In Seconds (Bulletproof #2)(53)
Author: Brenda Novak

The door swung inward. Then L.J. dropped to the floor, and Ink began to fire.

16

Rex had his arms around her. They were standing beneath a tree in Libby in some park she’d probably passed by once or twice but never noticed, and he was crooning words of comfort in her ear. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Don’t worry about anything.”

Vivian heard what he was saying but his words held no meaning. Her mother was gone. Murdered. And Vivian wasn’t even sure she’d loved her. Not at the end. Was it possible to love someone you couldn’t trust? Someone you blamed for so much heartache?

She’d wanted to love Ellen. All along. But…

God, she’d thought her feelings involving her mother were complicated before this happened, but she’d had no idea how confusing they could get. She needed to find herself in all of this, to at least grab hold of an emotion she could understand. An emotion that would make her feel normal. But she couldn’t manage it.

“What’s going on, Laurel?” Her real name seemed as foreign as everything else at the moment. She was no longer Laurel. He wasn’t Pretty Boy anymore, either. He’d told her that himself. Too much had changed.

She missed him, missed her old self, too. And yet she wanted more power than she’d had before. She wanted to take charge of her life and refuse to let The Crew control her through the threat they posed.

Rex pulled back to look into her face. “You haven’t said a word since you dropped the phone.”

The way she’d grabbed the pedestal in order to keep from sagging to the ground had told him something was wrong. He’d dashed out to catch her, hung up the handset and helped her back to the car. Then he’d brought her here, where there was no phone and no busy street, only green grass, green trees, gold and orange flowers and a wide blue sky.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I don’t even know what to feel.” She was pretty sure there should be something besides emptiness inside her. What about sorrow? Regret? Relief? Vindication? She could justify any of them, and yet they weren’t there. A void filled her heart where the pain should be.

He removed her sunglasses and lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Start with what you’re thinking.”

“Nothing.” She gave her head a quick shake. “I’m numb.”

“Come on, don’t shut down.” Setting his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed them for emphasis. “Talk. It’ll make this easier. You can trust me, remember?”

She could trust him to care about her, but she couldn’t trust him to take care of himself. And that meant she couldn’t risk loving him. And yet she did love him. Not like she used to. Not in a romantic sense. But as a good friend, someone who’d always be special.

Even that frightened her.

“Laurel?”

She had to get him to stop calling her that. “Vivian.”

“Fine. Vivian. You’re scaring me. You’re white as a ghost and I could feel your pulse a second ago. Your heart’s racing like a rabbit’s. Will you let me know what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours?”

She studied the crushed grass between them while she tried to isolate a single ingredient from the stew of her thoughts. She wanted to ask what Ellen’s death signified. But he wouldn’t know. Did it mean The Crew had paid Ellen a visit and she wouldn’t give up what she knew?

That possibility made Vivian wince. Had she misjudged her mother after all?

Or…had Ellen told as much as she could about Vivian’s calls?

The mere fact of her death didn’t provide the answer. The Crew could’ve killed her even if she cooperated.

“Hey!” He gave her shoulders another squeeze.

Talk. She needed to talk. “Who’s going to see to her burial?” she asked. “I can’t expect Virgil to do it.”

“You’re right. He can’t leave Peyton. Not while she’s so close to having the baby.”

It was more than that. Her brother was absolutely convinced that Ellen had conspired with Gary to murder Martin and let him take the blame for it. He wouldn’t attend Ellen’s funeral even if it was right across the street and there was no danger.

“So?” She reclaimed her sunglasses and put them on. They provided a shield of sorts—a small one, granted, but that was better than nothing.

“It’s a homicide, so there’ll be an autopsy,” he replied. “That may take several days, maybe a week or two.”

“She’s already been dead awhile. Who knows how long? Sonja Ivey was so upset she could hardly speak. She was too busy gasping and crying.” Images of the murdered marshal in Colorado loomed, but Vivian shoved them away.

“The police will get whatever information they can about the way she was killed. But my point is this—you don’t have to make every decision right this minute. Let’s deal with the shock first.”

The shock was exactly what she was attempting to overcome. She felt as if she’d been dumped into some kind of arctic wilderness. If she didn’t force herself to keep thinking, keep planning, keep moving, she’d freeze and be unable to do anything. “But I have to worry about her burial at some point, don’t I? Some point soon.”

She stepped out of reach. Being so close to him had once felt right, but not anymore. He’d been Laurel’s crutch, Laurel’s love, not Vivian’s. Vivian was too infatuated with the sheriff to be able to fall back into a relationship with Rex. Not that she could pursue what she felt for him, either. “At the very least, I have to tell the police who’s responsible for her death. I won’t let The Crew get away with this.”

The empty place inside her was filling up—with anger and outrage. It threatened to make her reckless because she was beginning to care less about her own safety and well-being than achieving justice.

Or maybe it wasn’t justice she wanted so much as revenge. Was she becoming less like ordinary people and more like the men who hunted her? It wouldn’t surprise her. They’d made her live in their world, made her look over her shoulder every second, for nearly four years.

“You might have to let the police handle the investigation on their own,” Rex said.

“No.”

He gripped her elbow. “Look, I know what you’re feeling. I feel the same. But it’s a war we can’t win.”

She knocked his hand away. “We won’t win if we don’t fight.”