Page 92 of Trust No One

“That’s right. Come on back.”

He led me into a smaller room furnished with a table and a couple of chairs. “I understand the status of Mr. Durant’s case has changed.”

“Yes. His wife died last night.”

“Very sorry to hear that.” He set several papers on the table. “Agent Blackwood called. He’s filed murder one charges.”

“That was fast.”

“Cases like this one are hard to ignore.”

“How much more?”

He slid the number to me. His fee, 10 percent of the total bail, had doubled overnight. “Good news is the judge will still grant bail.”

“Bad news?”

“He’s doubled the bail.”

I’d already planned to sell a portion of Hale land to cover renovations. Now I’d sell more. I couldn’t get a real read on Gabe or judge Maria’s assessment of her husband since he’d been in prison.

The plastic chair groaned as I leaned forward. I read the new agreement. Panic rumbled as I stared at the dollar amount. With a ballpoint pen, I signed. Blue ink. My father always thought black ink was more dignified. Frankly, I’d have preferred an electronic document exchange, but Danvers wanted eyes on me.

My capital R wobbled as the pen tip caught on the page. The next letters were small and hard to read. And the H was weak. Considering I’d spent most of the night with ghosts circling around my room, I was doing well enough.

“Thank you, Miss Hale. I’ll take care of the rest,” the bondsman said.

“Thank you.”

Would I regret this?

Feed Gabe to the wolves.

At an office supply store, I printed my petition for Molly’s custody. In the appeal, I stated that the child’s mother was deceased and the father was facing murder charges, and both had agreed that I’d take the child in the event of their deaths. I noted Gabe would sign official custody papers, mentioned my family’s solid community connections, and emphasized that Molly was better off with me than her aged grandmother. I requested a hearing as soon as the court calendar allowed.

Save my daughter.

I printed off three copies and drove to the courthouse and the clerk of the court’s office. Next, it was back to the jail. I checked in with the deputy and was instructed to sit and wait.

Out of habit, I reached for my phone. Still no work emails. No follow-ups or questions to handle. More “Happy birthdays.” No more texts from Maria.

I scrolled so fast I almost missed the email from my boss.

Dear Ms. Hale,

As promised, I’m informing you that Pete Miller, the public defender client who attacked you, has been released from prison on bond.

Best,

Mike

Ken had told me Pete was free. But the email made the threat more real.

Would Pete drive to Hale House? Track me down? Did he even remember me? They’d called his attack a crime of opportunity. But his shadowed eyes had radiated obsession. He could travel here in hours and ask anyone how to find Hale House.

I deleted the message.

The courthouse door opened, and Judson walked in. His steady footsteps echoed through marble hallways, an unhurried pace like a train bearing down the tracks. Move or get crushed.