Chapter 2 Holt #2
“I agree that Victoria is still high on the suspect list,” Holt said, keeping his gaze on June’s, refusing to look away because he didn't want her to think he was avoiding her.
“But I'm not ready to go undercover as someone interested in her. Not like that. Not yet.” He staved off a shudder. “That woman is a viper, and once you give her an inch, you become her property. Trust me. I’ve known her a long, long time.”
June sat back, and only then did Holt notice the yellow folder on the table between them. It had been there the entire time, and he had looked right past it with his mind full of Victoria.
June slid it toward him.
“Last night, Dean called me,” June said.
Holt’s focus sharpened. “What did Dean say?”
“Lacey woke up,” June told him. “It was late, and I had just returned to Willa’s house after dropping you at the lighthouse.
Dean said Lacey came around briefly, and she told him something that I think is important to our case.
Lacey told Dean that the person who attacked her wasn't her enemy, and then she told him to find the letter.”
Holt’s skin prickled. “What does that mean?” he asked, and he hated how quickly his mind produced images of Lacey bleeding in the woods, Lacey pale on a stretcher, Lacey’s eyes fluttering open for a moment before she disappeared back into unconsciousness.
June’s gaze held steady. “It means,” she replied, “that I think you should get closer to Victoria, because she is now at the top of our suspect list.”
Holt glanced at the folder. He didn't open it yet. “Okay,” he said slowly, and the careful tone wasn't for effect. It was because he could feel something shifting under his feet, and he didn't know yet what it was. “Why?”
June nodded at the folder. “Look in there. It proves Lacey was right and not delirious.”
Holt’s throat tightened as he opened the folder.
Inside were copies of insurance documents, neat and official, clipped together at the corner. Holt’s eyes skimmed, then stopped hard.
He looked up. “Why am I reading insurance files?”
June didn't flinch. “Those are the insurance files for Lacey’s accident in the truck she was driving when she was forced off the road.”
Holt went back, slower this time, and the words became solid.
They were insurance claims and paperwork connected to a vehicle that wasn’t in Lacey’s name but in Lucy’s.
Holt’s gaze snapped up again. “Why am I looking at insurance claims for Lucy?”
“Because the truck that Lacey was driving when she was forced off the road is owned by Lucy,” June said, and Holt felt his eyes widen despite himself. “And there’s more.”
June reached out, moved the insurance forms aside with deliberate care, and revealed a page of notepaper beneath them.
Holt’s stomach dropped.
The note was typed neatly on writing paper, and the message was brief, cold, and unmistakably threatening.
You and your friend are skating on very thin ice.
I think it is time we met face to face.
Message the number at the bottom when you're ready to meet.
Holt’s mouth went dry.
“This is the note that Lacey was talking about?” His brow furrowed. And June nodded. He read it again and then looked at June. “What friend?” he asked, and the words came out low.
June’s hand went to her handbag. She pulled out a pink envelope and held it out to him.
Holt took it, and the moment his eyes landed on the front, something in his chest jolted so hard it almost hurt.
Two names were typed side by side.
Lucy Tanner and June Carter.
Holt’s mind surged with scenarios, each one uglier than the last. His training tried to impose order, tried to sort possibilities into categories, but the personal part of him that had once promised June he would always protect her was louder.
Holt forced himself to breathe. “This means you're a target,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he wanted.
June’s expression stayed composed, but her eyes softened in a way Holt recognized. It was the look she wore when she was afraid, but refused to let fear control her.
“It means,” June replied, “that I was right to be worried when Lacey said it wasn't her enemy. It also means that I was also right about someone being after Lucy.” She cleared her throat. “And I know one person who mixes Lucy and Lacey up all the time.” Her eyes held his. “It’s the same person who had Clive’s car crushed before we could examine it. ”
Holt stared at the envelope again. The implications were glaringly obvious here. He sat back slightly, trying to keep his thoughts from splintering. But he knew what he had to do and that June was right about something else as well.
“Okay,” Holt said. “I guess this means I’m having dinner with Victoria.”
Holt’s mouth tightened into a grim line. He hated that June was right about it all, but he also hated it more that he couldn't see a better option.
“We need to find out if Victoria is behind the accidents,” June said, voice steady. “She might even be behind the fires.”
Holt’s gaze narrowed. “I can believe Victoria might have run Lacey off the road,” he said, choosing each word because he didn't want to dismiss June’s instincts.
June’s instincts were rarely wrong. “I can believe she might be involved with intimidation tactics.
But I can't see Victoria setting a trap at the old clinic with police-grade gas canisters, and I can't see her luring Lacey, who she thought was Lucy, into the woods and then leaving her bleeding near the burned cabin.”
He sucked in a breath, anger and disbelief mixing in his chest.
“No,” he said. “Victoria is many things, but I don't see her as a murderer.”
June’s eyes didn't drop. “Sociopaths can come across as good people,” she said softly. “I'm not saying she is one. I'm saying that women like Victoria don't do their own dirty work if they can convince someone else to do it for them. They recruit. They manipulate. They use people.”
Holt held June’s gaze, and a cold understanding settled.
He had been thinking of suspects as individuals.
June was thinking of a web.
“You think she’s the spider,” Holt said.
June’s mouth tightened. “I think she’s capable of pulling strings, and I think she’s enjoying the fact that everyone is off-balance.”
Holt exhaled slowly. “All right,” he said. “I'll go to dinner with Victoria.”
June’s shoulders lowered slightly, as if she had been holding tension in place until she heard him agree. June’s eyes flicked toward the counter, where Margo was moving between customers with a tray of pastries.
