The Obsession

Sixteen

When he’d realized she was serious about taking pictures in his place, Xander had considered pulling the Simon Vance book off the shelf. He’d done so long enough to read it again, refresh himself, then had nearly tossed it into the box he kept for donations.

He didn’t want to see that dull, stricken look on her face again.

In the end, he decided pulling it off gave it too much importance. She knew it was there, and would wonder why he’d taken it away.

Weighing the stress factor, he figured it at fifty-fifty, and opted to leave it alone.

She’d tell him when she was ready. Or she wouldn’t.

He helped her haul her equipment up the steps, where she paid more attention to the equipment than what she intended to shoot. She pulled a tripod out of a case, telescoped it, did the same with a light stand.

“I’ve still got that wine you like if you want.”

“Thanks, but not when I’m working.”

As he subscribed to the same rule, he got them both a Coke.

She nodded, ignored it as she pulled out a light meter. “Can I have one of those chairs over here for the laptop?”

“I’ll get it.”

She attached a camera to the tripod, eyes narrowed now on the wall of books.

“That’s an impressive camera.”

“Hasselblad, medium format. Larger media, higher resolution. I’m going to shoot digital first.”

She took a back from her case, attached it to the camera. When he looked in the case, the bag-the lenses, backs, cables, attachments-he understood why everything was so damn heavy.

How the hell did she haul all that stuff around?

He didn’t ask because he recognized focused work mode.

She peered through the viewfinder, used a remote to switch on the light, switch it off. She popped an umbrella out of the bag, screwed it onto the light stand, then shielded that with a screen.

She checked everything again, changed the angle of the tripod, walked it back about an inch.

If she thought about the book, she didn’t show it.

He figured it took her a good thirty minutes to set up and take a couple of test shots. Halfway through it, he decided she didn’t need him, got a book out of his office, and settled down at the table to read while she worked.

“Is there a system to the way you shelve the books?”

He glanced up. “Where they fit, why?”

“You have Jane Austen beside Stephen King.”

“I don’t think either one of them would mind, but if you do, you can move books around.”

“No, that’s part of the point. It’s a wall of stories. Take out any one, go anywhere. It’s… Storyland.”

She pulled him into watching her again. Shoot, study, adjust, test, shoot. Curious now, he got up to take a look at the laptop screen.

The colors bloomed deeper, the light a little dreamy. Somehow she made some of the tattered spines appear interesting rather than worn.

Another popped on. He couldn’t see the difference, but apparently she could as she squinted at it, said, “Yeah, yeah.”

She took half a dozen more, making minor adjustments, then crouched down to slideshow through all the shots.

“How come it looks better in the picture than in reality?”

“Magic. This one, yeah, this is the one, I think. It looks great in reality. Light, shadow, angle, that’s just atmosphere.”

“You made art.”

“I captured art,” she corrected. “I want to take some film.” She took the back off the camera and switched it with something out of her bag.

“That camera does both-digital and film?”

“Yeah. Handy.”

He wanted to ask how-wanted to see how. But she had that in-the-zone look about her again.

She went back to work; he went back to reading.

She pulled him out of his book when she switched backs again, changed lenses, and took the camera off the tripod. She moved to the side, took a picture of the books from a sharp angle. Checked the result, adjusted the light, took a few more.

When she lowered the camera, moved to the shelves, he thought for a moment she meant to pull off the book about her father. But she pulled one from a higher shelf, carried it to the table.

“I want you with the Austen. Can you bookmark what you’re reading?”

“I’ve read it before. I can pick it up where I left off if I want.” He felt more than a little foolish. No one would ever term him shy, but the idea of taking pictures of his hands?

Weird.

“You’re serious about the hand thing.”

“Deadly. Tough man’s hand with classic novel written by a woman, one a lot of people consider a woman’s book.”

“A lot of people are stupid.”

“Either way, it should work.” She took out her light meter. “And the light’s good right here for what I want. Good, natural light through that window. Especially if you just… scoot your chair to the right, just a couple inches.”

Once he had, she checked the light meter again. Apparently satisfied, she went back for her laptop, set it on the postage-stamp corner of counter.

“Just hold the book open, the way you would if you were reading it. Not the first page-you’ve been reading it awhile. About a third of the way through.”

He felt ridiculous, but he did it. He’d give her five minutes to play around.

She shot over his shoulder so that sultry summer scent spilled over him.

Maybe ten, he considered, while she shifted behind him, leaned in closer.

“Turn a page-or start to, don’t turn it all the way. Just-stop, hold it. Good. It’s good. But…”

She straightened, frowned at the laptop image. He had to twist around to check it himself, and what he saw surprised him.

“I thought you were crazy, but it looks like an ad in a high-class magazine or something.”

“It’s good, but it’s not quite there. It needs… Of course.”

She pulled open his refrigerator, took out a beer. When she spotted the opener, she popped the top, then to his shock, poured a good third of it down the sink.

“What? Why?”

“Tough hands, a beer, and Pride and Prejudice.” She set the beer on the table, framed it, moved it closer to the top right edge of the book.

“You didn’t have to pour it down the sink.”

“It needs to look like you’re drinking a beer and reading Austen.”

“I have a mouth, and a throat. We could have poured it in there.”

“Sorry, didn’t think of that. Left thumb under the page, turning it, right hand on the beer. I need you to cover the label-I’m not looking for product placement. Hand on the beer like you’re about to pick it up, maybe even lift it a half inch off the table.”

Since there was no use crying over spilled beer, he followed instructions. Picking up the beer, setting it down, turning a page, not turning a page, until she lowered the camera again.

“Perfect. Just exactly right.”

He turned to see for himself, saw the beer had been inspired. It gave the shot a cheerful edge, and added balance.

“Real men read books,” Naomi said. “I’m going to offer poster size.”

He felt weird all over again. “Posters.”

“Brick-and-mortar bookstores, adult learning centers, college dorms, even some libraries. You’ve given me some damn good work today, Xander. I’m going to tell Kevin it’s a go on the steam shower.”

“You’re putting in a steam shower.”

“I am now.” Nodding, nodding, she scrolled through the shots on her computer. “Yes, I am now. I’d talked myself out of it, but when I get this much good work on a Sunday? I’m steaming.”

He pointed at her. “I earned time in that.”

“You definitely did.”

She didn’t resist when he pulled her onto his lap, but did hesitate when he started to take the camera.

“I’m not going to bounce it off the floor. It’s got weight,” he commented.

“Just over nine pounds. I’m mostly going to use the tripod with it, and it’s worth the weight. It’s tough and reliable, and you can see just how sharp.”

“And this deal on the back makes it shoot digital?”

Nodding, she removed it. “Excellent system-no pins to catch on anything, and it has its own integrated software. It’s not something I’m going to take on a hike, but for what I wanted here, and for what you want with the band, it’s the machine.”

He had to admit he’d like to play with it himself, just to see how the mechanics worked. But he didn’t see that happening, any more than he’d let her under the hood of his GTO.

“I use my phone if I take a picture.”

“Very decent cameras on phones today. I’ve taken some nice shots I’ve been able to manipulate and sell. And now, I wouldn’t mind a half a glass of that wine while I break this down and we set up in the garage.”

“I can take care of that. I’ve already got most of a beer.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated again, then kissed him. “Thanks,” she repeated.

“No problem.”

She rose, went over to carefully replace her camera in its case. And as he rose to get her wine, he saw her gaze shift back to the books.

“So, it’s a classic therefore a clichéd question, but have you read all of these?”

