Page 92 of Stay Baby Stay

Even with a body on the floor in front of her, I can tell Holly doesn’t believe me, and she’s right to be skeptical. I told her she would be safe tonight. That she and McKenzie were safe here. But somewhere down the line, I put my trust in the wrong place, the wrong people.

I can almost see the gears turning in Holly’s head as she asks herself if I can be trusted. It’s a look I never want to see on her face again.

Chapter Thirty-two

Caleb

Forensics and police units from Knoxville and state troopers descend upon Austin’s kitchen. The house quickly devolves into a twenty-man circus.

They question us at the house, then again down at the station. With Austin’s place now a designated crime scene, I check the girls into a hotel and then drive back to work to begin prepping for the interrogation.

When you work with someone for a long time, it’s hard not to feel like you know them. There’s a bond that forms between brothers and sisters in arms. An us-versus-them mentality that can poison your judgment and blind you to a person’s true motivations.

I’m not looking forward to accusing one of my colleagues of taking bribes and covering up murders. But that’s the job. We catch the bad guys, including the ones in our own backyard.

My partner comes marching into the station, breathless, like she literally ran over here. She’s practically steaming by the time she reaches my desk.

“What the hell, Cal,” she says. “I had to find out from a fucking patrol drone that Hoyt Renier broke into Austin’s house last night. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, rubbing my eyes. “It’s been one hell of a morning.”

“You need to stop keeping me in the dark—”

“I know.” I raise my hands. “I know. But look, I figured out who’s been leaking police info to Reverend Davis.”

That gets her attention. “Who is it?”

“Got ‘em in there.” I hook my thumb toward the interrogation room. “You ready for this?”

“Jesus... I guess.” She runs a hand through her unbrushed hair. “Have you told Harris?”

“He’s been informed.”

I let Abby enter the room ahead of me. As soon as she realizes there’s no one waiting for us, she whirls around.

“Cal, what’s going on?”

“Take a seat, Abby,” I say.

She balks. “Take a seat? What the hell is this?”

I drop the folder I’m carrying on the table and pull out a chair for myself. I sit down and wait for her to do the same.

When she finally does, I ask her, “How long have you been working for Clyde Davis?”

“What are you talking about?”

I study her in silence, noting her darting gaze and the sweat beading on her brow. She tells me I’ve gone crazy—twice—then attempts to leave, only to find the door’s locked.

She turns to glare at me. “Cal, this is insane. Let me out.”

“Renier gave you up,” I tell her. “Started running his mouth as soon as he got to the hospital.”

Instead of calling 911 last night, I called Lieutenant Harris and told him my suspicions about Abby’s involvement with the reverend. He admitted to looking into her himself—specifically regarding some mysterious payments that’d been deposited to her bank account like clockwork. Harris called in the shooting himself, and made damn sure Abby didn’t get so much as a text about last night’s break-in until I was ready to bring her in.

“This is your chance to do the right thing,” I say.

Abby’s whole demeanor shifts from shocked and appalled to bitterly resigned in the span of sixty seconds. She drops back into the chair across the table.

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