Page 39 of All Along The Watchtower

“Kids soak up all kinds of things adults aren’t aware of,” Langston said smoothly, though his eyes had hardened at my interruption. “Did you have any contact with anybody from her work, Peyton? Even just in passing?”

“No.”

“So you haven’t seen anybody since she died?” The older agent’s tone was deceptively casual. “Maybe at the funeral?”

Peyton frowned, her shoulders hunching inward. “Mom was cremated. And anyway, how would I know? I wasn’t involved in any of that.”

I really didn’t like the direction this was going. Something about their questions and the way they kept circling back made my skin crawl.

Langston leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, his posture deliberately non-threatening even as his eyes remained sharp and focused. “Did you ever see anybody harassing your mom? Being rude to her or threatening her in any way? Even something that might have seemed small at the time?”

But Peyton was apparently done answering questions. Her face had gone pale, and her hands trembled slightly where they rested on the table. “Was somebody after my mom?”

Shit. She’d said Casey had died of an aneurism, but what if that hadn’t been the truth? Or what if it had been incited rather than natural? There were probably ways to do that.

“We’re not aware of anybody.”

Which wasn’t exactly a no.

My kid stared at them with an impressive degree of teenage disdain that probably should have terrified me for the years to come. “So you just expect me to believe that you followed me all the way across the country for no reason? Seriously, how stupid do you think I am?”

Both agents glanced at me, probably waiting to see if I was going to discipline her for rudeness, but hell, I was right there with her. The kid had a point, and I wasn’t about to shut her down for calling out what we were both thinking.

“Neither of us is as stupid as you seem to believe. You’re being very careful not to say what any of this is actually about. So let’s get down to brass tacks. Is my daughter in some kind of danger?” I wasn’t going to accept any more evasive non-answers.

After the barest of hesitations, Burns leaned back in her chair. “We have no reason to believe that she is.”

That reply didn’t exactly fill me with confidence, but I pressed on. “And she’s not in any sort of trouble?”

“No.” Another careful, measured response that revealed absolutely nothing.

“Then unless you’re going to develop sudden transparency, I think we’re done here. If you have any further questions, you can send them through our attorney.” I pushed back from the table, the legs of my chair scraping against the floor with finality. “Let’s go, Peyton.”

She scrambled up beside me, and I kept my body between her and the agents as we headed for the door. Carson didn’t try to stop us.

My blood boiled as we walked through the station. These people had no right coming here and interrogating my kid without proper representation. She’d been through enough losing her mom without dealing with some bullshit federal circus.

The afternoon sun hit my face as we stepped outside, making me squint against its harsh glare. I kept my hand protectively on Peyton’s shoulder until we reached my car. Only then did I turn to her. “You okay?”

Peyton nodded, wrapping her arms around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. “Yeah.”

“You have any idea what all that shit was about?” I studied her face, looking for any hint of recognition or fear that might tell me more than her words.

“No.” She wouldn’t quite meet my eyes, but I didn’t think it was because she was hiding anything. More like she was still processing the interrogation herself.

“Okay.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s it?”

I leaned against the driver’s side door, trying to project calm and stability even though my insides were still churning. “That’s it. Look, I know we’re new to each other, but you’re mine, and that means I’m always on your side. Got it?” My voice came out gruff with emotion I hadn’t expected to feel quite so soon.

Her lower lip trembled for a long moment that had me wanting to pull her in for a crushing bear hug before she got it under control. The silence stretched out between us as she studied my face, like she was searching for the truth of my words. Finally, she whispered, “Got it. Thanks.”

“C’mon. We’ll go grab some ice cream to take the sting out of the algebra homework you still have to do.”

She tugged open her door. “I didn’t say I had algebra homework.”

“You didn’t have to. You have Mrs. Winslow, who I also had for Algebra I. She always assigns homework.”

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