridget’s condition. She clearly hit her head and lost consciousness, so we’re waiting for a CT-scan to see what, if any, damage was done. But even if that comes back clear, she has a particularly nasty break in her lower leg, right above her ankle, which is almost certainly going to require surgery. And then there is the extensive road rash along the entire left side of her body. With that amount of skin missing and the dirt embedded in those wounds, there is a significant risk for a dangerous infection.”

I wince at the memory flash triggered by Dana’s description. Innocence, forever marred by ugly wounds. It was a different time and place, but still feels like yesterday. Too much about this is familiar.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dana asks.

I’m saved from answering when a modest buzzer sounds, announcing someone’s arrival.

Sandy Larson is a tall, well-dressed woman in her late thirties or early forties. She is visibly upset, despite valiant efforts to keep her wits about her. She barely even looks at me, focusing instead on Dana, who she already spoke to on the phone.

“Bridget?”

I listen in as Dana fills the woman in on her daughter’s condition. She doesn’t hold back on the severity of the girl’s injuries but is gentle in her delivery without being patronizing. She’s both compassionate and patient with the woman, while I’m itching to get some answers. Unfortunately, I’m not generally known for my tact or diplomacy.

“Mrs. Larson. My name is Rick Althof. I’m a detective with the Edwards County Sheriff’s Department, and I’m trying to get some answers to this morning’s accident. Can you tell me what your nine-year-old daughter was doing, riding her bike on the street when she should’ve been in school?”

“Rick!” Dana exclaims, elbowing me sharply in the side.

But I’m focused on the girl’s mother, whose eyes first show confusion, then shock, and finally flash with anger and pain.

“Yes, I can,” she answers curtly. “Classes were cancelled at my daughter’s school after the discovery of mold in the building yesterday. She stayed home with Louise, our nanny.”

“Have you spoken to the babysitter?”

I know the woman probably doesn’t deserve it—my reaction is more about me than her—but I can’t seem to keep the sharp edge of judgment out of my voice. This whole incident is turning out to be one big trigger.

“On my way here. She was busy putting my son, Darcy, down for his nap, and hadn’t noticed his sister slipping out. Bridget had been bugging Louise to take her to the park, and clearly wasn’t willing to wait until after Darcy’s nap.”

I don’t even have to look at Dana to feel the reproach in her eyes on me and rub a hand over my face.

“Detective,” Sandy Larson calls my attention. “Are you a parent?”

Her question surprises me, so it takes me a moment to answer.

“No.”

My response sounds hollow to my own ears.

“Well, that makes sense. Because if you were, you’d know there was no need to make me feel guilty about what happened to my baby; I already do. I sincerely hope you don’t ever have to find out for yourself.”

I’m afraid it’s too late for that.

Chapter 18

Rick

* * *

What a fucking day.

It started out well enough with Dana’s soft moans in my ear, but it’s been nothing but downhill since.

First thing this morning, Mancuso showed up at the station with two other agents and set up shop in the large conference room. I don’t enjoy handing off active cases and like seeing things through to the end, but I had to suck it up. Then to add insult to injury, while those guys were scrutinizing Tessa and my case notes, along with the forensics reports, I got shipped off to the scene of a goddamn traffic accident.

But it wasn’t until I caught sight of that kid’s bike, all mangled on the side of the road, I realized the day just took a detour into hell. A host of feelings I thought I had a check on have burned to the surface, leaving me raw and bitter.

I guess anger is the safest emotion to release, and I’ve been snarling like an injured dog all day. Even at that poor girl’s mother, but she told me off good. But Dana, who showed nothing but concern for me, just took it, her eyes seeing more than I was willing to reveal.

It was more than I could handle and I had to walk out of there. Like a coward, I called Tessa from the parking lot, asking her to follow up with the victims, giving her some bullshit story I had to try and catch up with a possible witness.