“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she told Amy, when the little girl grasped tight hold of her hand to try to stop her from walking away. “I’ll just see who it is, and what they want. No one’s going to hurt you.”
She crossed to the door and opened it, holding it only a crack to her shoulder so that Amy couldn’t see out. Nate was there, but behind him the house was already a hive of activity. Cops were swarming the place, dodging white-suited forensics experts who were already analyzi
ng the scene. A pair of EMTs were standing near the door, which made Laura’s eyes dart toward the door of the lounge. It was open, and she could see law enforcement going in and out—but not the EMTs. They were chatting with a cop as though they had all the time in the world.
“Mrs. Fallow?” Laura asked softly, trying to pitch her voice so that it wouldn’t carry through to Amy.
Nate only shook his head.
Laura’s voice caught in her throat. They had saved Amy’s life, but what now? Her father was a violent killer. Her mother was dead. Functionally, she was an orphan. Both of her parents taken away from her in the space of one traumatic morning. That meant she would need somewhere to go. She couldn’t stay here alone.
Laura’s hand flew to her chest, covering her aching heart as she considered the possibilities. If there was another relative, Amy could be taken in. But there was no way of knowing how that relative would treat her. They might be just as bad as the governor was, or even worse. They might blame the girl for what had happened here.
And the other option was for her to be taken in by strangers, put into the foster care system and hopefully adopted. That, too, had its pitfalls. Even though there was so much time and attention taken to avoid any harm coming to children within the care system, it happened. Laura knew it happened. She had been an agent for too long to have any misconceptions about that.
And even if Amy found a loving home with a family who supported her and looked after her, the trauma of what had happened here today, the treatment she had endured at the hands of her father, the way she had been rescued once and then abandoned again... It would be a whole lifetime of psychological damage. Amy would need therapy, specialist care, love, and attention to get through this. Would she get that in the care system? Would she get that from the adoption of a relative? Would she ever find her way to being a normal child, a balanced adult?
At that moment, Laura would have given anything to have a vision of Amy as a young adult, safe and happy and well. But her visions didn’t work like that. They didn’t come to reassure her, or even to scare her. They came when they came, following their own rules, and she had no way to trigger them if they did not want to come. She could touch Amy, touch her belongings, try to take deep breaths and meditate, use all of her potential triggers—but in the end it did not necessarily mean anything. The vision might not come, and if it did, she might only see some inconsequential thing that really told her nothing of what was happening in Amy’s future.
“Rondelle is asking for you,” Nate said, breaking Laura’s spiraling thoughts. She was grateful for the interruption, even though it did not make her doubts any less real.
“Will you stay with Amy?” Laura asked. “I can’t leave her on her own.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Nate said, flashing her what was probably supposed to have been a reassuring smile. Instead, it only showed how strained, tense, and anxious he was himself.
Laura allowed him into the room, opening the door wide enough to let him through but no wider, and then closed it so that she could turn to Amy. She squatted down in front of the little girl, who was sitting propped up on one of the dining room chairs, hugging her rabbit tightly to her chest. Laura found herself wishing she had brought the one from home, the gift she had been thinking of giving her. It might have been some kind of comfort right now.
“Amy,” she said, keeping her voice gentle and soft. “I have to go and talk to someone outside. But Nate is here, and he will look after you. Do you remember Nate?”
Amy nodded silently, her eyes wide in her tear-streaked face. She looked at Nate with a combination of awe and wonder, no doubt because of how huge he was. She must have remembered how he had pulled her out of what should have been her coffin, buried under the house of her kidnapper back when this had all begun. How they had seen her at the hospital, making sure she was alright. Still, she was nowhere near as comfortable with him as she was with Laura. Or even Agent Jones, who had been able to sit with her the last time Laura had pulled her out of this house.
“I’m going to look after you while Laura is outside,” he said. “But don’t worry, she’ll be right back in.”
Amy nodded silently again, which both of them took to be a sign of agreement. She looked back at her rabbit, using her small hands to push back the fur on his forehead as if tidying it. Laura straightened, standing up, and nodded at Nate. He nodded back, telling her it was all right to leave.
Every bone in her body wanted her to stay, but Laura walked to the door again with reluctance. If Rondelle wanted to speak to her, she had to comply. She couldn’t have him coming into the room where Amy was sitting, upsetting her. She needed quiet and stability right now, the attention of only the people she knew she could trust. Laura trusted Nate, too, but no one else here.
Even if leaving Amy felt like a betrayal, she had to do it. She told herself it wasn’t as big a deal as she was making it out to be. She turned for one last look as she put her hand on the door handle, taking a deep breath. Amy would be fine without her.
She just had to keep telling herself that.
***
Laura slipped outside, into the hubbub of the house. So much of it was shielded by the door of the dining room, but out here, it was chaos. Laura found herself ducked into a side room by a group of agents who gestured her out of the way, so they could clear a path. Laura was opening her mouth to ask what was going on when the answer appeared before her: the Governor, handcuffed and closely guarded by a group of agents and local law enforcement, who were leading him down the hall and out of the house.
He caught sight of Laura and snarled again, a kind of morbid smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. He had recovered enough of himself, it seemed, to not let it last for long. Instead of fixating on her like he had before, he let her know she’d been seen and then looked away, plastering on a more respectable expression as they approached the door.
Outside, Laura heard a scrambling, the sound of several voices reacting to the Governor’s appearance. The tell-tale clattering of camera lenses opening and shutting. When the convoy had passed her by she stepped back out into the hall, looking down through the open front doors to watch him passing. The press was gathered outside, reporters and cameramen yelling out questions at the Governor, trying to get his attention for a good shot. Some of his media training seemed to kick in, making him lift his head and look in the direction of the camera when they shouted his name.
Laura realized that the live camera feed would show her framed in the doorway and stepped aside, self-consciously ducking back into the kitchen. Where was Rondelle? In here? Out there? She would have to wait for the media circus to clear a little before she went out there. She hated being caught on camera. The scrutiny that came with it. Especially with her custody case coming up, she didn’t want to make waves of any kind.
Laura looked toward the hall again, hearing the sound of footsteps. When a familiar figure rushed past, she lunged for the doorway after him, leaning out to catch his attention. “Chief Rondelle?”
“Ah, Laura,” he said, turning on his heel. The chief, a small and wiry man with plenty of gray hair in amongst the dark strands, beckoned her closer. “I was looking for you.”
“Nate told me,” Laura replied. “Do you need me to debrief?”
“Not yet.” Rondelle paused, his mouth moving slightly as if trying to dislodge the taste of what he had to say next. “The social workers are here.”