“Well,” Noah muttered, “that feels bad.”
“Stay behind me,” I said.
Lily whispered, “Can I hold the rabbit or the hammer?”
“The rabbit.”
“Okay.”
I opened the door before they could knock.
Tess came fast, all purpose and microphone wire, followed by a camera operator sweating through his collar. “Emily, are you safe?”
“At this exact moment? Jury’s out.”
The county SUV door opened and a uniformed man in a light-gray emergency management shirt strode up the walk with a folder.
“Ma’am,” he said, glancing at the camera and clearly regretting his timing, “under temporary drought powers, the county is authorized to assess and access private water sources for emergency allocation.”
“Funny,” I said. “You got here fast.”
Reed smiled from behind him.
He looked exactly like the kind of man who believed the world was made of doors meant to open for him—silver hair, expensive shirt, teeth too even.
“Emily,” he said warmly, as if we were old friends. “Heard you’ve had quite a day.”
“Jake thought you had him killed.”
That landed harder than I expected.
Even Tess blinked.
Reed’s smile thinned. “Now, that’s a serious accusation to make in front of a camera.”
“Good,” I said. “Then answer it in front of one.”
The emergency official lifted his folder. “Ma’am, I’m here regarding water access.”
“Show me the signed emergency order.”
He did.
I scanned it.
It granted assessment authority. Not seizure. Not transfer. Not ownership.
I looked up. “This lets you inspect. It doesn’t let him set foot on my spring.”
Reed spread his hands. “Nobody wants a fight.”
“Then leave.”
He stepped closer instead.
“You’ve built a charming little story here,” he said softly. “Widow. Children. Ruined cabin turned miracle. The public eats that up. But stories don’t hold up against paperwork.”
I almost laughed.
He had no idea what I was holding.
Behind him, another set of headlights cut through the dark.
Diane’s SUV.
Of course.
She got out before it had fully stopped, Melissa right behind her.
Diane took one look at the cameras, then at Reed, then at me.
“What have you done?” she whispered.
“Probably the first smart thing in months,” I said.
Reed turned toward her, annoyance flickering over his face. “Mrs. Walker, this doesn’t concern—”
“My son is dead,” she snapped. “Everything concerns me.”
That shut him up.
For one blessed second, nobody moved.
Then Frank climbed out of the passenger side of Diane’s SUV.
He looked twenty years older than he had that morning.
