The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“I just did,” Amanda shoved out.

“All right then…” Hill hoisted herself off the cabinet and grabbed her attaché case. “Suit yourself. Take some time off, get a massage or something. You do seem rather tense, Detective.”

At the door, Hill looked over a shoulder and flashed her a smug, self-satisfied smile that Amanda would have happily smacked off her face.

Malone was quick to get the door and shut Amanda inside with him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not living with a threat hanging over my head. She tells us ‘oh, I’m not officially suspending you, at least not right now’? It’s a manipulation tactic and I’m not anyone’s damn puppet, least of all Hill’s!”

Malone put his hands on his hips and let out a puff of air. “I admit that I expected a lot worse.”

“She’s just saving it up for a time in the future. People like her work the favor system.”

“I’m not going to dispute that, but”—Malone glanced at her items on the cabinet—“I just don’t want you to throw everything you’ve worked for away.”

In this moment she wasn’t so sure what she had was worth fighting for. She hadn’t been the same since the accident; she’d lost purpose and direction. Her motivation gone. Any dreams of an amazing future gone. She wasn’t cut out for this job anymore. She’d been a pretender, a fake, for the last five and a half years.

“I know you’ve experienced horrible loss,” Malone said softly, inching toward the cabinet. “And I can’t begin to imagine how much you’re still hurting. And maybe”—he shrugged—“some time off would do you good. Maybe get out of town, take a real vacation somewhere outside the county. But don’t leave this behind because you let Hill get under your skin.” He took her badge, holster, and gun and extended it to her. When she didn’t reach for it right away, he nudged it toward her. “Don’t make Hill happy by leaving the force. Then she’ll win.”

Amanda looked down at the items that had defined her entire adult life. She should have felt a draw to take them from Malone, but she stepped back and shook her head. “I’m taking—” She was going to say a break when her phone rang. One quick glance at the caller ID and her breath froze. Dad. Of all the times!

She squeezed her phone. All she wanted to do was slam it to the floor, stomp it to pieces. Anything so it would stop ringing.

“Your dad?” Malone wagered a guess, his voice respectful and tentative.

She clenched her jaw and nodded as the ringing continued. She expected Malone to give her some lecture about how she should pick it up, that her father wouldn’t want her to throw her career away, that her father was attempting to traverse the chasm bet

ween them and mend things. But did all of them think it had been an easy decision to stop talking to her family and back away? She’d just done what she needed to do in order to survive. She shook off the guilt that was worming its way through her, but her entire body was pulsating.

The ringing stopped—her father would have been shuffled to voicemail—and the room somehow became quieter than before.

Malone was still holding out her badge, holster, and gun. Again, he nudged it toward her.

“I’ve gotta go.” She brushed past him and hurried out the door. Self-doubt rattled through her mind, crippling her, hindering her steps, but she was making the right decision for her. She couldn’t cling to her job just because it was familiar or because victims depended on her. Other cops would rise. It was time for her to be brave enough to face a new world of her own making. Get out of town as Malone had suggested. Just maybe she wouldn’t come back. After all, the sobering truth was that Hill’s claws hadn’t come out at all. No, Amanda was quite sure the lieutenant wasn’t finished batting her—or Malone—around yet, but she didn’t have to sit around and take it.

Twenty-Seven

The tape icon in the top-left-hand corner of Amanda’s phone screen burned a hole in the heart. Just knowing that on the other side it would be her father’s voice, a voice from her past, from before life had been flipped on its head… Yes, it was time to get out of the county. Maybe never look back again.

She pulled into her driveway. She’d just slip into her house for a quick moment, pack a couple of bags, and hit the road. Who knew where it would take her and when she’d stop?

She was partway up the front walk when her phone rang again. She stopped and took it out of her pocket. It was probably going to be Malone appealing for her return or Trent checking on her whereabouts, but she wasn’t in the mood for either conversation. She also wasn’t in the mood for some idiot trying to scare her. “Unbelievable,” she called out at seeing the caller ID was blocked. She slid the call to voicemail and hurried to her door.

She put the key in the lock and twisted. But it was already unlocked. Her hand moved to her holster—only to be reminded it wasn’t there. For the trace of a second, she regretted her brash decision to leave her badge and weapon behind.

She slowly opened the door and stepped inside. At a quick glance, everything looked the way she’d left it. She relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath. She’d probably just forgotten to lock the door on the way out that morning. She spun to latch the deadbolt, but mid-turn she heard footsteps behind her. She knew what she had to do: unlock the door and run outside. But her body wasn’t listening to her; fear had frozen her in place.

“Turn around, nice and slow. Make one move for your gun and I’ll blow you away.”

A man’s voice. She noted he assumed she was armed; he knew she was police. Likely this was the one who’d been prank calling her, but what was his motivation?

She proceeded to turn, hands in the air, and stood still as he approached to frisk her. He was easily six-foot-four, with a muscular build. From the look of him, he could bench-press her. He was also armed with a handgun.

“I’m not carrying,” she said. If she could get to her bedroom and her dresser, in one of its drawers she had a Beretta in a gun case, but the distance seemed unpassable with this mammoth and his weapon in her way. Maybe she should just surrender and accept this could be the end for her. After all, she was on borrowed time anyhow; she should have died with her family five and a half years ago.

Satisfied that she was unarmed, the man moved suddenly, kicking her legs out from under her. Amanda slammed to the floor; the back of her head smacked against the laminate. She scrambled to get up, fighting instinct taking over regardless of her earlier thoughts.

He circled around in front of her and held the gun in her face. She wanted to ask him who he was but feared that would anger him more, as if he’d expect her to know the answer already. It would be better if she just kept quiet.