Gone to Her Grave (Rogue River Novella Book 2) by Melinda Leigh Page A

she gets called in the middle of the night, it means some child is in immediate danger. A baby with broken bones. Toddlers left alone while their junkie mother goes out for heroin. A father in a drunken rage.”
    “All those situations are dangerous and exactly why I don’t like her job.”
    “Did you know she doesn’t tell you about her job because she knows you don’t want to hear it?” Patsy said in an oh-really-Mr.-Smarty-Pants? voice.
    Seth recoiled from the sting. Carly never talked about her work with him, but then he didn’t like to bring his work home either. It hadn’t occurred to him that Carly was intentionally holding back because she didn’t think he could handle the truth. He was supposed to be the person she could talk to about anything. She should have shared all her fears and frustrations with him. Instead he’d cut her off. The revelation flooded him with shame.
    “And that, Seth, is the problem,” Patsy said. “Until you accept Carly as she is, not as you want her to be, you aren’t going to get her back.”

    The smell of damp meadow grass welcomed Carly back to the cabin. She slung her backpack strap over one shoulder and headed for the porch steps. The moon was full, but the roof overhang shadowed the front porch. Darkness hadn’t fallen when she’d left, and she’d forgotten to turn on the porch light.
    Had Dad really been murdered? Her heart reeled with the possibility that anyone would want to hurt Bill Taylor, but her mind knew that all cops accumulated enemies. Her father had protected the people of Solitude, and in doing so had put criminals behind bars.
    Crossing the dark porch, she tripped on an uneven board and dropped her keys. They hit the wood with a metallic thunk . She stooped to pick them up.
    “Ms. Taylor?”
    Carly jumped at the voice emanating from the darkness. A shadow stepped around the corner of the cabin.
    Eyes on the large figure, Carly scooped up her keys. She sorted through them blindly and clutched the large vehicle key in her hand like a knife. “What do you want?”
    His shape, large and burly, seemed familiar. Was this the man who’d watched her from the lake earlier?
    “I just want to talk to you.” He stepped into the moonlight. His face was familiar. Not a man, but a teenage boy with an atypically mature frame. Gary Fisher.
    “Gary.” She relaxed her hand.
    “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
    “I was just startled,” she said. “But you really shouldn’t have come here. You should have called me.”
    “I don’t have a phone.”
    Though she didn’t think Gary was dangerous, the darkness created an unwelcome sense of vulnerability.
    “Let me turn on the light. Have a seat.” She pointed toward an Adirondack chair.
    “Okay.” He went up onto the porch. The way he collapsed in the chair sparked Carly’s suspicion.
    “Have you eaten?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “I’ll be right back.” Carly unlocked her door and dumped her stuff inside. She flipped the lock behind her. Ideally her clients wouldn’t show up on her doorstep, but this wasn’t the city, where a social worker could maintain some semblance of anonymity. In Solitude everyone knew where she lived. She filled a plate with leftover fried chicken and biscuits and grabbed a Coke from the fridge.
    Her instincts about Gary told her he wasn’t a threat, but when she went back out, she brought her cell phone.
    His face colored with shame as he accepted the plate and napkin. Carly perched on the chair next to him. He was a big-framed boy, and he was hungry. From living with two brothers, she knew the number of calories required to maintain a maturing body of that size. She would bet Gary had missed some meals. While he ate, she took in his grubby clothes and the unwashed-body smell that drifted across the night air. When he’d finished, he wiped his hands on the napkin.
    “What’s going on with you, Gary?”
    He set the empty plate next to his chair and leaned back. His posture