Page 11 of Three Steps Behind

“I . . . I ran into your mom this morning and heard you were back in town.”

Part of her was, but a bigger part of her got left behind—abandoned in that war-torn village in Syria.

“Yeah. I’m here,” she finally said.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, but I wanted you to know. I tried calling you when it happened but couldn’t get through,” Susan rambled on.

Harper swallowed. “When what happened?”

“I’m afraid . . .” Susan paused, a sob erupting over the line.

Harper tightened her grip on the phone. She ran a litany of scenarios through her mind, tension racking her body. She didn’t have the bandwidth to handle anything more. Please don’t let whatever it is be as serious as Susan’s voice sounds. “What’s wrong?”

“Taylor’s . . .” Susan emitted another sob. “Dead.”

Six

HARPER BLINKED. Tay couldn’t be dead. She was Harper’s age. A year younger, actually, and the healthiest person she knew. The thought of a car accident slipped through her mind, but she cast it aside.

“Did you hear me, sweetie?”

“I’m sorry, but it sounded like you said Taylor’s dead. . . .” But she’d certainly misheard.

Her body left her feet, the world swirling around her as she rose up, floating again—seemingly detached from her body. But her feet remained on the porch. It was the most disconcerting sensation—one she had no control over.

“Harp? Did you hear what I just said?”

“Tay’s dead, but she can’t be.” It made no sense. She was so young.

“I know. It doesn’t seem real. I’m still in shock.”

“She can’t be dead.”

Deck stepped closer, then reached out and took her hand.

She yanked it back, and hurt filled his eyes.

“Sorry,” he coughed out. “I didn’t mean to . . . I was just trying to comfort you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. What was wrong with her? She knew what was wrong, but admitting it, explaining it, was too painful. She redirected her shaky attention to Susan. “Are you saying she’s really dead?” First Amanda and Tracey, now one of her dearest friends?

“Yes, sweetie. She had a heart attack.”

“A heart attack? How is that possible?”

“I’m afraid it’s true. She died on the nineteenth.”

“Five days ago?” A hollow ache gnawed in the pit of her stomach. Five days? That explained why Susan couldn’t reach her. She’d been half a world away, fleeing for her life, then sitting through debriefing after debriefing. Her heart sped up, her pulse throbbing at the mere memory, her skin lathered in sweat despite the chilled temperatures.

“Nick sounded in utter shock when I called to talk to Taylor that night, and he told me then. Poor guy is a mess. The heart attack was so sudden. . . . He’s just trying to wrap his head around it.”

“A heart attack. At thirty-four? She’s so fit.” Always off on one adventure or another—hiking, tennis, swimming. The girl never stopped.

“I know,” Susan said. “One minute she was alive and playing tennis, the next she was dead.”

“She died playing tennis?” Like some young athletes have on the field?

“No, later that night.”