Kitabı oku: «High Noon», sayfa 3

Chapter Four

Colby Agency, Houston, 9:00 a.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp reviewed the records they had amassed on the Barker case. What was she missing?

Each step taken by the investigating detectives after the arrest of the Barkers was spot-on. There was every reason to believe that the Barker girls had died that final morning before their parents’ arrests. The blood at the house and in the family car had suggested foul play. The blood type was consistent with that of the little girls. The bodies were not recovered and no trace of the girls had been discovered in all these years.

Until now.

If Janet Tolliver, Rafe Barker’s friend who had helped with whisking away the children, had lived, perhaps she would have been willing to cooperate with the agency’s investigation and solved at least part of this mystery.

But she had been murdered and the killer was still out there. Had she been killed by another of Rafe’s confidants? That wasn’t logical and no other resource he might have used had been discovered.

And why would he kill the woman who had kept his secret all these years? To cover his tracks? Had Janet Tolliver known incriminating information beyond the location of the three Barker daughters?

If Rafe hadn’t orchestrated her murder, had Clare? Not likely. Lucas, Victoria’s husband, had been keeping watch on Clare until she vanished with Tony Weeden, the one-armed man. There simply had been no real opportunity for Clare to have gotten to Janet. Unless Weeden had committed the act for her or for Rafe.

Weeden was the only variable. It had to be him. For one thing, he was left-handed, out of necessity, but a leftie nonetheless. The police in Copperas Cove had determined that the blow that ultimately killed Janet Tolliver had likely been wielded by a person who was left-handed. The murder weapon was thought to have been a heavy marble angel statue from Janet’s home. The killer had obviously taken the time to clean it thoroughly as well as anything else he or she may have touched in the home. But trace amounts of Janet’s blood had been found on the statue. Since the statue hadn’t been lying near her body, the blood hadn’t simply splattered there.

But if Rafe hadn’t ordered Janet’s murder, which his doing so would have made no sense, why had Weeden turned on Rafe and murdered the woman who had ensured the safety of Rafe’s daughters? That scenario made no sense, either. But someone had murdered her and that murderer had a motive. Had Weeden been waiting for just the right opportunity to take vengeance on Rafe or Janet?

For what reason?

Was Weeden somehow connected to Clare beyond the role of accomplice? If so, why had they not found a connection in his history? Weeden was raised by foster parents but his birth record was ambiguous to say the least. Simon Ruhl, the head of the Colby West offices, was convinced the record was a forgery.

So many questions and hardly any answers.

Victoria heaved a weary sigh. The day had scarcely begun and already she felt emotionally drained.

Time was short and all at the Houston Colby office were working overtime to solve this complex puzzle, including Victoria and Lucas.

The idea of an innocent man being put to death twisted her insides. But was there time enough to prove who was innocent and who was guilty?

Victoria thought of the way Rafe had looked at her when she revealed that Weeden had deceived him. The devastation had been clear in his eyes but it was the other emotion—something like rage—that disturbed her immensely. Forced her to rethink his motives and his story.

Was she working with the devil himself?

A rap at the door drew Victoria from the troubling thoughts. Simon and Lucas entered the small conference room where, together with Victoria, they had created a timeline of events along a whiteboard that extended across the better part of one wall. Photos, newspaper clippings, it was all there.

“We have a new development that may prove our first real break in the case,” Simon announced as he and Lucas joined Victoria at the conference table.

“We could certainly use one.” Though they had uncovered small details over the course of the past few days, not one had propelled the investigation forward.

“As you know,” Lucas began, his expression cautiously optimistic, “I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours attempting to track down anyone who knew either Clare or Rafe in college, before their marriage.”

Anticipation trickled in Victoria’s veins. Lucas had that look in his eyes. He’d found something. “And?”

“A Francine Parks was a close friend of Clare’s for the first year they attended the same university. She claims Clare was raped by one of their professors but she refused to report the incident for fear that the scandal would somehow cause the loss of her scholarship. This woman believes a pregnancy resulted from the rape.”

“This would have been thirty-one or thirty-two years ago?” Clare was about the same age as Victoria.

“Thirty-two,” Lucas confirmed.

