“You tried to protect her. You told me you took her to the doctor all the time.”

“I did.” She laughed bitterly. “And I congratulated myself on having such good instincts, because she was physically healthy. But that was because he wasn’t beating her with a strap, or was punching her kidneys so the bruises wouldn’t show.”

She said the words matter-of-factly, as if those occurrences were a regular part of life. For Winnie, they probably had been. At least since she’d married the guy whose head she’d just blown off.

“I went to see him this morning. Doc Taylor.”

“After Stan did that to you?” she asked, easing further into the room.

“Yes.” Winnie looked up, saw her moving closer, and stiffened.

Stacey froze, then spread her fingers wide on the grip of the Glock. She slowly lowered it, sliding it back in its holster, trying to calm the woman down, remain entirely unthreatening. No way was she going to be responsible for a suicide-by-cop. Not in her town. Not with this woman.

“Stacey…” Dean growled in warning.

“It’s okay,” she insisted. She did not, however, move into the line of sight between her two deputies, or Dean, and the armed woman on the couch. She was sympathetic, not stupid. If Winnie lowered the weapon and even came close to pointing it at her, either Dean or Mitch would take the other woman out without hesitation.

“What did the doc say?” she asked, staying a few feet away.

“He said my Lisa had gotten pregnant when she was fifteen. She came to see him.”

Not news to Stacey. But obviously it had been to Li sa’s mother.

“Then he told me Stan had been with her and had offered to pay for an abortion.”

Son of a bitch.

“Doc thought Stan was being a concerned stepfather.” The tears began to roll again. “I knew better right away. He wouldn’t have paid for a gallon of water to douse Lisa if she had been on fire.”

“What did you do?” She edged closer. One single step.

“I came home. Waited.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “He’s been off for a couple of days. People at work thought it was odd that he didn’t seem to want to stay home with me after the news about Lisa got out.”

Another step. Stacey nodded in sympathy, as if the two of them were having a normal conversation. As if Winnie weren’t on the verge of taking her own life and Stacey weren’t desperate to stop her. “What did he say when you confronted him?” she asked.

“He denied it at first. Then claimed she’d been coming on to him and he was just a poor, weak man.”

They had reached critical mass here. Suddenly Stacey realized the implications. If Winnie survived this, anything she said now could prove very important.

“Winnie, I have no doubt Stan beat the daylights out of you and has been for a long time. We’ll take pictures of your face. Doc will testify about the years of abuse I suspect you’ve undergone.”

The woman looked at her as though she’d sprouted two heads. “Why should I care?”

Stacey pointed to Lisa’s picture. “Because she would care. She loved you and she wouldn’t want you doing this.” Nor would Lisa want her mother going to prison for the rest of her life for killing the man who’d abused them both for more than a decade. Physically, sexually, emotionally.

Stacey didn’t condone murder. But she could honestly see how someone in Winnie’s position could snap. And she thought a jury would, too.

“She was my beautiful little girl,” the woman whispered, again staring down at the photograph. “I should have been there for her. I didn’t do right by her.”

“Do right by her now. Live to see her killer caught and prosecuted. Stay alive and fight for justice.”

The woman froze.

Sensing she was getting somewhere, Stacey continued. “We’re getting closer to finding him, Winnie. I know you want to know who did it. See him put away to rot in a cell for the rest of his miserable life.”

She doubted the Reaper would rot in jail for long. He’d killed in at least three states with the death penalty. But she wanted Winnie focused on life. Not death.

“Killing yourself means Stan wins and that he destroyed you both. You know that’s the last thing Lisa would want to happen. And it’s the last thing you want to happen. Don’t give him one more piece of yourself; he took enough while he was alive.”

A tear fell off Winnie’s face, having ridden the deep lines of sorrow in her cheeks until it dropped onto Lisa’s picture. The sadness rolling off the woman was a physical, tangible thing that filled the room, the house. For a long moment, Stacey thought she’d lost her. Because, really, how could Winnie go on? How had any of the parents of those poor college kids gone on?

But, mercifully, she was proved wrong. Finally, after what must have been an eternity of debate in her own head, Winnie slowly-ever so slowly-lowered the gun. And dropped it to the floor.

She was gonna kill that kid.

Having stood at the edge of the campsite and called for Nicholas for the past ten minutes, Tammy Logan was hanging on to her temper by its very last thread. Nicky had already practically ruined this camping trip by fighting with his future stepbrothers, and she’d had to take him to the parking lot and smack his butt. Was it too much to ask for him to keep his mouth shut and not annoy the older boys? Did he have to constantly tag after them, then complain when they rightfully got mad and shoved him away?

Now he’d gone to the park’s public restroom, promising to be back within ten minutes for the start of their big soon-to-be-a-family cookout. He’d been gone twenty.

“You spoiled brat,” she mumbled.

She’d worked hard to bring her long-term boyfriend, Jerry, around to marriage. They’d gotten engaged a few weeks ago and had decided to take the whole mixed crew on vacation for a trial run. And already, her difficult eight-year-old son had managed to annoy everyone. Including her. If he didn’t get his scrawny tail back here soon, she was going to see to it that he couldn’t sit down for a week.

“Everything okay?” Jerry asked, walking over to the edge of their campsite after he’d finished firing up the charcoal grill. “Nick’s not back yet?”

She took his arm, rubbing against him. “He’ll be here soon, babe. Just ran to the restroom.”

“You sure you should have let him go alone?” He stared into the woods, frowning.

The cement building that housed the restrooms was only a quarter mile away. Earlier, when it had been fully light, she’d been able to see its outline through the trees. When Nicky had left, it had been light enough for her to see that bright red ninja backpack he wore, which contained all his “guys,” as he called his action figures.

So it was dark now, big honking deal. They were in a national park in western Virginia, for cripes’ sake, not in inner-city D.C. “He ain’t a baby.”

Jerry rubbed his hand against his stubbled jaw. He might not be the handsomest guy in the world, but he was a nice one, and she was lucky to have him. Not every successful plumber would marry a single mom, a cocktail waitress with a son fathered by an ex-con. He’d been good to her, even trying to make friends with Nicky. And had gotten nothing but lip in response.

“Maybe I should send the boys after him.”

Oh, perfect. His two sons, twelve and thirteen, already hated the kid. If they came back from their football toss down by the lake and found out they had to go hunting for Nicky because he had decided to throw a tantrum and hide, they weren’t going to be very happy. They might complain loudly to their doting dad. Who might change his mind before the wedding.

“Forget it; he’ll come back.”

Jerry shook his head, not convinced. “It’s gotten dark. I think one of us should go look for him.”

“You really want to tromp around the woods when all three of the boys are out of sight?” She rubbed against him, trapping his arm against her full breasts. “You sure you don’t want to make out a little, future hubby?”