“Everything out here, yeah. There’s some in my office, in the bedroom I haven’t gotten to yet.”

She pulled off casual, he thought, compacting her tripod, sliding it into its soft case.

“Mostly fiction, right? But you’ve got some nonfiction mixed in. Biographies, histories, books on cars-surprise-true crime.”

He could pull off casual, too. “Nonfiction, written well, is a story.”

“I tend to only read nonfiction that’s work related. How do you know if something based on true is written true?”

“I guess you don’t.”

“Sometimes it must be perception or personal agenda, or just enhancing or adjusting for creative effect. Like a photograph. I take an image that’s real, but I can manipulate it, change tones, enhance or soften or crop out to meet my own agenda.”

He brought the wine to her. Fifty-fifty, he’d thought. She’d done the work she’d come to do on the first fifty. Now, he could see, she’d tied herself up in the second half.

“I’d say the person in the original image knows what’s true and what’s manipulated.”

“That’s the thing about words and images.” She took a slow sip of wine. “Once the words are on the page, the image printed, it becomes what’s true.”

She turned away then, set her glass aside to break down her lighting. “They’re not so different, words and pictures. Both freeze moments, both stay with you long after the moment’s over.”

“Naomi.”

He didn’t have a clear idea what to say, how to say it, and decided it would be nothing as the sound of an old truck with a rusted-out muffler boomed outside.

“That’ll be Lelo and his muffler from hell.”

“If he had a friend who was a mechanic, he could get that fixed.”

“I’ll have to suggest that. For the millionth time. At least he can help us haul all this down.”

–

She liked Lelo-and it generally took her longer to like. And Tag loved him at first sight. Man and dog were all over each other in an instant, like long-lost friends (possibly brothers) thrilled with the reunion.

“That’s a good dog. That’s some good dog.” Crouched, Lelo rubbed Tag all over and got licked lovingly in the face with every stroke. “I heard you found him out of gas on the side of the road.”

“That’s right.”

“Not out of gas now, are you, boy? Not out of gas now.”

Tag rolled over, exposing his belly. His hind leg pumped like a piston in time with the rubbing.

Lelo had straggly hair halfway to his shoulders the color of a Kansas cornfield. He came in about an inch shorter than Naomi with a skinny build and ropey muscles set off in a tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans frayed at the knees and the hems. An emerald green fire-breathing dragon rode sinuously up his right forearm.

“How are you doing up there on the bluff?”

“I like it.” Naomi set up her lights as she considered ideas and options for the shoot.

“Needs help with the landscaping,” Xander said as he brought in-as ordered-his guitars, both his ax and his old acoustic.

“Oh yeah. They sure let that place go. Never did have much what you’d call creativity with the landscaping. And Dikes never gave a shit.”

“Loo’s ex,” Xander explained.

“Stayed stoned most of the time. I should know since I got stoned with him. I don’t do that so much anymore,” he said to Naomi. “I could take a look up there, if you want. Give you some ideas.”

“I could probably use the ideas.”

“No charge for thinking. Here comes Dave and Trilby.”

Dave the drummer, Naomi remembered. Broad shoulders, compact build, brown hair worn in a kind of modified Caesar. Jeans, a faded Aerosmith T-shirt, banged-up brown hiking boots. Trilby-keyboards-made a striking contrast. Smooth dark skin, wide dark eyes, a head full of dreads. Cargo pants and a red tee on a gym-ripped body.

They hauled in their equipment while Xander called out introductions. It helped that everyone had full hands and tasks. She always had a problem meeting so many people at once.

Of course the dog eased any awkwardness, happily roaming from one to another after he’d sniffed enough to reassure himself they were okay.

“I took a look at your website,” Dave said to Naomi as he set up his drums. “Slick. I’m in charge of the band’s. Not so slick. Techwise, it rocks-that’s what I do-but the look doesn’t hit it hard.”

Since she’d taken the time to view it herself, she couldn’t disagree. “It’s really thorough, and easy to navigate.”

He grinned. “Which is saying yeah, the look blows. I was wondering if we could get some shots today I could use there, juice it up.”

“I’ve got some ideas.”

“Good, because in that area I’m fresh out. My wife said maybe we should go more retro.”

“You’re married?”

“Eight years, two kids.”

She couldn’t say why she’d assumed he, and the rest of the band, would be single.

At the serious engine roar, Dave adjusted the angle of his snare. “That’ll be Ky. Lead guitar,” Dave added, as she watched the big, black, tricked-out Harley roar up.

Tall, dark, and dangerous, she thought. You couldn’t say handsome, not with the narrow face, the scruffy goatee, the hawkish nose and just overly generous mouth.

But he made you look.

He aimed eyes as dark as his hair at Naomi. “Hi there, Slugger.”

Xander glanced over from setting up the speakers. “Naomi, Ky.”

“Yeah, I saw you put Marla on her knees the other night. She’d earned it.”

“Nobody’s seen her for a couple days,” Lelo said.

“Yeah, I just heard about that.” With a kind of practiced shrug, Ky swung his guitar case off his back. “Hooked up with somebody at the bar. Wouldn’t be the first time. You had a lost weekend with her back when, didn’t you, Lelo?”

“A half a weekend, in a weak moment.”

“We all have ’em. Got beer, Keaton?”

“Cooler, outside the bay.”

He gave Naomi a lazy smile. “Want one, Rocky?”

“No, thanks.”

“Water and soft stuff in there, too.”

“I’d take a water.”

She put her hands on her hips, looked around.

Yeah, she had ideas.

“I’m going to take some basics, just to warm everybody up, test the waters. You’re set up like you are onstage, so go ahead, play something.”

She pulled out her Nikon, changed the lens, checked her light meter as they got in position, decided what to play.

“Dave’s got his Aerosmith on, so let’s go there,” Xander suggested.

“Don’t look at me unless I tell you to,” Naomi ordered, and began to shoot.

Standard, she thought. Good, solid, but standard. She got some decent head shots, some wide angles, some where she let the motion blur.

When the last chord crashed down, she lowered the camera.

“Okay. Now, we’re not doing any of that. I need to see the wardrobe options. Lelo, I want to stick with what you’ve got on, but let’s see what else there is.”

Men, she thought as she pawed through the choices, should learn how to be more creative.

“I bet you’ve got more stuff in your trucks, your trunks.”

Lelo came up with an old, oversized army jacket. She tossed it at Dave. “You.”

“Seriously?”

“Trust me.” She pulled out a white T-shirt. “You’ve had this awhile, right?” she asked Xander.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” She took it over to a grease stain, dropped it, rubbed it in with her foot. “Better,” she decided when she picked it up. “Better yet, smear some motor oil on it.”

“You want me to smear oil on the shirt.”

“Yeah, like you got some on your hand, swiped your hand over the shirt.” She demonstrated. “Do that, put it on. Trilby, is that red T-shirt new?”

“Kind of.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I need to rip it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re built, and I want to see some skin and muscle.”

Lelo let out a hoot.

“Across the pecs, okay? Xander, I need some chain-not too heavy.”

“Christ,” he muttered as he ruined a perfectly good T-shirt.

“Chains for me?” Ky grinned at her. “You want to chain me up, Legs?”

“That’s what women will wonder when they look at the picture.” She gave him a mirror of his cocky grin. “Stud.”

“What kind of picture is this?” Trilby asked, holding his red shirt.

