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After a quick trip outside to unload the car, Victor answered a few more questions, but the detectives didn’t learn anything else. In fact they seemed to leave the town house with more questions than answers.
“Step-Mommy Dearest,” Paterno said as Tanaka, at the wheel, pulled away from the curb.
“Sad,” Tanaka said. “I know I come across as a hard-ass and I am.” She slid a glance at Paterno. “Don’t argue with me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Well, okay, but you know, when it comes to kids? I get really pissed when adults don’t put their children’s needs above their own. Even if Ivy was running with the wrong crowd, or taking up with the wrong guy, or giving her old man a hard time, it’s his job to do what’s best for her. Doesn’t matter if she ends up living with a super-rich stepfather, or spends time in a mental hospital or whatever. Victor and his wife need to step up with Ivy, know what I mean?” With Paterno on his phone, she drove out of town, making only a slight detour to drive under the iconic arch one more time, just for kicks.
* * *
Pescoli turned over in bed and she was instantly awake.
Something was wrong.
She could feel it in her bones.
She’d been back home less than two days and the feeling was back, that she was being watched by hidden eyes, that something bad was going down. Nothing in the last twenty-four hours had given her any fuel to feed this paranoid feeling, not even the ongoing investigation into her sister’s death.
Santana’s arm was draped around her waist, aftermath of their lovemaking. For the last two nights, they’d been insatiable. Pescoli couldn’t get enough of him. Her own sister’s violent death made her feel more vulnerable, more concerned with death, and she was hanging on to Santana for dear life.
“Oh, hogwash,” she whispered, hating all the self-examination and worry that had edged into her life. It had started with her pregnancy. Brindel’s murder had only exacerbated it.
Or maybe you’re just cracking up.
She threw back the covers and walked naked to the French doors, where, as she had hundreds of times before, she stared across the icy surface of the lake and then looked up to the black sky where no stars were visible, cloud cover erasing their shine and hiding the moon.
There is nothing out there, Pescoli. Get over yourself. Even the bears have the good sense to hibernate for the winter.
But it wasn’t the bears or wolves or mountain lions that roamed the forests around her home that caused the little tingle of apprehension to crawl up her spine. No, it was something unknown, something insidious and evil that she felt observing her.
Paranoia is not a good look for you.
Still she stared into the quiet night, as if in looking through the glass she could discern whatever it was that was disturbing her subconscious and causing the hairs on her nape to stand on end.
Who are you? Or no, what are you?
And what the hell do you want with me?
With no answers, she returned to the bed and snuggled close to Santana once again. His warm breath ruffled her hair. “You okay?” he asked groggily.
“Fine.”
His arm tightened around her and he mumbled, “Go back to sleep.”
And she did. So close to him that she could hear his heart beat, she finally fell into slumber only to dream of her sisters, all four Connors girls, as they were in school, young and full of life, but something was wrong with Brindel . . . something she couldn’t figure out.
Beautiful and ethereal, Brindel suddenly was holding a baby in her arms and walking quickly away, crossing a bridge over a span of dark water. Somewhere a dog barked and she began to run. “It’s all your fault, Regan,” she whispered as she looked over her shoulder, and the flesh on her gorgeous face started to peel away, showing bits of her skull. “All your fault . . .”
Regan gave chase, realizing that the baby in her sister’s arms was her own.
“Brindel, stop!” she yelled, though her voice was muted, and then she heard the gunshots.
In rapid fire succession.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
Brindel’s body jerked. She was a skeleton. The baby vanished.
