Security Measures. Sara K. Parker

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      “Doesn’t look like you should have made it out of that alive,” the officer commented. “Are you injured?”

      “Not that I can tell.”

      “We’ve got paramedics on the scene. I’d encourage you to take a ride and get checked out at the hospital, anyway, after we speak.”

      “I’ll see my doctor tomorrow if I need to,” she said. “But I appreciate it.”

      “You should let them check you out at the hospital,” Hunter suggested. “It was a pretty bad wreck.”

      She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

      “You could have internal—”

      “Hunter.”

      She’d made her decision, and there was nothing he could say to change her mind. Her jaw was set, her lips pressed together. He knew the look when he saw it.

      The officer ducked his head slightly so he could see her. “Tell me what happened.”

      Hunter listened with interest as she described hearing a distinct pop before she smelled smoke. He hadn’t seen anything but the smoke, and he wondered what could have caused the pop. The interview was brief, and the officer handed her his card. Once again, he advised her to get checked out and to rest up, and then he returned to the scene.

      “That was a sweet ride,” Hunter said. “Looks like there’s no saving it.”

      “No. But I’ll have it towed to my mechanic, anyway. Hopefully, he can figure out what happened. I can’t afford not to get anything from insurance.”

      The moments before the wreck played through Hunter’s mind, the sudden smoke billowing at the rear of the car. “Wonder what could have caused that fire.”

      She was quiet for a moment too long, and then she shifted in her seat, pulling off his jacket and handing it to him before raising her seat straight. She was clearly ignoring his comment. “Would you mind driving me to Harmony after I get the car situation settled?”

      “Hold on a minute,” he said, searching her eyes for what he was missing.

      She held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “What?”

      “You’re not telling me something.”

      She glanced away for a fraction of a second, and he knew he was right.

      “What is it?” he persisted when she didn’t respond.

      She shook her head. “Probably nothing.”

      “Well, if that isn’t the most overused and usually inaccurate phrase we hear in our line of work, I don’t know what is.”

      It was a phrase used too often by victims of stalking and domestic violence, unsure whether they were in danger or out of their minds.

      Triss sighed. “I know. But what I’m thinking sounds crazy.” She stared into his eyes with conviction, as if willing him to believe what she was about to say.

      He already did. He might still be rankled by how suddenly she’d dropped out of his life—out of his kids’ lives—but that didn’t change what he knew about her. She was intuitive, sharp and levelheaded. She was not prone to drama, exaggeration or misinterpretation. And if Triss Everett had something bizarre to say, she’d only say it if she knew it to be true.

      “I can handle crazy.”

      Her eyes were dark, troubled in a way he’d never seen before. “I don’t think what happened was an accident, Hunter,” she said finally. “I think someone caused the fire. I think someone hoped I would die. And I think that same person may have killed before. At Harmony.”

      That, he hadn’t expected. Hunter reached for what to ask next, and Triss narrowed her eyes.

      “You said you could handle crazy.” In a flash, she reached for the door. “I’m going to talk to the tow-truck driver.”

      “Hey.” He slid his hand to her free arm, tugging her wrist gently to get her to stay. She looked at him, her eyes flashing annoyance. But, also, uncertainty. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, because it seemed like that was what she needed to hear, even if he thought it couldn’t be more obvious. “But I’m going to need more details.”

      She yanked her wrist from his hand, but let go of the door handle, her attention flicking to the clock on the dashboard. “There’s a lot to tell you. But I need to get to Harmony. There’s the reception, and I need to—”

      “The reception can go on without you, Triss. You’ve been in a major accident. I still think you should get checked out at the hospital.”

      She was already shaking her head and reaching for the door again. “I’m fine. Just let me talk to the tow-truck driver, and I’ll give you more details on the drive back.”

      “Sure,” he said more casually than he felt, pushing away a dark flash of memory from the night his wife had died. He should have called the ambulance sooner, or picked her up bodily and forced her to go to the hospital. His misjudgment had cost her her life. Now, he wished Triss would listen to him—but he was just a coworker and had no right to push her. Still, he wasn’t without recourse. He couldn’t force her to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t force him to go home, either. And he wouldn’t be heading home tonight until he was sure she was safe.

       TWO

      “Start at the beginning,” Hunter said, pulling onto the interstate.

      Twenty-five minutes of highway stretched between the cemetery and Harmony Senior Living. It wasn’t enough time to explain all that had happened, but Triss never used more words than she had to, so she would make it work.

      “The first person who died was Walter,” Triss started. “Walter Tompkins. He was eighty-six. Diabetic coma while he slept. He never woke up. All the residents were talking about how it was the perfect way to go. Everyone wants to die in their sleep.”

      Hunter said nothing, so she continued. “Genevieve Hail was next. Her boyfriend always called her Jenna-Doll. She was sixty-seven. Heart attack during dialysis.”

      “Boyfriend?”

      “Don. He’s a resident, too. They’d been together about a year. He was planning to propose.”

      “How long after Walter?”

      “Six days.”

      “Go on.”

      “Connie Mays, four days later. Walking pneumonia got serious fast. She died while reading in her armchair. She was the healthiest seventy-two-year-old I’d ever met. And then, she was dead.”

      “And this time, Frank Townsend,” Hunter said. “What was his story?”

      “Ten days had passed. I’d started to think СКАЧАТЬ