“Hot, sexy, rock-and-roll. If you don’t like it, we can go with the basics I already shot, and more along those lines. But let’s try this. I want that compressor over here, and that grease-gun thing. I want some old tires piled up, right about there. You wouldn’t happen to have a broken windshield.”

Xander tugged the stained and dirty shirt over his head. “I replaced one last week, haven’t taken it to the junkyard yet.”

“Perfect. Bonus round. Haul it in here.”

“I don’t get this,” Dave muttered, and sniffed at the sleeve of the army jacket.

“I do.” Lelo rubbed Tag, grinned at her. “Open it up, guys. We’re the Wreckers, right? We’re a fucking garage band. We’re in a garage. Let’s use it.”

“Now you’re talking. I want some tools.” Lips curved, eyes focused, Naomi nodded. “Big, man-sized tools.”

–

Xander didn’t want to think about how long it would take to put everything back where it belonged. The bay turned into a jumble of car parts, tools, and musical instruments.

He thought he had fairly good vision, but it seemed too art house, over the top, and out of the box.

And he was sitting on a freaking air compressor, with his beloved Strat in one hand and a cordless drill in the other. Ky wore chains bandolerostyle, and Dave looked baffled in Lelo’s grandfather’s ancient army jacket. She’d had Trilby lay his keyboard against a stack of tires.

The only person, besides Naomi, who seemed to think it was a fine idea was Lelo, sitting cross-legged on the concrete floor, with his bass in his lap, a grease gun held like a rifle.

She had their own music banging out on playback, and the fancy camera on a tripod. She took some shots, shook her head.

No one spoke as she pulled a bandanna out of the pile of clothes she’d rejected, dipped it into the can of motor oil, then walked to Dave.

“Come on, really?”

“Sorry. You’re just too clean-cut.” She dabbed and smeared some oil on his cheek.

She stepped back, angled her head.

“Lelo, lose the shoes. Just toss them to the side-beside you, a little in front. I need a hubcap.”

“I got one in the bed of my truck.”

When Lelo started to rise, she motioned him down. “I’ll get it.”

Dave turned to Xander when she went out. “What the hell have you gotten us into?”

“I have no idea.”

“She’s hot.” Lelo lifted his shoulders. “Just saying. If you hadn’t seen her first, Xan, I’d make some major moves.”

“I just bought this shirt.” Trilby looked down at the tears. “I only washed it once.”

“Let her do what she does,” Ky suggested. “Xander’s bound to get lucky and owe us.”

“He already got lucky,” Naomi said. “You had two.” She arranged the hubcaps, stepped back. “Tag! Those aren’t yours.”

He’d nearly reached the discarded shoes, and now slunk back again.

“For now, everybody look straight at the camera. Badasses, give me some badass. Come on, let’s see you steam up the lens.”

She should’ve gotten a few beers in them first, she thought.

Still, it worked. The light, the setup, the arrangement worked.

She stepped to the side. “See me?”

“You’re right there,” Xander pointed out.

“So everybody sees me. Hold that thought.” She went behind the camera, looked through the lens. “Imagine me naked.”

And there we go.

“Again. Don’t lose it. Imagine me imagining you naked. Yeah, that’s got you thinking.”

She came out again, picked up one of the hubcaps, handed it to Dave. Went back.

“Ky, wrap one of the loose ends of chain around your fist. Go with the music, play.”

“I’ve got a hubcap,” Dave pointed out.

“And drumsticks. Play the hubcap. Play the tools, play the instrument, whatever strikes. Play. You’re onstage, you know how to interact onstage.”

She took them from play to war-instruments and tools as weapons. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the dog slinking back, caught him in the frame.

“Tag!” she called out just as he grabbed one of the shoes.

Lelo just laughed, hooked an arm around Tag. “Hey, he can be in the band.”

She took the shot, took two more while the mood held. Then stepped back.

“That’s a wrap, gentlemen.”

“That’s it?” Dave blinked at her.

“It takes her twice as long-more,” Xander corrected, “to set things up than to take the pictures.”

“You can see if it was worth it. I’ll set the laptop on slideshow. If you like the group shots, I’ve got time to take individuals-you’d want to change again.”

“It’s nice of you to offer,” Dave began, “but I should probably… Hey, that’s a nice shot.”

She’d started with the basic band shot. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

“No, these are really good. Tons better than what we have now. You see this, Trilby?”

“Sweet.” In his ruined shirt, he braced a hand on Dave’s shoulder, leaned in to study. “You got some individuals right here.”

“Nice.” Ky unwrapped the chain. “We can really use these.”

“Aces, but the others are going to be better.” Still barefoot, Lelo squeezed in. “Are they coming up?”

“These are with the Nikon. I’ll switch cards when they run through.”

“Can you email these to me?” Dave asked her.

“You’re not going to want all of them, and the files from the Hassie are huge. I’ll send you a sample of the best of them once I go through.”

She switched cards, waited to see if she’d gone wrong.

“Told ya!” Lelo punched Dave’s shoulder when the shots began to slide on-screen.

“These are- We look-”

“Super cool!” Lelo punched Dave again.

“I thought it was crazy, even stupid.” Dave glanced up at Naomi. “Big apologies.”

“Not necessary. Worth the shirt?” she asked Trilby.

“And then some. These are great. Really great.”

“That’s talent, and that’s vision.” Ky nodded at the screen. “Shouldn’t have doubted you. Xander’s got a knack for spotting talent and vision.”

“That one! Gotta have that one, the one with the dog.” Lelo scrubbed at Tag, who still had the shoe in his mouth. “Band mascot.”

“How about that wine now?” Xander asked her when the slideshow started again.

“I could have a glass-one-before I set up for individuals.”

He took her hand, drew her outside the bay. “And after that, stay.”

“Oh, I really should get back, take a better look at these, start to weed through them.”

He leaned down, kissed her, warm and long in the quieting spring evening. “Stay anyway.”

“I… I don’t have my things, or Tag’s food, or…” She should take a breath, take some room. Then he kissed her again. “Come home with me,” she said. “When we’re done, come home with me.”

–

He went home with her, and late into the night when whatever dream chasing her made her whimper and stir, he did what he never did. He wrapped her close, and held her.

–

While Xander shielded Naomi from the nightmare, Marla lived one.

She didn’t know where she was, how long she’d been in the dark.

He hurt her, whoever he was, and when he did, he whispered how he would hurt her more the next time. And he did.

She tried to scream, but he’d taped her mouth. Sometimes he pushed a rag over her face, and the terrible fumes of it made her sick, then made her go away.

She always woke in the dark, woke cold and scared, and wishing with all her heart for Chip to come save her.

Then he’d rape her again. He cut her, and he hit her. He cut her and he hit her even if she didn’t fight the rape. Sometimes he choked her until her lungs burned, until she passed out.

She couldn’t remember what had happened, not exactly. When she tried to think, her head hurt so bad. She remembered walking home, being mad, so mad. But couldn’t remember why. And she remembered-or thought she did-having to stop and puke in some bushes.

Then the big car with the camper-was that it? She walked by a camper, and then something hit her. Something hurt her. And those awful fumes took her away.

She wanted to go home, she needed to go home. She wanted to go back to Chip. Tears leaked out of her swollen eyes.

Then he came back. She felt the movement. Were they on a boat? She felt, as she had before, the space tilt, and creak. His footsteps. She struggled, tried to scream, though she knew it was useless.

Please, please, somebody hear me!

He gave her one hard slap. “Let’s see if you’ve got one more night in you.”

Something flashed, blinding her. And he laughed.

“You sure aren’t much to look at now. But I can always get it up.”