Simon picked up where Lucas had left off. “Ms. Parks is certain Clare gave birth to a child conceived in the assault. But she has no proof. She is basing her assumption on excessive weight gain and repeated bouts of something like morning sickness those final few weeks of the spring semester. The following fall, Clare returned looking and behaving as if nothing had happened. According to Parks she refused to discuss the incident at any time.”

“But this Francine Parks can’t be sure,” Victoria guessed.

“She cannot,” Simon confirmed.

It was definitely a possible lead, though not a particularly reliable one. Hearsay was just that, hearsay.

“According to Parks,” Lucas noted, “the incident occurred in late November which would suggest a July or August delivery date. The timing could imply that perhaps Tony Weeden is Clare’s son and, frankly, I’m inclined to believe the Parks woman. She has no horse in this race.”

“The age would be right.” Victoria resisted jumping to the immediate conclusion. “Did Ms. Parks have any other reason to believe that a child resulted from the attack? An overheard conversation? Rumors around the campus?”

“None,” Simon answered. “Clare requested a different roommate that fall and apparently kept to herself since we haven’t been able to find anyone she was close to until she met Rafe.” Simon sat back in his chair and seemed to consider the possibilities. “Clare was young, only twenty-one. Her parents, the Sneads, were murdered when she was a kid. At eighteen, she left her foster parents without looking back. But,” he countered, “she did have a sister, Janet Tolliver. Might she have turned to her? That would provide the connection between the three.”

“You’re assuming,” Victoria suggested, “that Clare knew where her biological sister ended up.”

“We’ve learned the Tollivers, the people who raised Janet, and the Sneads, Clare’s parents, were friends,” Simon reminded her. “Our thinking when we first discovered that Janet and Clare were biological sisters was that the Sneads gave Janet up due to financial reasons but that may not have been the case. The one source we found who knew the Tolliver family at the time Janet came to live with them suggested the Sneads had been afraid of Janet. There was talk that she tried repeatedly to harm her younger sister, Clare, and that was the reason for the Sneads sending Janet away.”

“Is this source that reliable?” Victoria was sure both Lucas and Simon understood that accuracy was key not only for finding the truth but also for moving forward in the proper direction. “We have little time, gentlemen, for running theories that prove groundless. We need something solid. And we need it now.”

Lucas joined the conversation. “The woman who lived next door to the Tolliver family is old, and her memory is sketchy on some aspects of how Janet came to be a part of the Tolliver family, but she was absolutely certain of that point. The Tollivers had no other children at home. They were all grown, so they never saw any trouble out of Janet. She gave the appearance of a nice young girl but the neighbor was not comfortable around her.”

“We’re checking with old schoolmates and any living teachers,” Simon explained, “to determine if Janet had any problems at school.”

“We learned nothing else from Janet’s neighbor in Copperas Cove who held the photo albums of Rafe’s daughters for her?”

Simon shook his head. “The neighbor knew the aunt who left the house to Janet. She and Janet saw each other occasionally as children but their friendship was more recent and, I suspect, relatively superficial.”

Were they wasting their time digging up information on a dead woman? Maybe, but they simply had no other leads. There was nowhere else to go in light of Rafe Barker’s abrupt silence.

“Would Clare turn to a sister who had tried to harm her as a child?” Seemed a more than reasonable question to Victoria. Victoria had a younger sister of her own who had proven that blood was not always thicker than water.

What exactly had happened to tear apart Clare’s family and to set her on a course to connect with Rafe Barker? Had he turned her evil or had she changed him?

“Clare may not have known about the incident or perhaps didn’t comprehend the magnitude of what actually happened.” Simon had children of his own and would certainly understand the capacity of young ones for forgiveness. “She was three when Janet was sent away. Her parents may have chosen not to tell her or she may have simply blocked the incidents from her memory.”

“Then again, Janet may have sought out Clare.” Victoria understood the need to find long-lost loved ones. “She was certainly old enough to remember a sister even if she chose not to remember certain events.” Then again, the prison logs listed no visitor named Janet Tolliver for Clare or for Rafe.

“Janet may have done more than that,” Lucas interjected. “After Clare’s parents were murdered, a couple of neighbors stated they saw a teenage girl outside the home. The lead proved a dead end. But what if it was Janet? What if she came back—she would have been fourteen at the time—and killed the parents who deserted her? Perhaps she even hoped it would be blamed on Clare as punishment for being the daughter they kept.”

