Page 87 of What We May Be

Chapter Twenty-Five

Juggling a box of Annie’s favorite red velvet cupcakes and a tray of coffees, Charlie waved off the patrol car that had followed her over, then strode into Annie’s house, the soft hum of the dishwasher the only sound that greeted her.

“Annie?” she called to no response. “Wally?”

A half-full laundry basket sat on the floor by the open back door. She was probably outside fighting with the dryer again. Probably recruited Wally to help her too.

Charlie paused in the kitchen to unload the cupcakes and coffees and dropped her bag on the end of the counter by a set of keys. They weren’t Annie’s usual keys. Those were on a gilded stack-of-books key chain she and Trevor had given Annie when she’d graduated her MLS program. These were on a plastic Cape Hatteras Lighthouse key chain like the ones you’d get at the gift shop there. The key chain was familiar, but Charlie couldn’t immediately place it.

She unclipped her weapon and set it on the counter next to the other items before making her way outside. Hearing the dryer buzz, she rounded the back of the house in the direction of the utility room, then froze midstep, her instincts and mind processing the scene in front of her.

Rachel, bound and gagged, unconscious on the utility room floor. A person, dressed in all black, looming over her, a loaded syringe in one hand, one of Cal’s old bats in the other.

Cal’s station keys, Charlie’s mind clicked. He’d been carrying them on that lighthouse key chain when he’d been killed. A split second after making that connection, Charlie understood the rest, comprehending exactly the scene before her.

Their killer was someone with ties to HU and HPD, who had been a student at the former, was an employee of the latter, and liaised between the two. Someone who had likely heard about Jefferson Marshall’s tenure-voting tendencies, who must have known about Julian Hirsch’s extramarital affairs, who was on the case last year involving Teller’s players, who, with the help of a badge, could likely access the drugs and syringes that had incapacitated their victims, could access Beth Martin’s office, could access the equestrian center and natatorium. Who had been at those crime scenes. Someone who had been tight with Cal and who, Charlie had always suspected, had had a crush on Annie.

Someone who had recently lost a friend and work partner and a potential love interest.

Sean was right. This case was about vengeance and unhealthy obsession, but they’d gotten the who of it wrong. It wasn’t Trevor at the center of this storm; it was Cal and Annie.

And Officer Wallace Sylvan.

He stared at Charlie from over Rachel’s body, his light blue eyes full of anger and resentment.

Charlie’s gaze flicked down to Rachel. “Did you kill her?” She reached for her sidearm and cursed herself for removing it. But fuck, she hadn’t anticipated needing her gun in her sister’s backyard. Where was Annie? She took a step forward, then halted abruptly when Wallace drew his gun and pointed it at Rachel’s head.

“She’s not my target, but one more step and she’ll be collateral damage. There’s a lot of that in Shakespeare’s tragedies.”

“Where’s Annie?” she asked, worrying about other collateral damage.

Stepping over Rachel and out of the utility room, Wallace stalked toward her with the gun and the loaded syringe. “Annie took a walk like she always does when she gets home. A little earlier today than usual, but after that scene at the cemetery…”

Charlie’s gut churned. She’d asked for Wally on backup. She began back tracking toward the house, toward her gun on the kitchen counter. “Let’s talk about this, Wallace.”

His eyes flashed dangerously, and in that instant, Charlie knew there’d be no reasoning with him. Spinning on her heel, she bolted for the house and ran smack into Annie coming out the back door.

“Get out!” she shouted at her sister, as she kicked the laundry basket over and shoved Annie toward the living room on the other side of the raised dining bar. “Go, go, go!”

Annie teetered, confused and off-balance, into the living room, knocking over lamps and tables. Continuing to track her movements as she raced parallel through the kitchen, Charlie reached for her gun and curled her fingers around its grip, only to have it knocked loose when the baseball bat came hurtling down on her outstretched forearm. Bones cracked, and Charlie’s legs gave out from under her, pain making her dizzy. The gun skidded down the counter out of reach, knocking the box of cupcakes and coffees to the floor.

“Annie, get out of here!” She screamed from her knees, clutching her arm.

To her horror and dismay, Annie stopped dead in her tracks less than a foot from the front door. Her wide, terrified eyes were locked on a point over Charlie’s shoulder. “Wally, what are you doing?”

A telltale click echoed in Charlie’s ear, followed by the press of steel against her temple.

Wallace’s voice was as cold and hard as the gun pointed at her head. “Making sure you get everything you deserve by taking it all from her.”

Annie’s wrecked gaze fell to her, searching for an explanation, beseeching her older sister to make it all better, but all Charlie managed was a whispered “I love you” before a needle pricked her neck and her world faded to black.

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