He cut her first so she screamed against the tape. He punched her with a fist cased in a leather glove, then slapped her to bring her around again so she’d cry when he raped her.

It was always better when they cried.

Then he used the rope to choke her. This time he didn’t stop when she passed out. This time he finished it, and took her out of the nightmare.

When he raped her, when he choked her, he called her Naomi.

Seventeen

Soaking, sopping spring rains blew in. They made for muddy boots, wet dog, and some dramatic photos.

Naomi worked in the unfinished bedroom with the ugly blue bathroom and learned to block out the scream of tile cutters.

She spent the rainy Monday and started the rainy Tuesday refining the weekend’s work. She’d added the Wreckers to her playlist, used their music while she worked on the band shots.

She switched off to blues when refining the shots of Xander on her deck, went random on the book-in-hand.

If she put off working on what she thought of as Storyland, she’d get to it. Inside, she knew she had to get past the upset of seeing that damn book tucked in with all the others on Xander’s book wall. And right now, she was experiencing something new and different.

She was happy. Not just satisfied, content, or engaged. Happy in a way that stuck with her right through the day-rainy or not. The house, the progress on it, the work-because, God, she did good work here. Even the dog gave her a sense of happiness.

And still, this was more. However it had happened, however it ran contrary to ingrained habit and what she considered good, sensible judgment, she was in a relationship. And in one, she had to admit, with an interesting man. One who engaged her, mind and body, who worked as hard as she did, and enjoyed it as she did.

Who could blame her for wanting to hold on to it as long as it lasted?

She matted the manipulated shot of him on the deck. Toned black-and-white, his eyes boldly blue, the dog’s crystal. Bright white mug, and the red-gold streak of sun an arrow over the horizon where sky met water. She’d debated between white mat or gray, and saw now she’d been right to go with the gray. It popped the colors out, didn’t distract as the white might have. Pewter frame, she decided, not black. Keep those edges soft.

She propped the matted print against the wall, stepped back to study it.

The start of a good day, she thought, remembering. She only had to eliminate the visit from the chief of police, and it had been the start to a most excellent day-that ended as it began, with Xander in her bed.

She hooked her thumbs in her pockets, giving the prints ranged against the wall a critical study, called out a come in at the knock on the door.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she told Kevin. “Perfect time to break.”

“Good, because Lelo’s downstairs.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, he wanted to… Wow.” He came all the way in, leaving the door open so the sounds of hammers and saws echoed from downstairs, and the tile cutter screamed down the hall. “Those are great. That’s Cecil’s barn-and Cecil. And Xander. Mind?” he asked, and crouched down before she answered. Tag padded over to nose under Kevin’s arm for a hug.

“This one? Man, you can smell morning. That minute before it bangs open and it’s day.”

“You make me wish you were an art critic.”

“It’s how it hits. The black-and-white with the bits of color, that’s dramatic, right? And seriously cool. But this one, it’s the quiet and the… possibilities?”

“Definitely wish you were an art critic.”

“I’m not, but I’ve got to say Cecil’s barn never looked so good. Where are you going to hang them?”

“I’m not. They’re going to the gallery in New York. In fact, I need to do a second print of what seems to be your favorite. The gallery owner wants one for his personal collection.”

“Hah.” Visibly tickled, Kevin pushed up to stand. “Xander’s going to New York. You know, the shop where Jenny works would go nuts for those smaller ones there-the flowers and the barn door, the old tree.”

She’d matted them for herself, but… maybe. The commission, if they sold, could carve nicely into the cost of the old cedar chest she had her eye on at Cecil’s.

“I might take some of them in, see about that. Did you say Lelo’s downstairs?”

“Hell, got off track. Yeah, he said he’d look at the yard, work up some ideas. But he’s poking around with the guys downstairs-or was when I came up.”

“We talked about him looking at the yard, but it’s pouring rain.”

“It’s Lelo.” Kevin’s shrug said it all. “If you’re going to break for a bit, I’ve got some things to talk to you about downstairs. The laundry room deal, and up here, the studio.”

“Okay. Let me talk to Lelo, then I’ll find you.”

“We appreciate you don’t breathe down our necks when we’re working. I mean that. But you might want to take a look at the work on the master bath before you close off again.”

“All right.”

Kevin peeled off in the direction of the master, and the dog started down with her. Tag paused on the stairs, sniffed the air. If a single bark could signify utter delight, his did before he all but flew down the stairs.

She heard Lelo laugh. “Hey, there he is! How’s it going, big guy!”

She found them, already wrestling over the painter’s tarp. Lelo wore a wet cowboy hat and a yellow rain slicker.

“Hi. Figured it was a good day to take a look around since we’re rained out on this patio job.”

“So you want to slosh around outside here instead?”

“Rain’s gotta rain. I didn’t want to go poking around without letting you know.”

“Let me get a jacket.”

“I can just make some notes and all if you don’t wanna get wet.”

“Rain’s gotta rain.”

He grinned. “There you go. Meet you out there. Okay if Tag tags with me?”

“I’d have a hard time stopping him. I’ll be right out.”

She grabbed her rain jacket, a ball cap, and took the time to change her sneakers for boots.

When she got out front, Lelo wandered in the steady rain, tossed a sodden tennis ball for the delirious dog.

“Got a good start on the cleanup,” he called out.

“Xander did. I’d barely started on it.”

“He likes the work. My dad’s always saying he’d hire Xander in a heartbeat, but then who’d fix his truck? I want to say right off, I hope you’re not in love with those old arborvitaes because they gotta go.”

“I’m not in love.”

“Excellent. Anything you especially want?”

“I thought an ornamental weeper, like a cherry. Over there.”

“Uh-huh.” He stood, rain dripping off the brim of his hat, studied. “That’d work. Have you ever seen a weeping redbud?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not red. It’s lavender.”

“Lavender.”

“Awesome color, and just a little less usual. And it’s got heart-shaped leaves.”

“Heart-shaped.”

“You maybe want to look it up.”

“I’m going to.”

“You could maybe do some pavers, you know? Kind of winding, not straight-arrow-like. And set off the house with native shrubs and plants. You like birds and butterflies? Like that?”

“Sure.”

“You gotta have a mock orange. It smells good, looks pretty, and it’ll draw the birds and butterflies. And Juneberry. It’s got white starry flowers, and it fruits. Purple fruit about this big.” He circled his thumb and finger. “You’ll get the songbirds with that. You can eat it-it’s pretty good. And you want some rhodos.”

He walked, gesturing, tossing the ball, rattling off names, descriptions. And painted a picture of something fanciful and lovely.

“I was going to plug in a tree, a couple of shrubs, do some bedding plants and bulbs.”

“You could do that. It’d look fine.”

“Maybe it would, but now you’ve got me thinking about plants I’ve never heard of and trees with heart-shaped leaves.”

“I could draw it up for you, give you a better picture.”

“Okay, let’s do that.”

“Can I see around back?”

“We’re already wet.”

As they started around the side, he reached into the pocket of his slicker. “Want?”

She glanced down, saw the classic yellow pack, caught just the drift of that comforting scent as he drew out a stick of Juicy Fruit.

Though she shook her head, deemed herself foolish, the simple pack of gum cemented her initial impression of him.

Kind, sweet, loyal. No wonder the dog adored him.

“You get afternoon shade here,” Lelo continued as he folded a stick of gum into his mouth. “It’s a nice spot for a hammock or a bench, some shade lovers. You wind those pavers around, you’d be able to walk clear around the house barefoot.”

