Page 33 of Lethal Danger

She moaned. “I already regret it.”

What should he say to that? What would a girl her age respond to?

A light laugh came over the line before he had to think of something. “Not really. I know it’ll be good. I want to make it like you.”

“Oh. Great.” Sounded like she was driven. That drive to experience all of life and make the most of his freedom had served Hawthorne well.

“What did you find out about Sam?”

Ah. So that was the reason she’d called. And so early. She definitely had the impatience gene, probably inherited from their dad. Their mom had learned never to tell him about anything or ask him to do something until she was ready for him to act on it. Immediately.

On the other hand, Rebekah had been waiting to find out the truth for two years. The thought softened Hawthorne’s tone, hopefully not with too much pity, as he replied. “I walked through the scenario and looked at the scene of…” he paused to temper his wording, “the place where they found Sam.” He braced himself for any sound of crying or distress.

“And did you find anything new?” Urgency, not tears, tightened Rebekah’s tone.

“I don’t think so. Not yet. But it was good to see it all myself in person rather than photos. I think the distance from the boat to the location where he hit his head on the rock is very plausible for a fall from standing. It matches his five-eleven height.”

“But they only think he hit his head on the rock there. I’m telling you, that’s not what happened.”

“Because he was afraid of water.”

“Yes!” The word came so sharply across the line that Hawthorne moved the phone a few inches from his ear. “Not just afraid. Terrified. I mean, he wouldn’t even take a bath because he was so freaked out about drowning.”

Rebekah did make a convincing case. But there was the alcohol. Maybe she didn’t understand how people could change under the influence. He certainly hadn’t until he’d left the sheltered confines of the cult. “He was under the influence. That can make people act very differently than they would otherwise.”

“I’m in college.” Annoyance tinged her voice as she pointed out the obvious. “I know what people are like when they’re drunk. But I’m telling you his fear of water was so primal, there’s no way he would suddenly want to go on a Logboat Adventure ride all by himself. Maybe if other kids were there, daring him or something…”

She had a point. Such out of character behavior would probably have needed some social encouragement or pressure to happen. But according to the police investigation’s conclusions, he’d been completely alone in the boat when he fell.

“I think Randall did it.”

That was new. Rebekah hadn’t accused anyone when she’d asked Hawthorne to look into the incident. “Randall?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t say more, as if that were enough for Hawthorne to go on.

“You want to tell me who Randall is?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m at school now.”

“Do you have to go?”

Rustling, like she was picking up papers or a backpack, came across the line. Then the slam of a door. “No, I’ll talk as I walk.” Wind noise and voices, probably other students, painted a picture of where she was, walking on the university campus.

“Okay. You haven’t mentioned Randall before.”

“Didn’t I?” She puffed like she was carrying something heavy. Too bad he wasn’t there to carry her books for her. Though she probably valued her independence as much as he did. She wouldn’t want his help and interference any more than he’d want hers. After what they’d been through, it would only feel like stifling control. “I guess I didn’t want to make it sound like I was trying to get back at someone. You know, let you come up with your own answers. Like the detectives on TV and in your books.”

She’d read his books? He hadn’t thought she seemed like the type to enjoy crime thriller novels. But if his sibling had published books, he’d probably be curious to read them, too.

“What do you mean, ‘trying to get back at someone’?”

“Oh, well, he didn’t do anything to me, so it wouldn’t be like that.”

“You’re losing me—” He stopped himself before calling her Becca, the nickname they’d used when she was little. The name he’d always known her by. But she’d introduced herself as Rebekah when she’d contacted him about Sam. So he’d better stick with that, respecting her choices.

“Sorry. I’m a little out of it. Pulled an all-nighter for this test I have in like five minutes.”

And yet she was calling him? She was either a remarkable multi-tasker or a risk-taker who was about to flunk her exam. “Do you want to call me back?”

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