Page 18 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“I’ll be all right.”

“Will you?” he asked, and the question resonated through the house.

He didn’t say what he really thought, what the entire family had decided, that Caitlyn would never truly be healthy, that there would always be the past chasing her, that tragedy would forever be her companion. She’d seen her siblings exchange glances, detected their gazes staring at her only to slide furtively away when they sensed she’d caught them looking her way.

“Caitlyn?”

“What?”

“You’re sure you’ll be okay here?”

“I’ve got Oscar. He’s a fabulous companion and security system and I can pay him in dog chow,” she said lightly, but noticed the frown etching its way across her brother’s smooth brow. She let out a sigh and turned more serious. “Really, Troy, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.” She jutted out her jaw. Tried to look tough.

Troy’s eyebrows rose skeptically as he reached for his jacket. “It’s impossible not to worry about you.”

“Give it a shot, will ya?”

He managed a bit of a smile. “You know you can call me anytime.”

“And you’ll work me into your busy schedule?” she snapped.

“Ouch.”

“The truth hurts.”

“I came today, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did,” she admitted, with the barest trace of a smile. “And I appreciate it. Really.”

“Just promise me one thing.” His eyes narrowed on her as he slid his arms into the jacket’s sleeves and shrugged the shoulders into place.

“Mmm?”

“If the police stop by again, don’t talk to them. Not without your lawyer present.”

Her good mood was shattered. The claustrophobic sensation she’d pushed aside was suddenly all over her and she felt as if she was being suffocated. She should never have trusted Troy. Knew better. “You think I killed him, don’t you?” she whispered, disbelieving. “You think I killed my own husband.” Inwardly she cringed. And what do you think, Caitlyn?

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Caitlyn, but for the record, no. I don’t think you’re capable of murder. You have your problems—well, hell, we all do—but I don’t think you’re a cold-blooded murderer.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said, stung.

“I’m just warning you, that’s all.” He adjusted his tie. “For Christ’s sake, don’t wig out on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She folded her arms over her chest and walked him to the front door where, thank God, no reporters were camping out. But she knew that her empty front garden with its hummingbirds hovering near her feeder and a dragonfly skittering through the vines wouldn’t be peaceful for long.

This was just the calm before the storm.

She glanced at the sky.

Clear and blue.

Deceptive.

As Troy climbed into his Range Rover, she waved and felt the burn and tightness in her wrists, the scratches that were healing . . . how in the world had they gotten there? All she had to go on were the horrifying flashes—sharp-edged bursts that sizzled through her brain like lightning bolts.

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