Page 128 of The House Beyond the Dunes

After that, we are swept up in chaos.

Chapter Thirty-Two

LANE

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

10:00 a.m.

When I open the front door of my apartment, a relentless sense of exhaustion overtakes me. I am physically and mentally spent.

Once the paramedics and cops arrived on scene, Detective Becker and I were separated, his gun and Devon’s confiscated, and we were both questioned individually. The EMTs hauled Devon out on a stretcher and declared Reece dead. He was loaded into a body bag, and I stared at the black bag that must mirror the one they used for Kyle on Friday.

I told the sheriff about the woodland house and what I’d found. He said little as he listened and took notes. He promised to dispatch officers to Kyle’s old family home.

Detective Becker made sure I had my purse and phone before I was transported to Norfolk and checked out by doctors. My hip ached, and I was nearly breathless with the pain. Barry, the EMTwho’d helped me on Friday, saw me, shook his head, and checked me for injuries.

As luck would have it, I ended up with Dr.Jackson, who was not happy to see me. “This isn’t my idea of taking it easy, Lane.”

After he checked me out, I swore I’d rest this time. No more beach trips. No more anything for a couple of days. The nurse wheeled me out to the hospital’s front entrance, where my Uber was waiting. There was no sign of Detective Becker.

I now gratefully peel off my clothes and turn on my shower’s hot tap. I stand under the spray, willing the water to wash away the smell of the hospital, Devon’s blood, and that house in the woods.

My body clean, I towel off and dress. The memories of the last few days still linger, but beyond them are Stevie’s words. They’ve been replaying over and over in my head.

I should lie down and rest as I promised Dr.Jackson, but I’m too wired. I need to talk to Detective Becker before I can consider shutting my eyes. I’m in the kitchen drinking a fresh cup of coffee when the front doorbell rings. With my hand on the doorknob, I hesitate before I open the door to Detective Becker.

Dark circles ring under his eyes, but his hair is damp, as if he’s freshly showered. “Good, you’re back home,” he says.

“Arrived home about an hour ago.” I glance past him and spot my white Jeep parked in front of the building. “You brought my Jeep back. Thank you.”

He hands me my keys. “No reason for you to return to that house.”

“Never.” I jangle the keys. “Thanks.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He stares at me. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” To prove it, I attempt a smile. “How will you get home?”

“A buddy is picking me up. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

Good, we have time to talk. There’s too much that remains unsaid. “Come inside.”

“If this isn’t a good time ...”

I step aside. “There’s no better time.”

As he moves past me, his gaze swivels over the main room, taking in the furniture, the layout, and the art on the walls. “Nice. I never would have made you out as a neat freak.”

I close the door. “My therapist would say it’s a form of control. Maybe true, but I like to think extreme organization is simply efficient.”

A smile tweaks the edges of his mouth. “If you say so.”

“I just made coffee. Want some?”

“God, yes.” He takes one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

I fill a white mug and set it in front of him. “Cream, sugar?”

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