Free Peril by Jordyn Redwood

was pink. Distal pulses easily palpable. No puffy ankles. Strong, steady heartbeat. But Amy’s countenance echoed the sense of foreboding that her mother had. She perched herself on the end of the exam table, tense fingers digging into the vinyl.
    â€œAmy, you look great. How have you been feeling?” Tyler asked.
    The child shrugged her shoulders. Joanna stood from her chair and simply said, “Now.”
    Not a question. A statement of urgency. Tyler patted Amy’s knee. “Your mom and I are going to talk outside. Be back in a jiffy.”
    The girl nodded but momentarily reached for him as if to clasp his hand, then dropped her arms back to the table.
    Even before Tyler could fully close the door and walk the mother down the hall a few paces, the words tumbled out of Joanna like dice rolled onto a table. “She’s having nightmares.”
    Relief washed through Tyler. His heart rate calmed. “That’s not unusual considering what she’s been through. All the anticipation of waiting for the heart, the actual surgery, can be traumatizing for patients.”
    She shook her head. “No, that’s the wrong word. They’re not dreams . . . they’re memories.”
    A nurse walked by, one eyebrow raised at those words. He laid a reassuring hand on Joanna’s shoulder. “What I said still applies. She’s been through a lot. It’s just her mind processing the events.”
    Tears ran down Joanna’s cheeks. “You don’t get what I’m saying.” She pushed his hand away. “She’s having memories of Zoe Martin’s killer.”
    Tyler’s stomach flipped and he leaned a shoulder into the wall to steady himself. “What makes you think so?”
    â€œShe describes the attack.” Joanna fumbled for a crumpled tissue in her handbag. “I want to go to the police. Do you think they’d believe her?”
    The sobs overwhelmed her. Tyler was rarely in a position where he was the one to provide comfort. Usually in this situation, post-transplant, families were never in such a grieved state unless there was concern the organ was being rejected. He glanced around for a little feminine support. When he found none, he wrapped one arm around Mrs. Kent and she fell into his chest like he’d rescued her from drowning.
    Tyler patted her back to calm the intensifying trembles. “We’ll figure it out. It’s going to be all right.”
    â€œShe’s not my little girl anymore.”
    â€œOf course she is.”
    â€œNo!” Her eyes widened at the rise of her voice. She inhaled deeply. “Amy’s not sleeping. She was always so happy. I called her my little piece of sunshine. That joy is gone. Every night, I wake up to the sound of her screaming. She’s a shell of who she once was. It’s terrifying.”
    â€œOkay, let’s set up a consult with a psychologist versus going to the police. Get her talking about things. See if that helps.”
    â€œI want her back on the list.”
    Tyler eased back. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI want you to cut that heart out of her chest and bury it with Zoe’s body. It’s the only place it should be.”

Chapter 9
    Late Morning, Monday, July 30
    T HE INTENSITY THAT RADIATED off Joanna Kent was partly contained rage and partly fear for her daughter’s safety.
    â€œYou’re sure she’s going to be all right?” she asked, choosing to pace in front of the two-way mirror instead of sitting in the chair Brett offered her.
    â€œAmy’s safe in there. If what you say is true, it won’t be any worse than what she’s been going through. I trust these two. They’ll get to the bottom of this.”
    â€œWhat if he knows? What if he finds out that she’s a witness?”
    He being the murderer.
    â€œI don’t think that’s possible. Let’s not worry about things we can’t