“Then why would Clare see Janet again? Even after being raped and feeling utterly alone?” That part didn’t feel right to Victoria. The police reports from the time Clare’s parents were murdered indicated that she had come home and found the tragedy. Yet she had been covered in blood. From her attempts to save them, she had claimed.

So much death and devastation. Would this tragic cycle end with the surviving Barker daughters? Victoria intended to ensure the nightmare ended with this investigation.

“Clare may have blocked the horror of that evening from her mind, as well,” Lucas offered. “It’s far easier to fall back into a pattern that worked once than to stand up and face such a terrible truth.”

Her husband had a very good point. Victoria had long thought that the tragedy of her own son’s abduction and the twenty years they had lost was the worst a woman and mother could suffer. This frightening family saga had her rethinking the definition of “worst-case scenario.”

“If the two were in contact again,” Simon proposed, “Janet may have taken care of the child born to Clare just as she did her three daughters years later.”

But Janet Tolliver had taken the three girls for Rafe, not for Clare.

“That possibility, however, gives Clare less of a motive for murdering Janet,” Victoria suggested. “Why kill the person who helped her with such a tremendous burden at a critical time in her life?”

“Because she discovered that Janet had hidden her daughters from her … and then refused to tell her once she was released where they are,” Simon offered.

“Janet had even gone so far as to hide the photo albums she had saved,” Lucas pointed out. “With the woman next door. Seems to me she wanted to make sure Clare didn’t get her hands on them.”

The photo albums. All three were well-documented biographies of the girls’ lives, from their original birth certificates to current photos. All apparently recorded by Janet Tolliver.

“Assuming Weeden is, in fact, Clare’s son, he may have killed Janet in an effort to help his mother,” Simon summed up. “The flip side of that is that possibly Weeden is only pretending to help his mother. He may have an entirely different motive and agenda.”

“Revenge,” Lucas agreed. “He was the child his mother abandoned. Subsequently marrying and having three little girls.”

More theories and scenarios and no answers, Victoria thought. She banished the mounting worries. “Where are we on Laney and Olivia?”

“Hayden called in this morning,” Simon reported. “He’s making good progress. St. James is still watching Olivia from a distance.”

“Both are very good at what they do,” Lucas tacked on. “Laney and Olivia are in good hands, even from a distance.”

Victoria prayed they could keep these women safe.

And she hoped solving this puzzle would not be too late to stop an innocent man from being executed.

If he was indeed innocent.

Chapter Five

Beaumont, 9:16 a.m.

Laney leaned in the open doorway to watch what she typically considered a boring task. But with Hayden pushing that lawn mower, his shirt long ago tossed aside, she had to confess there was absolutely nothing boring about the view. Broad shoulders, lean waist with those ripped abs … Very nice.

That little voice that always reminded her of how often she’d been an idiot tried to intrude but she ignored it. Hayden had no idea she was watching and she deserved a little stolen pleasure here and there.

Lonely. Yes, she was lonely. No use lying to herself. But she had no time to quench that particular thirst.

Couldn’t hurt to look. It was the touching that led to trouble.

In the living room behind her, Buddy watched his one hour of television. The restriction wasn’t one she had enforced; it was his own. He had two thirty-minute programs he considered his must-watch TV then he was done. On to one of his games or to his Lego corner to design and build something new. Having such a bright kid was intimidating at times. No matter the cost to her personally, she wanted him to have every opportunity in life.

As for Laney, she could be happy just to daydream. Her attention wandered back to the man finishing up the nice job in her yard. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done a menial chore for her. In part because she was so independent she rarely allowed anyone to know she needed help. But mostly because she’d always picked the wrong kind of guys. The ones not at all interested in helping with anything other than separating her from her panties.

At twenty-six it was darned well past time she’d recognized her destructive pattern and changed course. Her gaze tracked Hayden a moment longer. Falling back into bad habits was a bad idea. The next man she allowed herself to get involved with would earn the right to be with her.

A good-looking cowboy on break from his life wasn’t the right starting place.

The smell of biscuits browning in the oven tickled her nose and reminded her that the only promise she’d made to her new sexy security guy was breakfast.

