First Family (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 4)

“No. I had yesterday off. I was at home helping Joanie with dinner.”

“What did Dad tell you?”

Bobby’s voice rose. “What did he tell me? He told me that our mother was dead. That’s what the hell he told me.”

“Were the police there when you got there?”

“Yeah. Dad called’em. They got there maybe five minutes before I did.”

“And Dad told them what exactly?”

“Well, he was in the shower, so he didn’t know exactly what had happened. He found Mom and he called 911 and then he called me.”

“And what did the cops say after they looked over things?”

“They said it looked like she’d fallen and hit her head.”

“But they didn’t know why she’d fallen.”

“They wouldn’t know that. If she just stumbled and hit her head, okay. But if something popped in her body to make her fall, the ME would have to determine that.” He added fiercely, “And it’s making me sick to think of them having to cut Mom up.”

“Did you see blood on the Camry door when you went into the garage?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because, Bobby, she had to hit her head on something. ”

“Like I just said, she could’ve stumbled down the stairs, bounced off the car, knocked her head on the floor. Or maybe on the stair wall. It has a sharp edge. You hit a spot just right, it’s all over. You know that.”

Michelle tried to imagine her mother catching her heel on the unfinished riser—maybe on a nail head that had popped upward over time—stumbling forward, hitting the car without making a dent in it, falling sideways, and smacking her head with such force on the floor that it had drawn blood. Yet if the autopsy revealed a reason for her death?

“Mik? You still there?”

She snapped back. “Yeah.”

“Okay, look, we don’t know where you’re heading with this but—”

“Neither do I, Bobby. Neither do I.” She clicked off, stopped the vehicle next to a small park, hopped out, and started to sprint.

She was having thoughts that were terrifying her. And all she could do right now was try and outrun them, even as the image of her father watching her from the window, his face seized into a solid mask of what she didn’t quite know, chased her all the way.

CHAPTER 23

WHILE HIS PARTNER was in Tennessee trying to confront family demons, Sean was finishing up some Italian take-out in his office and still studying the reams of paper he’d printed off the computer. He was hoping that buried in here somewhere was a clue that would tell him if Tuck Dutton had had his wife killed and his daughter kidnapped for reasons yet unknown.

The ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. It was Jane Cox.

She said, “I want you to meet me at the hospital. Tuck wants to talk to you.”

“About what?” he asked warily.

“I think you know.”

Sean pulled on his jacket and walked down to his rental. His car was in the shop with about eight thousand bucks’ worth of damage and his insurance company was telling him that a bullet barrage was not covered under his policy.

“Why not?” he’d argued.

“Because we consider it a terrorist act and you don’t have a terrorism rider,” replied the insurance grunt, somehow managing to convey this denial in a cheery tone.