Page 59 of Buried Too Deep

That made her feel safer than the knowledge that a trained bodyguard roamed downstairs. She slipped under her blanket, her phone clutched in one hand.

Burke’s people would keep whoever was after her from getting in. She had to believe that. Molly seemed like a very capable bodyguard.

Cora rolled to her back, staring up at the ceiling. She’d told Burke that she’d sleep well, but that might have been a lie. Here, in the quiet of her bedroom, the truth of the day was loud in her head.

I have a bodyguard. Because someone is after me.

Way to make it all about you.

But it was all about her. Well, her and Joy.

And Phin. She’d gleaned enough to know that he’d have a hard time with whatever he’d seen tonight, especially after his ordeal that morning.

Worrying about Phin was preferable to worrying about herself. She’d learned that at an early age. Worrying about other people was always easier. Or at least it didn’t feel as selfish.

Burke had said Phin was okay, but was he really? After all, Burke was the one who’d thought Phin was capable of hurting Joy, so Cora wouldn’t put too much stock in his opinion on this.

Without overthinking it, she opened a text window to the cell number that Molly had sent her.

This is Cora. I hope you’re okay after everything that happened tonight. Give SodaPop a pet from me. Hope you sleep well. She added a snoozy emoji, then hit send.

There. At least the man knew someone cared.

She glanced at the time. She’d been in bed for all of five minutes and it felt like five hours.

Someone was after her. And her father had gone to all those cities—without her mother.

He’d bought ammo in Twin Falls, Idaho. Why? Did he have a rifle? Why did he have a rifle? If he had had one, where was it?

Had he hidden it in the house? Her mind started spinning through all the places he could have hidden something that big. The attic alone would take forever to search.

I’m not going to sleep tonight, am I?

No, she was not. Heaving out a sigh, she opened her phone’s e-reader app, wincing when she saw the cover of the true crime she’d been reading. That wasn’t likely to make her any less worried.

She scrolled through her to-be-read list, happy when she found a fantasy novel. There were no guns in this story. Only swords and dragons. She’d sourced it for the library herself. She could lose herself in this story for tonight.

And she could sleep when the danger was past.

Or if Phin was in the house. She’d slept so well when he’d been working on her doors.

Maybe tomorrow he’d come over and she could sleep then.

St. Claude, New Orleans, Louisiana

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 13, 11:45 P.M.

Delores O’Bannion put a cup of coffee on the TV tray table that she’d placed in front of the sofa. “It’s decaf,” she said.

Phin glared at the cup. “I know I didn’t have any decaf in my house.”

Delores grinned like the pixie she was. “I bought you some. You’re wound too tight, Phin.”

That was true.

“It’s just easier to drink the decaf,” Stone said from the recliner Phin had rescued from the curb over the summer. He’d cleaned it, refinished the wood, and reupholstered the cushions. It was a damn nice chair now.

And that he’d taken before-and-after photos had been his first clue that he was almost ready to face his family. He and Scarlett had rescued furniture and fixed it up for donations to the church where their uncle was a priest. He wanted to share the photos with his twin.

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