After a quick check on Buddy, she headed back to the kitchen. Eggs and bacon were staying warm in the covered cast-iron skillet. She grabbed an oven mitt and peeked in on the biscuits.

“Perfect.” And homemade. That was another thing her grandmother had taught her. How to make super-fluffy biscuits. One of these days she intended to start opening the saloon for breakfast. Experimenting with coffee was a fun hobby that had her hankering to take it to the next level. The interstate passed right by the saloon. She was far enough out of Beaumont proper to make going for breakfast from that end of the city limits a pain. Why not capitalize on the convenient location?

The roar of the mower stopped. Laney glanced out the window just in time to see Hayden drag his T-shirt back over his head. If her stomach weren’t rioting with hunger pangs from the smell of the biscuits she’d swear it was gawking at him that was tightening her insides.

She grabbed a strip of crisp bacon and tore off a bite. “You’re just hungry, girl. And not for him.”

With her mismatched stoneware on the kitchen table and a fresh pot of coffee filling the room with its robust aroma, she smiled as he strolled in through the back door.

“My yard looks more like a lawn now than the makings of a hay field. Thanks.” Fact was, she couldn’t remember when the lawn had looked so well manicured.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.” He rubbed his flat belly. “Breakfast smells fantastic.”

Oh, yeah. The man was a bachelor all right. Otherwise plain old morning staples wouldn’t have him tossing around words like fantastic.

“Nothing you couldn’t get at any old breakfast hut.”

He raised his eyebrows at the platter of biscuits. “I’m reasonably confident you’re wrong about that.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall. Wash up and I’ll serve.”

“Whatever you say, boss lady.” He winked and strode off to follow her order.

Laney shook her head. No one should fit that well into a pair of jeans. Or look that good all sweaty and smelling like fresh-cut grass.

Buddy wandered over and leaned against her leg. “Does he live here now, Mommy?”

“Of course not. This is our house. We live here. Just you and me.” Laney lifted her munchkin into her arms and gave him a hug. “Wow, you’re getting almost too big for me to pick up, young man.”

He pressed his nose to hers. “Biscuits. I need more energy for the town I’m buildin’.”

She grinned. “Biscuits will do it.” Laney settled him on the floor. “Pick your seat.” He never chose the same chair twice in a row.

“Purple feet!” He slid into the one on the far end of the table.

“That’s the best one.” Same thing she told him every time no matter which chair he selected.

Like the rest of her furniture, her table and chairs were mismatched. She’d decided to throw a little excitement into mealtime so she’d given each chair a personality by painting each a different color with faces and painted-on hair. She’d even attached small wooden shapes to the legs and painted each as a foot or a shoe. She might have gone a little overboard with the beads and bow ties on the backs of the chairs but Buddy loved them.

The air changed in the room when Hayden returned. Maybe it was the breeze from the window. The chill bumps on her skin certainly weren’t the result of him simply entering the room.

“Good morning, Buddy.”

“You have to sit down there.” Buddy pointed to the other end of the table. “That’s for company.”

“Sounds like the best seat in the house. Definitely the chair with the best feet.”

Laney threw off her apron and joined them at the table. “Actually it’s the one with an uneven leg.” She arrowed a look at her son. “I’ll take that one.”

Hayden pulled out the chair. “Love the feet.”

Laney settled in the chair, and it immediately tilted a smidge to one side. “I got the idea from a magazine.”

He took the seat to her left. “You have a very artistic flare and a vivid imagination.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“That was the point.” Hayden sent her another of those unabashed winks.

Laney focused on the food. Buddy had already filled his plate with far more than he could possibly eat. Laney loaded Hayden’s and then her own. She was starving.

At the same time, he poured the coffee, their movements choreographed as smoothly as if they shared breakfast every day.

She speared a clump of scrambled eggs. What the heck was wrong with her? Evidently the financial worries and frustration with Terry were messing with her brain.

“You looking forward to school this fall?” Hayden asked her son.

Buddy looked up, a biscuit halfway to his mouth. “I’m not sure yet.”

That was her boy. “You liked it when we went for that orientation visit a couple weeks ago.”

He chewed off a big bite of biscuit and shrugged.

“He’s a little worried that he won’t fit in,” Laney explained. “He doesn’t know any of the other kids who’ll be starting with him.”

