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“Daddy,” she said, sobbing through tears that shook her whole frame, blowing a bubble of snot under her nose. “No!”
Laura surfaced with a gasp, finding her hands shaking. Short but sweet. It told her everything she needed to know.
She ignored the pain in her head—and everywhere else, it seemed—as she got up out of the bed and reached for her clothes. She had to go—and now.
She dressed quickly and headed for the exit. Out the
re she found Nate already waiting with the car, ready to drive them both to the airport. It was time to leave here, and Laura was champing at the bit to be in the air already.
There was one other person who was still waiting for her to contact them, she knew. VirginiaMan383. She wished she could just sit here in the hospital and actually rest, but it felt like her timescale kept moving up. Amy couldn’t wait; she needed help as soon as possible. And now that she knew there was something going on with Nate’s death, something connected to the very knowledge of her visions, she needed advice.
Meeting up with someone who experienced the same things she did might help her to decide what to do. To make sense of it all. Maybe she could get some answers.
She fired off a message through the forum’s personal messaging system from the passenger seat, her fingers flying over her phone’s keyboard as quickly as she could make them.
Hi, VirginiaMan383. I’m coming back into town. Let’s meet on Thursday at the café next to the Y on W Street. 1:30 okay for you?
She hit send without pausing. Now wasn’t the time for second thoughts. It was the time for pushing forward.
And there was one thing left—the most important thing yet. She had to get on a plane—and the moment she landed, she knew exactly where she was going.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Laura hammered on the door, stepping back to glance up at the windows of the home above her. The governor’s mansion was an impressive structure, but that wasn’t what her attention was focused on now. She was looking for movement, for any sign of life.
The door opened promptly, revealing an Hispanic woman wiping her hands on a long apron. Even as she opened it, she was glancing over her shoulder, which had Laura’s hackles up immediately.
“Hi, FBI,” she said, immediately showing her badge without preamble. “I’d like to come inside.”
The housekeeper hesitated. Her face was pale, and her eyes darted from Laura’s face to the badge to back over her shoulder again.
“I’m not supposed to…” she began, trailing off as she gnawed at her own lower lip. Laura watched her hands and realized they were shaking.
“If I have cause to believe that someone in the house is in danger of harm, then I have the right to enter the property without permission or a warrant,” she said, keeping her voice low but her words urgent. “Do you understand?”
The housekeeper turned and looked at her again. “Yes,” she said. She paused, clearing her throat. “I… think you might have heard someone scream a moment ago. I heard something as well.”
“Thank you,” Laura said fervently, stepping over the threshold and charging through the house.
She had to force her hand not to stray to her gun.
She followed her gut, not sure of the layout of the house. But it wasn’t hard to guess; straight through to a wide-open kitchen, sunlight streaming in through French doors. A cursory glance there revealed nothing, as Laura had expected. The housekeeper’s domain, or a cook if they had one. Not where the master of the house spent his time.
Back to the main hall; stairs leading up, which Laura had to assume would take her to Amy’s bedroom. But first, two doors on either side. Laura took one at random, finding herself in a comfortable and lavishly decorated sitting room, complete with an American flag curling over the fireplace; a room where the governor could receive guests. It was empty.
The next door along was another sitting room, but this time smaller and more intimate; photographs of the family lined the walls, and not just the posed and political kind.
That was where she found Mrs. Fallow.
“You,” the woman gasped, quickly dashing her hands over her face as Laura burst in. That didn’t hide the tears she had been crying at all. “You’re—you’re not supposed to be here. We don’t… want you!”
Laura stared at her for a fraction of a moment. Even now, when she tried to say it strong and loud, it didn’t ring true. Not with the tears still drying on her face, black mascara crusted under each eye.
Laura ignored her and turned away. A mother who allowed her daughter to be abused. Her most precious thing. The one person in the world it was not only her duty, but her privilege to protect.
Most of all, Laura hated her because she was just like Laura. Trapped by her own fear and pain until she had let her daughter down.
The very failings that Laura would never, ever, if she lived for a thousand years, be able to forgive herself for.