“You’re killing me, Lelo.”

They circled to the back, where he set his hands on his skinny hips and looked up the deck steps, out to the narrow ribbon of scrubby lawn to the stone wall.

“You’ve got a basement, right?”

“A big one. Storage and utility. It’s not finished. I don’t need the room.”

“Might want it when you have kids. And you’d want to build up that wall more when you do. For now, you might want to put some hemlock over there, naturalize some daffodils, give you a foresty feel on that far side. And some shrubs fronting the wall. Keep them low ’cause you don’t want anything blocking the view. When you ever decide to finish the basement, you do yourself a walk-out, and you’ve got a nice shady patio area under the decks, then a sunny little backyard.”

“I wanted to put some herbs, some vegetables in. Not a huge space, but enough for a kitchen garden.”

“You could do that.” Nodding, he walked up the short steps to the first-floor deck. “It’s a ways from your kitchen, but you could do that. Or you could have yourself a container garden up here. You got the sun, you got the room on a deck this size. Build them out of the same wood as the house, make them look built-in, you know? Do yourself herbs, some cherry tomatoes, maybe some Romas, some peppers, whatever. Containers are easy to maintain.”

“And steps away from the kitchen.” More practical, she thought, more efficient. And pretty. “You know what you’re doing, Lelo.”

“Well, I’ve been working the business since I was about six.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“Whatever you do, you can do some here, some there, some down the road.”

“But you can draw it up, give me an estimate-on each section?”

“Sure. And there’s this other thing.”

“Am I going to have to sell the family jewels?”

He grinned, shook his head, and shot out raindrops. “Maybe you could take pictures of the work-you know, before, during, after. We could use them in the business. Like a trade.”

Bartering again, she thought. The popular commerce of Sunrise Cove.

“That’s a smart idea.”

“I can’t claim it. It’s my dad’s. I haven’t seen what-all you sent to Dave yesterday. I’m swinging by his place after he gets off work-may be able to mooch dinner, too. But my dad took a look at your website, and he came up with it.”

She’d want pictures in any case, she thought. She’d been documenting the progress on the house, for herself, for Mason and her uncles and grandparents.

“We’ll work that deal.”

“Solid.” They fist-bumped on it. “I’ll get you some drawings and some figures. You’re really pretty.”

“Ah… thank you.”

“I’m not hitting on you or anything. Xander’s like my brother. It’s just you’re really pretty. And I like what you’re doing with the house. Like I said, I used to hang up here sometimes with Dikes. Even though I used to think working in the business was bogus, I’d end up planting stuff in my head.”

“Now you’ll plant it for real.”

“That’s something, isn’t it? I should book. Xander’s on my ass about the muffler. I guess I’ll take it in, let him fix the damn thing. I’ll come by when I’ve got everything worked up.”

“Thanks, Lelo.”

“Sure thing. You be good.” He rubbed the wet dog. “Later,” he said, and jogged down and away.

–

Xander stood under an aging Camry, replacing brake pads that should’ve been replaced ten thousand miles earlier. Some people just didn’t maintain. It needed an oil change and an all-around tune-up, but its owner-his ninth-grade American history teacher-still didn’t believe he knew what he was doing. About any damn thing.

And never let him forget he’d been suspended for hooking school.

Something that made no sense to him then or now. Suspension for hooking was like a damn reward.

Speaking of suspension, her shocks were about shot-but she wouldn’t listen there either. She’d wait, drive the car into the ground until he ended up towing it in.

He had a transmission job after this and had given a clutch replacement to one of his crew, a simple tire rotation to another.

He had two cars out in the lot, towed in from a wreck on rain-slick roads the night before-a call that had pulled him out of Naomi’s bed at two in the morning.

The drivers got off with mostly bumps, bruises, some cuts-though one of them ended up being taken in by the deputy when he didn’t pass the Breathalyzer.

Once the insurance companies finished wrangling, he’d have plenty of bodywork to deal with.

But he’d missed waking up with Naomi and the dog, having breakfast.

He’d gotten used to those sunrises. Funny how fast he’d gotten used to them, and unused to sleeping and waking alone in his own space.

Even now he had a low-grade urge to see her, to hear her voice-to catch a drift of her scent. That wasn’t like him. He just wasn’t the sort who needed constant contact-calling, texting, checking in, dropping by. But he’d caught himself thinking up excuses to do any of that, and had to order himself to knock it off.

He had work-and later in the afternoon a quick meeting with Loo about the bar. He had books to read, sports to watch, friends to hang with.

And the paperwork he should’ve done Sunday night to clear up.

Xander shook his head when he heard the unmistakable cough and rattle of Lelo’s shitty muffler.

“Get that thing out of here!” Xander shouted. “It’s bad for business.”

“I’m bringing you business, man. And half a jumbo Diablo sub.”

Xander paused long enough to glance over as Lelo, dripping rain, walked in. “Diablo?”

“I went by, saw your chick, and she is hot. She is smoking hot. Made me want some hot.”

“You went up to Naomi’s?”

“Still think of it as the old Parkerson place. Not for long if she hires us. Trade you the sub for a Mountain Dew.”

“Two minutes.” Xander went back to the brake pads. “So you went up, took a look at the yard?”

“I’ve been dreaming about that place since I sat up there smoking dope with Dikes. Now I find your smoking-hot chick’s pretty open and flexible about landscaping. She listens. She’s got the vision, man, just like with the photos.”

Lelo boosted himself up to sit on a workbench, unwrapped the sub. “We get a job like that? That place is a landmark-sad one these last few years, but still. Showing how we can turn it around’s got my parents doing the bebopping boogie. Going to try to work a deal for pictures we can use for promotion, keep her outlay down some. How come you let Denny play that country shit in here?”

“It’s all right, and it keeps him happy.” Finished, Xander walked over to the soda machine, plugged in coins for a Mountain Dew and a ginger ale.

He grabbed paper napkins-Diablos were hot, and messy-then joined Lelo on the bench.

“Is that Mrs. Wobaugh’s Camry?”

“Yeah, she’s driving it into the ground.”

“I had her for American history.”

“Me, too.”

“About bored me brainless.”

“Me, too.”

“Who said that shit about history repeating itself?”

“There are a lot of people who said that shit,” Xander told him. “A favorite is: ‘History, with all her volumes vast, hath but one page.’ That’s Byron.”

“Cool. So, why do we have to study it, be bored brainless, if it’s got one page?”

“We keep thinking if we do, we’ll change the next page. Not so much,” Xander decided. “But as somebody else said, hope springs. So high school kids get bored brainless.”

“Guess that’s it.”

They ate in the easy, companionable silence of old friends.

“Saw you got a couple banged up good in the lot.”

“Wreck last night on 119. Driver of the Honda blew a one-point-one.”

“D-W-fricking-I. Hurt bad?”

“Busted up some, and the other driver, too. Didn’t sound major. Cars have it worse.”

“Cha-ching for you.”

“Should be.” As he ate, Xander studied Lelo’s truck. “Are you bringing that piece of shit in here for me to fix?”

“Yeah. I can leave it if you can’t get to it, hitch a ride home.”

“I can get to it. I bought the damn muffler a month ago, figuring you’d come to your senses eventually. I can shuffle you in next.”

“Dude. Gratitude. The chief stopped me this morning on my way out of town-let me off when I told him I was coming back here after some business, and you were taking care of it.”

Unsurprised, Xander washed down fire-hot Diablo with ice-cold ginger ale. An excellent combo. “That’s one way to come to your senses.”

