Karin Slaughter: Broken

Lena had gone through two operations and a week in the hospital, but the damage to her hand was surprisingly limited considering the hell she’d gone through fighting off a nasty staph infection. Therapy was bringing movement back to her fingers. She was right-handed anyway. All her left hand needed to do was hold up her badge when she was making an arrest. And she would be making a lot of them soon. Gavin Wayne had called two days ago to let her know the job on the Macon force was still available. Lena had told him yes without a second thought.

She was a cop. It was in her blood. Her nerve had been tested. Her resolve had faltered. But she knew without any doubt that there was nothing else in the world that she wanted to do.

She leaned down and placed the flowers on Jeffrey’s grave. He was a cop, too. Not the same kind of cop as Lena, but different paths could still lead to the same destination. Jeffrey would understand that. He had always given her the benefit of the doubt.

Lena looked across the row of headstones lining the cemetery. She’d already put flowers on her sister’s headstone. Frank Wallace didn’t have a marker yet, but she had brought him some daisies because she knew he liked them. He’d left her some money in his will. Not a lot, but enough for Lena to sell her house at a loss and still pay off her mortgage. She had donated the rest to a nonprofit legal fund established to help cops who got on the wrong side of the law. Something told her Frank would’ve approved.

Not that she needed his approval anymore. Lena was sick of worrying what other people thought about her. Part of looking ahead to her new life required her never to look back. The only things she was taking with her from Grant County were her clothes and her fiancé, neither of which she thought she could live without.

“Ready?” Jared was sitting in his truck. He leaned over and pushed open the door.

Lena slid across the seat so he could put his arm around her. “Are things going to be okay with you and Sara?” He’d had coffee with her this morning. Lena gathered things hadn’t gone well.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jared’s jaw tightened as he put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road. He didn’t like giving bad news. “Aunt Sara will come around.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

He kissed the top of her head. “She just doesn’t know who you are.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

He reached down and turned on the radio. Joan Jett started singing about her bad reputation. Lena stared into the rearview mirror. She could see the road disappearing behind her, Grant County getting smaller with every mile. She wanted to feel something for the place—a sense of loss, a sense of nostalgia. All she felt was relief to have it finally behind her.

Did Sara Linton know Lena? Probably better than anybody else alive. But Jared didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know about the mistakes Lena had made, or the people whose lives she had ruined. Things were going to be different in Macon. This was her clean slate. Her new beginning.

Besides, Lena had never told a man the truth in her life. She wasn’t about to start now.

MY APPRECIATION TO THE USUAL SUSPECTS:

VICTORIA Sanders, Kate Elton, and Kate Miciak. I’d also like to add Gail Rebuck, Susan Sandon, Richard Cable, Margie Seale, Robbert Ammerlaan, Pieter Swinkels, Silvie Kuttny-Walster, Berit Boehm, Per Nasholm, Alysha Farry, Chandler Crawford, and Markus Dohle. And I guess Angela Cheng-Caplan, if she can handle the love.

Isabel Glusman, thank you for your letters, and Emily Bestler, thank you for raising such a great kid. Dr. David Harper helped me figure out how to kill people. Dr. David Worth helped me figure out eyeballs. Any mistakes are my own. Trish Hawkins was instrumental in giving me insight into the complexities of dyslexia. Debbie Teague, you are such a trouper for sharing your experiences; every time I write about Will, I think of your amazing strength of spirit. Mo Hayder: thanks for all the free research on scuba diving, suckah! To Andrew Johnston I offer my apologies for you know what, and no, there’s no compensation. Same goes for you, Miss Kitty.

Thanks to Beth Tindall of Cincinnati Media for all the usual web crap. Jamey Locastro can arrest me anytime. Fiona Farrelly and Ollie Malcolm were very gracious helping me figure my way around the thing that involves the plot of this story, which I won’t mention here in case people read this before they read the actual book, which they shouldn’t be doing anyway. Thanks also to the folks who helped by discussing this subject matter but didn’t want to be named for obvious reasons. To Speaker David Ralston: I thank you very much for introducing me to some great people. GBI Director Vernon Keenan and John Bankhead, thanks for your time. I will never fire a shotgun again without thinking of our lovely day outside the women’s prison. I hope I’ve honored the work y’all and all the agents and support staff at the GBI do for the great state of Georgia.

My daddy made me soup and cornbread during critical times, which I may have conflated because of the cornbread and soup, which—did I mention?—I will probably need more of. D.A. showed amazing perseverance through this whole process. As always, you are my heart.

To my readers: y’all are the best. For further reading, try the GPZ anthology, check out issue 15.05 of Wired magazine, or, if you really want to get upset, investigoogle Jessie Gelsinger. For those of you with a wild hair, GPGP.net is an interesting site as well. Hey, folks, while you’re online, check me out on Facebook or my website, karinslaughter.com. I love getting letters, but please remember this is a work of fiction.