“Sounds like you need to join one of the ball teams,” Hayden said to Buddy. “I’ve seen flyers all over town about sign-ups.”

Buddy turned up his glass of milk then pursed his lips while he considered the suggestion. “I’m not really T-ball material. I prob’ly couldn’t hit the ball and then I’d get bored.”

Hayden nodded. “Yeah, that would be kind of boring.”

Laney focused on her plate and hoped the men wouldn’t notice the laughter she was barely restraining.

“‘Course,” Hayden went on, “a man puts a little practice into it, he could probably hit that ball every single time.”

“I don’t have a ball or a bat,” Buddy explained. “That makes practicing a problem.”

“I’m sure we can do something about that.” Hayden glanced at Laney before he turned back to the boy. “I made all-star every year in high school. I could give you a few pointers.”

Buddy’s face furrowed in concentration. “That was a long time ago. You might be rusty.”

Laney couldn’t help herself; she laughed. She tried to cover her mouth but there was no holding it back.

Hayden nodded, managed to keep a straight face somehow. “How about I get the gear we need and we practice together?”

Another fierce moment of concentration puckered her little boy’s face. “We’ll see.”

“Good deal.” Hayden glanced at her again, amusement shining in his eyes.

Laney wanted to smile at the idea but would Hayden really stick around long enough to keep that promise?

The screen door whined, announcing someone was at the front door before the firm knock echoed.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” She flashed a smile at Hayden. Maybe he wouldn’t break her boy’s heart … or hers.

As much as her son’s vocabulary and intelligence thrilled Laney she did worry about him fitting in at school. She sighed. That was one worry she couldn’t do anything about right now.

Laney opened the door expecting to have to kick Terry off her porch or to see the mailman dropping off a package. But the man waiting on her porch was a stranger. He wore a suit and tie, glasses and sported a slicked-down comb-over. He carried a black leather briefcase, the thin kind that was useless for anything other than a few papers.

“Ms. Seagers?”

Apprehension needled its way under her skin. “That’s me.”

“I’m Howard Samson from Samson and Lott Appraisers. Mr. Teague from Beaumont Independent Bank commissioned me to execute an appraisal of your property.”

What the….? “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Samson. I wasn’t aware an appraisal had been ordered.” The apprehension swelled into downright fear.

“I assure you, Ms. Seagers, it’s standard procedure when a loan nears maturity and the refinancing is questionable.”

Standard procedure. Old man Teague just couldn’t wait to assess the value of her property. Damn him and damn Kingston if he had anything to do with it.

“We’re in the middle of having breakfast.” She was angry now. How dare that old goat do this? “Maybe you could call for an appointment next time.”

“I understand,” he offered in that monotone that matched his neutral expression. “I’ll be taking measurements and photos outside first. When you’re ready for me to come inside you can let me know.”

“The lady said you needed an appointment.”

Laney’s breath caught at the warning in Hayden’s voice. He’d moved in right behind her and she hadn’t even noticed.

Samson’s eyebrows reared up his forehead. “I see.”

“Good,” Hayden offered. “You have a good day now.” He closed the door in the guy’s face.

Laney stared at him. She wasn’t sure whether to kick him or to hug him.

“Sorry,” he muttered irreverently. “I have no patience for jerks and that guy was a jerk.”

Heat singed her cheeks. She walked past him to check on Buddy. He’d finished and was busy piling his dishes into the sudsy water now filling the old porcelain sink, egg and biscuit remains going for a swim.

She turned back to Hayden. “I guess you’ve heard the rumors about my impending loan crisis.” Her staff had a bad habit of eavesdropping.

“I did,” he admitted.

She blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s not pretty but I’m not giving up.”

“Giving up is for wimps.” He gave her a reassuring smile that felt more reassuring than it should have.

This man was almost as much a stranger as the one who’d just showed up at her door.

“Thanks for the breakfast. I’ll stow the mower.” He ran a hand through his hair. She shivered. “I noticed the barn needs a few repairs to the roof. Unless my boss tells me different, I’m free all day to work on that.”

Laney ignored the floor shifting beneath her feet. This was too much. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the help and he’d been really nice to her son … but this was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take.

“You’re a really nice guy and all,” she said, searching for a kind way to say what needed to be said.