“I’m going to kind of miss the noise.”

“Only you, Lelo.”

“The chief told me they haven’t found Marla.”

Xander paused with the can of ginger ale halfway to his mouth. “She’s not back?”

“Nope, not back, nobody’s seen or heard from her. Since he had me pulled over, he asked if I had, if I noticed her with anybody Friday night. Saw anybody go out after her. It’s gotten serious, Xan. It’s like she poofed.”

“People don’t poof.”

“They run off-I tried that when I was pissed at my mother over something. Packed up my backpack and set off to walk to my grandparents’. I figured it only took about five minutes to get there-by car-and being eight I didn’t calculate the difference on foot so well. I got halfway there when my mother drove up. I figured I was in for it big-time, but she got out and cried all over me.”

He took a hefty bite of his sub. “Not the same, though, I guess.”

“We can hope it is. She took off on a mad, and she’s sitting somewhere sulking.” But the odds of that now, Xander thought, weren’t good. “It’s too long for that. Too damn long for that.”

“People are thinking she got taken by somebody.”

“People?”

“They were talking about it in Rinaldo’s when I got the sub. Local cops are talking to everybody now, from what I can see. Seems she hasn’t used her credit card since Friday either. And she didn’t take her car, any clothes. They had Chip and Patti look at that, to see if they could tell if she grabbed up some clothes. Everybody there saw her walk out of the bar, and that’s it.

“I can’t say I like her. I know I had sex with her a couple times, but Jesus, she has a mean streak. But it’s scary, man, thinking something really happened to her. A lot of people are fucked-up, you know? And do fucked-up things. I don’t like thinking about it.”

Neither did Xander.

But he couldn’t put it away. By the time he had Lelo’s truck on the lift-and Lelo, with a yen for ice cream, had wandered off to get some-he had a twist in his belly.

He got a clear picture of the look she’d tossed him when she’d come out of the bathroom-where Patti had dragged her on Friday night. The look she’d shot him, full of hot fury, before she shot up her middle finger and stormed out.

That was his last image of her-a girl he’d known since high school. One he’d had sex with because she was available. One he’d blown off countless times since because, like Lelo, he didn’t really like her.

She could have walked home in under five minutes, he calculated. And at the pace she’d stormed out, more like three. A dark road, he considered, even with some streetlights. A quiet road that time of night with nearly anybody out and about in the bar for the music and the company.

He tried to see the houses on the route she’d have taken, the shops if she’d cut across Water Street. Shops closed. People would have been awake-or some of them-but those at home most likely sitting and watching TV, playing on the computer. Not looking out the window after eleven at night.

Had somebody come along, offered her a ride? Would she have been stupid enough to get in the car?

Three-to-five-minute walk, why get into a stranger’s car?

Didn’t have to be a stranger, he admitted, which tightened the twist in his belly. And there, she’d have hopped right in, glad to have an ear to vent her temper to.

Nearly two thousand people made their home in the Cove, in town and around it. Small town by any measure, but no one knew everyone.

And a pissed-off, drunk woman made an easy target.

Had someone followed her out? He hadn’t seen anyone, but he’d shrugged and looked away after she’d shot him the look and the finger.

He couldn’t be sure.

Even people you knew had secrets.

Hadn’t he found black lace panties in the Honda of the very married Rick Graft-whose wife wouldn’t have been able to wish herself into panties that small-when he’d detailed the interior?

Graft came off as a happily married father of three, who coached basketball for nine- and ten-year-olds and managed the local hardware store.

Xander had tossed the panties, figuring it was better all around that way. But he couldn’t toss away the knowledge.

Or how Mrs. Ensen had smelled of weed and cheap wine, and the mints and spray cologne she’d used to try to mask it, when he’d answered the breakdown call and gone out to change her tire.

And she a grandmother, for Christ’s sake.

No, you couldn’t know everyone, and even when you did, you didn’t.

But he knew Marla wouldn’t sulk alone for going on four days.

He was very much afraid that when they found her, it would be too late.

Eighteen

Having a houseful of men had some advantages. Xander and Kevin carted out her shipping boxes and the smaller box of prints she’d framed for potential sale locally.

It left her free to carry her camera bag.

“Thanks. I’ll get these shipped off this morning.”

“You’re heading to New York, Xan.”

“Weird,” was his thought on it. “Gotta go.” He tapped Naomi’s camera bag. “Going to work, too?”

“I am. I’ll take an hour or two before I head to town.”

“Where?” When her eyebrows raised, he kept it casual. “Just wondering.”

“Down below the bluff. We’ll see if the rain washed in anything interesting. And pretty spring morning. Boats should be out.”

“Good luck with that.” He yanked her in for a kiss, gave the dog a quick rub. “See you later.”

She’d be within sight of the house, he thought as he swung onto his bike. And he’d already had a short, private conversation with Kevin about keeping an eye out.

Best he could do, but he wouldn’t be altogether easy until they found out what happened to Marla.

–

Naomi considered taking the car. She could drive nearly a half a mile closer, then take a track down through the woods-since she wanted shots there first-make her way down to the shoreline.

But quiet area or not, she didn’t like the idea of leaving her car on the side of the road with her prints locked inside.

She got the leash, which immediately had Tag racing in the opposite direction. Since she had his number, she only shrugged and started down the curve of road.

He slunk after her.

She stopped, took a dog cookie out of her pocket. “You want this, you wear this until we’re off the road.” She held out the leash.

Dislike for the leash lost to greed.

He strained against the leash, tugged it, did his best to tangle himself in it. Naomi clipped it to her belt with a carabiner, then stopped to frame in some white wildflowers the rain had teased open like stars on the side of the road.

He behaved better in the forest, occupying himself by sniffing the air, nosing the ground.

Naomi took carefully angled shots of a nurse log surrounded by ferns and blanketed with lichen and moss-yellows, rusty reds, greens on wood studded with mushrooms that spread like alien creatures. A pair of trees, easily ten feet high, rose from it, the roots wrapped around the decaying log as if in an embrace.

New life, she thought, from the dead and dying.

The long rain soaked the green so it tinted the light, seducing wildflowers to dance in sunbeam and shadow. It scented the air with earth and pine and secrets.

After an hour she nearly headed back, left the shoreline for another day. But she wanted the sparkle of sun on the water after the misty damp of the forest. She wanted the deeper, rougher green of those knuckles of land, the strong gray of rock against the blues.

Another hour, she decided, and then she’d pack it up, run her errands.

Thrilled to be off the leash, Tag raced ahead. She turned onto the bluff trail, one he knew well now. He barked, danced in place whenever she stopped to take other pictures.

“Don’t rush me.” But she could smell the water now, too, and quickened her pace.

The trail angled down, and proved muddy enough from the rains that she had to slow again. Considering the mud, she realized she’d now have to wash the damn dog before running into town.

“Didn’t think of that, did you?” she muttered, and used handy branches to support herself on the slick dirt.

All worth it. Worth it all in that one moment when the water and pockets of land opened up through the trees.

She balanced herself, risked a spill to get shots of the view through low-hanging branches with their fernlike needles.

Down below it would be bright, sparkling, but here, with the angle, the fan of branches, the inlet looked mysterious. Like a secret revealed through a magic door.

Satisfied, she picked her way down to where the dog barked like a maniac.

“Leave the birds alone! I want the birds.”

She scraped her muddy boots on rippling rock, climbed over them. Caught the diamond glint she’d hoped for, and happily, just beyond the channel, a boat with red sails.

