Fall (Detective Harriet Foster) by Tracy Clark

Author:Tracy Clark [Clark, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2023-12-04T16:00:00+00:00

The downstairs lights in Glynnis’s house went out at 10:08 Sunday night; then they went on in the master bedroom and stayed on for another hour. The boys’ lights had extinguished at nine, ensuring them both at least ten hours of sleep before school the next day. For the second night in a row, Foster burrowed into her coat, a blanket over her legs and her hat pulled low over her ears. It was cold. Thirty-six degrees, according to her phone, but she wasn’t going anywhere. This wasn’t her first stakeout. With hand warmers inside her gloves and double socks on her feet, she had come prepared to watch the house for as long as she needed to. She would figure out what to do next in due time.

Mike had no idea she was outside. Neither did the kids. It was better that way. There was nothing unusual on the block, no abnormal activity. She was sure no one was watching Glynnis’s house but her. She didn’t want to alarm Mike, but the voice on the phone had made it clear that all of them were targets, depending on what she did when the voice came at her again. That’s where the conflict bit. She couldn’t turn. She couldn’t dishonor her badge or the oath she’d taken. The job wasn’t perfect, nothing was, but she believed in it. She considered her sacrifices, her commitment, all going toward a noble cause. The voice was asking her to pit that against the lives of Glynnis’s children. She was sure this was the dilemma Glynnis had struggled with, only the pull would have been a million times greater since the children were hers.

“Damn it,” she muttered, puffs of warm breath hitting cold air. She didn’t dare turn the ignition and start the heat. She wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to see her. It was going to be another long night.

There was nothing she could do but watch and wait. She couldn’t run the number she’d called because it wasn’t connected to any case she was working. She couldn’t even submit the photographs to be analyzed for prints or to see if it could be blown up to capture information about the man or the envelope he was holding without justifying the request or connecting it to an active case. The laws about what she was allowed to do were clear. She could lose her job. She could go to jail. How far could she go? How far would she go?

Hours later, Monday morning dawned bright, but the sun offered nothing in the way of warmth. Every inch of her body was stiff and numb, despite the blanket and the warmers. At seven, she started the car, relieved to have heat at last. She checked the street again, for the millionth time. It was still quiet, as it had been the entire night. When the light switched on in the master bedroom, and then in sequence in each of the

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