He held up both hands. “I get it. You don’t trust me.”

Wow. Hearing him say it sounded a lot worse than she’d been aiming for. “I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“I get it. Really.” He set his hands on his hips. “Call my references. You’ll feel better then.”

“You’re right. Sure.” She slid her fingers into her front pockets. “I’m sorry but my son is my top priority and as much …”

Stop, Laney. That was enough. She didn’t have to explain herself. This was the right thing to do. He would either understand or he wouldn’t.

“I’ll see you tonight at the High Noon.”

She nodded. “Thank you for … helping out.”

He patted that amazing six-pack. “Thanks for the home-cooked meal. It’s been a while.”

“Mom!”

Laney pushed aside the mixed feelings she couldn’t seem to shake. “What you got, sweetie?”

He held up one of his latest art endeavors she’d had hanging on the fridge. “This one is extra good.”

Laney crouched down to his eye level. “It sure is.” He’d drawn a picture of the two of them flying a kite. This was his first year to be able to hang on to the kite string all by himself.

“Can I give it to the lady?”

Laney frowned. “What lady?”

Buddy looked at her as if she should know exactly who he meant. “The grandma lady who played with me in the kitchen last night.”

Fear ignited deep in Laney’s gut. “What grandma lady?”

Buddy huffed. “The one who washed dishes for Uncle Tater.”

Laney relaxed. “A friend of Tater’s?”

Buddy shrugged. “I don’t know. She was nice. I wanna give her this.”

Hayden crouched down next to Laney. “Is this lady your uncle Tater’s grandmother?” he asked Buddy.

Laney frowned. “He doesn’t have any relatives in Texas.”

Buddy eased closer to his mother and shrugged again.

“I guess it’d be okay to give her the drawing.” Laney hugged her son. “That’s very sweet of you.”

Buddy wiggled out of her arms and smiled. “She’ll like it.”

“How do you know the lady was a grandmother?” Hayden asked.

What was with all the questions? she wondered. Before she could ask that very question, Buddy answered. “She had grandma hair.”

“Gray hair?” he prompted.

Buddy nodded. “That means she’s old.”

“Was her hair long like your mother’s?” He tugged on a lock of Laney’s hair.

With a big shake of his head, Buddy touched her chin. “Short like there.”

“Did she ask you any questions, little man?”

Buddy frowned. “I’m not a man. I’m a little boy.” He turned to Laney. “Tell him, Mom. He’s confused.”

Laney searched Hayden’s eyes. “You heard him. You need to see his driver’s license to confirm his age?”

“Mommy.” Buddy made a face. “That’s silly.”

“Did this nice grandmother ask you any questions about you and your mom?” Hayden rephrased his question.

“Nope. She asked me about Mr. Bear.”

Hayden swung his attention to Laney. “Mr. Bear?”

“Why don’t you introduce Mr. Bear to Mr. Hayden?”

“Okay.” Buddy hustled off to his bedroom.

Laney pushed to her feet. “Why all the questions? I’m sure the lady was a friend of Tatum’s. He has friends stop by and hang out with him in the kitchen occasionally.”

Hayden stood. “I saw something on the news before I left Houston about an older woman involved with a human-trafficking ring that deals in young children.”

The very idea made Laney’s chest hurt. She rubbed at the tightness there. “Are you serious?”

“Afraid so.”

“Jesus. I’ll have to talk to Tatum.”

“You should ask him to keep the kitchen door locked.”

That barb of fear twisted a little tighter inside her. “Absolutely.”

Buddy shuffled back into the room, Mr. Bear hugged to his chest. He glanced shyly at Hayden.

He crouched down and pretended to shake the bear’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear.”

Buddy smiled, something he rarely did with strangers. “The grandma lady said her daughter had a teddy bear just like him.”

The notion that this woman could be the one in the news report Hayden mentioned seemed like a long shot. She was probably just one of Tater’s friends. A silly coincidence.

But the sudden grim expression on Hayden’s face sent a chill straight through her.

As protective as she was of her son, surely she hadn’t been totally oblivious to that kind of danger walking right into her own saloon.

But then she’d been overwhelmed lately.

Had Buddy’s safety suffered because of her inability to handle the stress load right now?

Laney chased away the worries. It wouldn’t happen again. She would see to that.