She blocked out the dog barking until she got what she wanted, until the red sails eased into frame. When he raced back to her, she ignored him, took a long shot of the inlet, of the twin forks of water drifting by the floating hump of green.

“Look, if you’re going to tag along, you just have to wait until I’m done before- What have you got? Where did you get that?”

He stood, tail ticking, and a shoe in his mouth.

A woman’s shoe, she noted, open toed, long skinny heel in cotton-candy pink.

“You’re not taking that home. You can just forget about that.”

When he dropped it at her feet, she stepped around it. “And I’m not touching it.”

As she picked her way down, he grabbed up the shoe, raced ahead again.

She stepped down onto the coarse sand, the bumpy cobbles of the narrow strip. Tag sent up a fierce spate of barking, a series of high-pitched whines that had her spinning around to snap at him.

“Cut it out! What’s wrong with you this morning?”

She lowered her camera with hands gone to ice.

The dog stood at the base of the bluff, barking at something sprawled on the skinny swatch of sand. She made herself walk closer until her legs began to tremble, until the weight fell on her chest.

She went down to her knees, fighting for breath, staring at the body.

Marla Roth lay, wrists bound, her hands outstretched as though reaching for something she’d never hold.

The bright, sparkling light went gray; the air filled with a roar, a wild, high wave.

Then the dog licked her face, whined, tried to nose his head under her limp hand. The weight eased, left a terrible ache in its place.

“Okay. Okay. Stay here.” Her hands shook as she unlooped his leash, clipped it on him. “Stay with me. God, oh God. Just hold on. Can’t be sick. Won’t be sick.”

Setting her teeth, she pulled out her phone.

–

She didn’t want to stay; she couldn’t leave. It didn’t matter that the police had told her to stay where she was, to touch nothing. She could have ignored that. But she couldn’t leave Marla alone.

But she went back to the rocks, climbed up enough to sit so the air could wash over her clammy face. The dog paced, tugged on the leash, barked until she hooked an arm around him, pulled him down to sit beside her.

It calmed them both, at least a little. Calmed her enough that she realized she could do the one other thing she wanted. She took out her phone again, called Xander.

“Hey.” His voice pitched over loud music, noisy machines.

“Xander.”

It only took one word, the sound in her voice on a single word, to have his stomach knotting.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“I’m not hurt. I’m down below the bluff. I… It’s Marla. She’s… I called the police. I found her. I called the police, and they’re coming.”

“I’m on my way. Call Kevin. He can get down there faster, but I’m coming now.”

“It’s all right. I’m all right. I can wait. I can hear the sirens. I can already hear them.”

“Ten minutes.” Though he hated to, he ended the call, jammed the phone in his pocket, swung a leg over his bike.

On the rock, Naomi stared at the phone before remembering to put it away. Not in shock, she thought-she remembered how it felt to go into shock. Just a little dazed, a little out of herself.

“We have to wait,” she told the dog. “They have to get down the trail, so we have to wait. Someone hurt her. They hurt her, and they must have raped her. They took her clothes off. Her shoes.”

She swallowed hard, pressed her face against Tag’s fur.

“And they hurt her. You can see her throat. The bruises around her throat. I know what that means, I know what that means.”

The panic wanted to rear back, but she bore down, forced herself to take careful breaths. “Not going to break.”

The dog smelled of the rain that had dripped from wet trees, of wet ground, of good, wet dog. She used it to keep centered. As long as she had the dog, right here, she could get through it.

When she heard them coming, she drew more breaths, then got to her feet. “I’m here,” she called out.

The chief broke through the trees first, followed by a uniformed deputy carrying a case. Then another with a camera strapped around his neck.

She couldn’t see their eyes behind their sunglasses.

“She’s over there.”

His head turned. She heard him let out a breath of his own before he looked back at her. “I need you to wait here.”

“Yes, I can wait here.”

She sat again-her legs still weren’t altogether steady-and looked out to the water, to its sparkling beauty. After a time, Tag relaxed enough to sit down, lean against her.

She heard someone coming, too fast for safety on the steep, muddy track. Tag sprang up again, wagged everywhere in happy hello.

“They want me to wait here,” she told Xander.

He knelt down beside her, pulled her in.

She could have broken then-oh, it would have been so easy to break. And so weak.

He eased back, skimmed a hand over her face. “I’m going to take you up to the house.”

“I’m supposed to wait.”

“Fuck that. They can talk to you up at the house.”

“I’d rather do it here. I’d rather not bring this into the house until I have to. I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I called before I…”

She trailed off as the chief walked back to them. “Xander.”

“I called him after I called you. I was pretty shaky.”

“Understandable.”

“I… I’m sorry, the dog… I didn’t see her at first. I was taking pictures, and I didn’t see her. He had a shoe-her shoe, I think. I just thought… I’m sorry, I know we weren’t supposed to touch anything, but I didn’t see her at first.”

“Don’t you worry about that. You came down to take pictures?”

“Yes. I often do. I-we-I mean the dog and I walked from the house, through the forest. I spent some time in there getting photos, but I wanted to take some here. After the rain. There was a boat with a red sail, and Tag had the shoe. A woman’s pink heel. I don’t know what he did with it.”

Sam took the water bottle out of her jacket pocket, handed it to her. “You have a little water now, honey.”

“All right.”

“You didn’t see anybody else?”

“No. He kept barking, and whining, but I didn’t pay any attention because I wanted the shot. Then I yelled at him, and turned. And I saw her. I went a little closer, to be sure. And I could see… So I called the police. I called you, and I called Xander.”

“I want to take her up to the house. I want to take her away from here.”

“You do that.” Sam gave Naomi’s shoulder a light rub. “You go on home now. I’m going to check in with you before I go.”

Xander took her hand, kept it firm in his as they started up the track. She didn’t speak until they were in the trees.

“I hurt her.”

“Naomi.”

“I hurt her on Friday night, at the bar. I meant to. And she walked out of there with her wrist aching, her pride ripped up, and her temper leading her. Otherwise, she’d have left with her friend.”

“I looked at you instead of her. You want me to feel guilty about that, to try to work some blame up because it was you, not her? This isn’t about you and me, Naomi. It’s about the son of a bitch who did this to her.”

It was the tone as much as the words that snapped her back. The raw impatience with anger bubbling beneath.

“You’re right. Maybe that’s why I needed to call you. I wouldn’t get endless there-theres and poor Naomis from you. That sort of thing just makes it all worse. And it’s not about me.”

“Finding her’s about you. Having to see that’s about you. You don’t want any poor Naomis, I’ll keep them to myself, but goddamn I wish you’d gone anywhere else to take pictures this morning.”

“So do I. We sat right out on the deck earlier. And she was down there. She had to have already been there.” She took a breath. “Does she have family?”

“Her mother lives in town. Her father left I don’t know how many years ago. She has a brother in the navy, joined up right out of high school. A couple years ahead of me. I didn’t know him really. And she has Chip. This is going to flatten him.”

“They don’t care about that.”

“Who?”

“Killers. They don’t care about any of that, they don’t think about all the other lives they rip apart. He strangled her. I could see the bruising, her throat. He dumped her clothes near her. I think she was wearing those pink heels on Friday night. I think she was. She must’ve been with him since then, since she left the bar.”

He wanted to pick her up, just lift her up and carry her back to the house. Instead, he kept a solid grip on her hand.

“There’s no point in telling you not to think about it, so I’ll say yeah, it’s most likely he took her after she left the bar. We don’t know what happened after that. They’ve got ways to figure out if she was killed there or somewhere else and dumped there.”

