Inside were several identical sachets, neatly sealed, each one filled with the same fine white powder. More were found in a toiletry bag tucked behind the sink. Then someone called out from the hallway. The prescription bottle. Clare’s.
Brooke stood very still as the cuffs went on, her face carefully neutral, as if she were waiting for instructions that never came. She didn’t resist. Didn’t protest. In the back of the patrol car, she stared straight ahead, jaw tight, hands folded in her lap. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then her shoulders sagged, just slightly.