Carrie Weaver - The Road To Echo Point

That one hit a raw nerve. One she hadn’t known existed until she’d picked up Daisy’s paintbrushes. Until she’d immersed herself in the joy of creating so thoroughly that space and time ceased to exist. But that wasn’t a career. Creativity didn’t pay the bills or keep her safe.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve accomplished. I’ve bought my own house, my own car. I can come and go as I please, without permission from anyone. If I want something, I can reach out and grab it.” She poked his unyielding chest with a paint-smeared index finger. “And you know what, that feels pretty darn good.”

Vi ran out of breath. It sounded just a little bit desperate, even to her.

She braced her fists on her hips. “And what about you, Mr. Obedient Son, Mr. I’ve-got-my-life-so-together? You can lecture me all you want about life and priorities, because you’re safely sidelined for the moment. At least I’m honest about what I want. I like being in charge, and that’s something I won’t give up. Ever.”

Ian grasped her shoulders, getting closer, too close. “Hey, calm down. I didn’t know… I mean, that you felt so strongly about it. I never thought of insurance that way…you know, passionately. But I guess it’s not the insurance you love, it’s the being in charge part.”

He absently rubbed her neck with his thumb.

She jerked away.

“What’s so bad about being in charge? I haven’t lied to you. What you see is what you get. Now don’t you have some corn dogs to cook up or something?”

Turning away, she willed her hands to stop shaking.

“I thought maybe I could understand why it’s so important to you.” Ian studied her face.

Violet warmed under his scrutiny.

“I guess I was wrong.”

THE CAR SLID SIDEWAYS on gravel, but Vi didn’t give a damn. Nothing to lose now. Eight years of working harder and smarter than everyone else. Eight years of kissing corporate butt. Hell, she’d even learned to play golf.

She sniffed, choking on her own laughter. Tears ran down her face until she could barely see the road. This was where it had started to go wrong. Where her life had careened out of control and her career hit the skids. All because her appointment with Bob Johnson had flipped an emotional switch and she was afraid, somehow, some way, she’d slipped into an alternate reality. Afraid she’d escaped from one crazy, old man, only to be killed by another.

The Mustang’s tires spit gravel as she jammed on the brake, parking in the Smith’s circular drive—right behind the sheriff’s patrol car.

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