Holt’s heart constricted as his eyes caught the envelope again, and he didn't like thinking about what might happen to June.
He felt cold as he thought about what had happened to Lacey over the past few weeks.
He forced himself back to the present and felt that while they had their coffee, they could talk about something else, so he moved the conversation.
“I know this isn’t the best time to speak about this, but we also need to talk about Rad and Willa,” Holt said.
June’s expression shifted, and Holt saw it. The flicker of dread and acceptance. “I know,” she replied, her voice low. “If you're going to spend time with Victoria, she’ll sniff out anything she can use to undermine me. She’ll also gossip, even if she pretends she is merely concerned.”
Holt’s gaze stayed on June’s, steady and intent. “Agreed.”
June’s fingers curled around her coffee cup, though she hadn't taken a sip yet. “I agree we should tell them,” she said. “We shouldn't delay it.”
“I agree,” Holt replied. “And we should do it somewhere neutral.”
June nodded toward the room around them. “How about here?”
Holt hesitated. “I’m thinking we should do it tomorrow.”
June exhaled slowly. “Tomorrow at lunch, it is then. We can ask Rad and Willa to meet us. At least here we can control the conversation, and they won't have the children around. It will be their decision when and how to tell the kids.”
“They deserve the truth from us,” Holt said. “Before I agree to go have dinner with Victoria.”
“They do,” June agreed. “And I agree about the Victoria part.”
Holt’s gaze flicked to June’s hand resting on the table. He didn't reach for it. He wanted to, but he didn't. There were too many eyes in this town, and too many of them belonged to people who would twist a gesture into something poisonous.
A moment later, Margo appeared at the side of the booth, her expression sympathetic but alert.
“Would you like a refill?” Margo asked June and Holt.
“Not for me, thank you, Margo,” June declined.
“I won’t have anymore either,” Holt also declined.
Margo’s gaze flicked between them and landed briefly on the folder.
“Okay, just shout if you do.” She smiled and walked off.
“If I do this,” Holt said, “and I go to dinner with Victoria, she will test boundaries. She will push. She will try to force a narrative.”
June’s eyes hardened. “Then you don't let her.”
Holt gave a short, humorless laugh. “She’s persistent.”
June’s expression remained steady. “So are you.”
Holt held her gaze, and for a second, he saw the June he had married. The June who had stood beside him when his studies demanded too much and his patience demanded too little. The June who had always believed he could be better, even when he didn't believe it himself.
“All right,” Holt said quietly. “I'll go. I'll listen. I'll watch. And I’ll try not to let her trap me in anything I can't explain.”
June nodded once. “Good.”
“We should move,” Holt said, glancing at his wristwatch. “We can't sit here too long.”
June nodded, already gathering her purse.
They slid out of the booth and headed toward the door.
June’s steps were brisk, as if motion itself kept fear from catching her.
Holt stayed close without crowding her, his gaze scanning the room and the street beyond, the way it always did when he was trying to protect someone without announcing it.
Outside, the air was warm and salty. Carmen’s car was parked nearby, and Holt felt the familiar irritation that he still didn't have his own vehicle.
June held out the keys. “You drive.”
Holt accepted them without comment, then paused as his phone rang.
He checked the screen and frowned.
June saw it immediately. “Who is it?”
“It’s Harvey,” Holt said, and something in his gut tightened. “From the auto repair shop.”
June’s brows drew together.
Holt lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello, Harvey.”
There was a beat of silence, then Harvey’s voice came through unsteady and strained.
“Director Dillinger,” Harvey said. “I didn't know who else to call, and I don't want to get into trouble, but I need your help.”
Holt’s posture sharpened. “Okay,” he said, keeping his voice calm. He started walking toward Carmen’s car, June at his side. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you come to the auto shop?” Harvey asked, and Holt heard real fear under the words.
“We're on our way,” Holt replied without hesitation. He glanced at June as he opened Carmen’s car. “Do you mind if we go past the auto shop? Harvey sounds like something happened.”
“Of course,” June said, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up. “Go.”
Holt drove fast but controlled, taking the quickest route, his mind running ahead of the car. They reached the shop within minutes.
Harvey was standing outside, waiting, his shoulders hunched as if he were bracing for impact.
The workshop door was wide open, gaping like a mouth.
Even from the street, Holt could feel something off in the air, the same kind of wrongness he felt when he walked into a room and knew before anyone spoke that a fight had just ended.
Holt parked and got out.
June followed, her expression already tense.
“What’s going on, Harvey?” Holt asked, moving closer.
Harvey ran a hand through his hair, fingers shaking slightly. “I don't know if it’s one of those teenagers playing a prank,” he said, his voice tight. “But I went to get more coffee at the store. I locked up. When I got back… it was like this. Wide open.”
He walked to the lock, pointing with a finger that looked oddly stiff.
“Someone broke in,” Harvey said.
Holt’s gaze swept the shop. Tools were scattered. A drawer hung open. The air smelled of oil and metal and something else, something sharper, like fear.
“Did they steal anything?” Holt asked.
Harvey’s throat bobbed. “Yes.”
Holt’s stomach dropped slightly at the way Harvey said it.
“A vehicle I had just managed to get going again,” Harvey continued. “It shouldn't even be driven.”
That eerie feeling crawled up Holt’s spine, slow and cold.
“What vehicle?” Holt asked.
Harvey’s eyes met his.
“Dr. Lucy Tanner’s truck,” Harvey said.