Their tires flung rocks from the side of the road in all directions, and they ricocheted off the SUV when it turned in pursuit. Both cars raced off toward the woods, and my hands vibrated as I slowed the truck and eased to the side.

I rested my head on the steering wheel, and the tears came without my permission. Less than three minutes later, a motorcycle revved behind me, and in another thirty seconds, the driver's side door flew open. Broadrick unbuckled my seat belt and pulled me into his arms.

"Hey, it's okay. I've got you, and you did great," he said as I buried my head between his neck and shoulder.

I sniffled and said something neither of us understood into his neck. My chest grew tight, and every emotion came to the surface. I wanted to cry-even though I already was-and yell, and pout, and maybe hit something. But I just hugged Broadrick tighter.

"Next you'll tell me you want to get into stunt driving," he said a few minutes later when I'd gathered myself enough to mostly stop the flow of tears.

I tried to chuckle. "I'd look adorable in one of those jumpsuits."

"We'd all have one giant heart attack." The pocket in his black leather jacket buzzed, and he grabbed his phone, read a text, and scowled. "They lost the town car. Bennett thinks they had a getaway trail cut into the woods."

"They had a plan, then?" I asked. Who wanted me dead? Or scared? "It wasn't random?"

"No," he said with a shake of his head.

There were a few possibilities of who might hate me enough for this level of road rage, but it had to be whoever killed Emma. Which meant it was gang-related and not a random killing for her either. Only one person hated me enough and probably had the resources. Henchmen weren't cheap. "It has to be Snowbird."

He'd finally come out of hiding and decided to kick me while I was down.

"They're going to get a canvas going and see if they can follow the tracks," Broadrick said and stashed his phone back in the jacket pocket.

"Everyone hates me here." And this time it wasn't even my fault. Mostly.

Broadrick rubbed my shoulders as I leaned back to look at him while he spoke. "Everyone hates you, but you'd rather risk death here than move to a private island with me? Somewhere secure where this would never happen again. How does that make sense, Vonnie?"

Ugh. He didn't get it either. This was my home. My life. My dreams. What I wanted since middle school.

"It's not that easy, Broadrick. If you knew me, you'd understand that's not the life I want." I pushed his hands away.

He stepped back, and his eyes flashed. "I must not know you then because here I thought you wanted a life with me."

"I don't want a pampered life where I have to be taken care of." Why did it feel like I had to explain everything to everyone all the time? Couldn't they just understand?

"What do you want then?" he asked me as I leaned against his now dirty truck.

What did I want? I thought for a moment. How did I put the feelings and emotions into words to make him understand? I wanted to be kick ass, helpful, successful, and amazing. Isn't that what every woman wanted? He'd never get it.

"Well?" he asked, annoyed when I didn't answer.

I threw my hands up. "I don't know!"

"That's great. You don't even know," he said with heavy sarcasm.

What did he want me to say? Broadrick acted like he had everything figured out, but he never shared these grand plans with me. Besides moving to a secluded island with a murder rate of zero.

I pushed against his chest to get some space between us, and he backed away. Normally, I loved having him close, but right then, his bigger body was suffocating mine.

He shook his head and turned back toward his bike. "I'll stay at my place until you figure out what you're looking for."

His place? The one-bedroom apartment he rented in Clearwater when he first moved to Maine?

"You still have that?" I asked as my chest tightened. Everything seemed to clench together. Was it an actual heart attack this time?

Broadrick stared at me with flat lips. "Yeah. Where do you think I keep all my stuff?"

That stung.

"I guess I was too selfish to notice." That's what my mother would say. Right? It's about time I admitted it. Here I was. Selfish Vonnie.

"I guess so." He typed something into his phone. "Ridge is coming to help you get home. Wait for him."

He hopped on his motorcycle, attaching the helmet with one hand, and flipped up the kickstand before starting the motorcycle and pulling onto the road. I stood there like an idiot and watched, unbelieving that he'd leave me on the side of the road with his truck while he drove to Clearwater.

And to tell me to wait for Ridge. Who did he think I was?

Some damsel in distress who needed a security guy to save me? I think not.

Screw Broadrick MacGregor. I didn't need him, my mother, or anyone else.

Without another glance at his retreating motorcycle, I jumped back into his truck and headed toward my home. I didn't need anyone in this town. My hands shook as I drove, but my rage kept me going.

**

I may not have needed anyone in Pelican Bay, but three animals needed me. The dogs met me at the front door, waiting patiently to go for their walk. It's not like anyone said no to a dog needing a walk. Last time I tried to put all three in the backyard for a good run, they ended up tearing out half the grass. Pierce would have a conniption once he saw the mud pit that was my backyard, so I had to do the night potty break the old-fashioned way.

They let me clip them quickly, and we headed out the front door. I clutched the leashes, my fingers still unsteady, and my entire hand still shook when I tried to level them out.

How dare Broadrick say those things? What about my mother? Was I really the bad guy in all of this? Had I been wandering around town causing trouble for fun my entire life without a care in the world?

I didn't think so. In just a few months, I'd helped people. Solved murders. I found evidence against our old police chief and helped get murder charges against Allen dropped. Weren't those good things? Did everyone forget about all the good I did?

NB stopped to pee on a bush, and the rest of us waited. Once he finished, Bacon sniffed it and added to the collection. Then Bits. NB tried again, but I pulled the leashes forward.

"No one needs to be doing that much business in one bush. You'll kill the landscaping."

In the street's quiet, I replayed the events at my mother's house. She never wanted me to be a private investigator, but not all of us wanted to stay home and learn to quilt. I had murders to solve. What was she doing with all that stuff, anyway? She had enough fabric and materials for ten quilts. And she'd end up in the ER when she found that giant needle with her foot. They looked sharp enough to pierce right through her skin.

Wait.

I stopped walking, but the dogs continued until they ran out of leash. NB circled back to check on me.

"She had giant needles, NB." Giant, sharp needles. Needles and thread like you'd use to sew someone's lips shut. And they were missing a needle.

My stomach fell. It had been a rollercoaster of a day, and I had to bend over and suck in a few deep breaths to keep myself from throwing up.

But why would my mother kill Emma Richards? She didn't even know Emma, and my uncle wouldn't have her kill someone if he planned to confess. I waved my hand in the air. Plus, my mother would never kill anyone. She wouldn't. My mother hated blood. She could barely change a Band-Aid for us as kids. She definitely wasn't using a needle to sew a dead body's mouth shut.

Then who?

My father? No. He didn't know Emma either. And he liked my uncle, but they weren't besties. Not enough to spend a lifetime in jail for him.

Vivi? Never. My straight-A sister wouldn't jeopardize her future. Especially when her boyfriend was up on murder charges just a few months ago.

My heart beat against the walls of my chest so hard I worried it might fly right through it.

That left one person-a person with a motive and possibly the means.