“Yes, they have ways.”

When they came out of the forest she saw the two patrol cars, Xander’s bike.

“If he didn’t kill her there, why take her all that way? Why not dump her body in the forest, or bury it there? Or drop her in the water?”

“I don’t know, Naomi. But if you hadn’t gone down there this morning, it’s likely she wouldn’t have been found yet. You wouldn’t see her from the house, not as close as she was to the foot of the bluff. And from the water? Maybe if somebody came close to shore, maybe. So maybe leaving her there gave him more time to get away.”

As they approached the house he looked over at her. “Do you want me to have Kevin pull the crew off for the day?”

“No. No, for once I think I prefer noise to quiet. I think I’m going to paint.”

“Paint?”

“The second guest room-my uncles’ room. I wouldn’t be any good at work, and I don’t want to go into town. Errands can wait.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Xander, you’ve got a business to run.”

“I get not wanting a lot of there-theres.” He had his arm around her waist now-a step closer to just carrying her-and kept his voice level. “I’d suck at giving them anyway. But I’m not going anywhere, so we’ll paint.”

She stopped, turned to him, into him, let herself just hold on. “Thank you.”

Because it soothed him, and hopefully her, he ran his hands up and down her back. “I’m a crap painter.”

“Me, too.”

She went upstairs to set up without him. She knew he lingered below to tell Kevin so she wouldn’t have to. When he came up, he set down a cooler.

“Some water, some Cokes. Thirsty work, painting.”

“Especially when you’re crap at it. You told Kevin.”

“The chief’s going to come up, check on you, so yeah. He’ll keep it to himself until then, and the crew will do the same to give the chief time enough to tell her mother, and Chip.”

“Mason says that’s the worst part, the notifications. I always wonder if it’s that hard to give, how much harder it is to get.”

“I think it has to be worse not to know. If she hadn’t been found, or not for a while longer. It’s got to be harder not knowing.”

She nodded, turned away. Some of the girls her father had killed had been missing for years. Even now, after all this time, the FBI wasn’t sure they’d found all the remains.

Bowes gave them another every few years-for some new privilege. And, as Mason had told her so many years ago, for the fresh attention.

“So… you don’t like this piss-yellow color?”

She tried to center herself, studied the walls. “I knew it reminded me of something.”

He didn’t fill the silence with small talk while they worked. Something else to be grateful for. Rolling the primer on the walls, covering something ugly with something clean, soothed.

The dog wandered in and out, and finally settled on stretching himself across the doorway for a nap, so they couldn’t leave the room without alerting him.

They’d finished priming two walls, and had begun to debate which of them had a lousier hand at cutting in, when the dog’s head shot up and his tail beat on the floor.

Sam stepped up to the doorway.

“Got yourself a guard here.”

Naomi clasped her hands together to keep them still. “Are you- I’m sorry, there’s nowhere to sit down in here. We can go downstairs.”

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m all right. I wanted to keep busy, so…”

“I hear that. First off, if you’re nervous about being alone up here, I can have one of the men sit on the house tonight.”

“She won’t be alone.” As Naomi started to speak, Xander glanced at her. “Consider it the fee for the crap paint job.”

“It’d be good to have someone stay with you. I just want to get your timeline, if you remember about what time you left the house this morning.”

“Ah. It was maybe quarter to eight. I don’t know exactly how long it took me to walk down to where I caught the track. I took some shots, wildflowers, along the way. I can show you.”

“I’m not doubting your word,” Sam assured her. “Just trying to get a sense.”

“I think I was at least an hour in the forest. And I took some shots from where it thins and you can see the channel. And after I went down, I took more from that big flat rock-the first one you come to from the track. That’s when Tag ran up with the shoe. I didn’t notice the time, but it had to be after nine. Then the dog kept barking and whining and I turned to tell him to knock it off, and I saw her.”

“Okay. I’m sorry about this, Ms. Carson.”

“Naomi. Naomi’s fine.”

“I’m sorry about this, Naomi, and I have to say I’m grateful you walked that way today. It might’ve been another day or two before anyone found her otherwise.”

“You’re going to tell Chip,” Xander put in. “I know he’s not next of kin, but you’re going to tell him before he hears somebody talking about it.”

With a nod, Sam took off his ball cap, scraped fingers through gray-streaked brown hair, set it back on again. “I’m going to see him right after I talk to her mother. If you think of some other details, Naomi, or if you just need to talk it through, you give me a call. This house is looking better than it ever did-well, in my lifetime. I’m a phone call away,” he added, and gave the dog a quick rub before leaving.

–

She woke herself from the nightmare, ripped herself out of the cellar, under a nurse log in the dark, green forest. The cellar where she’d found Marla’s body. The fear came with her, and the images of the killing room her father had built, and all the blood and death in it.

Her breath wheezed out, wanted to clog up. She fought to hitch it in, shoved it out again.

Then hands gripped her shoulders. She’d have screamed if she’d had the air.

“It’s me. It’s Xander. Hold on a minute.”

He turned her, one hand still firm on her shoulder, and switched on the light.

One look at her had his hands taking her face, a hard grip.

“Slow it down, Naomi. Look at me, slow it down. You’re okay, just slow it down. You’re going to hyperventilate and pass out on me otherwise. Look at me.”

She pulled air in-God, it burned-fought to hold it, slow it before she let it out. She kept her eyes on his, so blue. A deep, bold blue, like water she could sink into and float.

“Better. You’re okay, slower, slow it down some more. I’m going to get you some water.”

She lifted her hands, pressed them to his. She needed those eyes, just that deep blue for another minute.

He kept talking to her. She didn’t really register the words, just the hands on her face, the blue of his eyes. The burn eased, the weight lifted.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid. Water’s right there, on your nightstand. I’m not going anywhere.”

He reached around her, picked up the bottle, uncapped it. “Slow on this, too.”

She nodded, sipped. “I’m all right.”

“Not yet, but close. You’re cold.” He rubbed those work-rough hands up and down her arms. He looked over her shoulder, said, “Ease off now.”

She glanced over, saw Tag with his front paws on the bed.

“I woke up the dog, too. At the risk of being stupid on your scale, I am sorry. Nightmare.”

Not her first, he thought, but the first time he’d seen the full-blown panic. “Not surprising, considering. You should get back under the blankets, warm up.”

“You know, I think I’ll get up, try to work awhile.”

“Nothing much to take pictures of at… three twenty in the morning.”

“It’s not just taking them.”

“I guess not. We should go down, scramble some eggs.”

“Scramble eggs? In the middle of the night.”

“It’s not the middle of the night on your time clock. Yeah, eggs. We’re up anyway.”

“You don’t have to be,” she began, but he just rolled out of bed.

“We’re up,” he repeated, and walked over to open the doors. Tag bulleted out. “Up and out. Waffles,” he considered, glancing over to study her as he pulled on pants. “I bet you could make waffles.”

“I could, if I had a waffle maker. Which I don’t.”

“Too bad. Scrambled eggs, then.”

She sat a moment, bringing her knees up to her chest.

He just handled things, she thought. Nightmares, panic attacks, hurt dogs on the side of the road, dead bodies at the foot of the bluff.

How did he do it?

“You’re hungry.”

“I’m awake.” He picked up the cotton pants and T-shirt he’d gotten off her in the night, tossed them in her direction.

“Do you like eggs Benedict?”

“Never had it.”

“You’ll like it,” Naomi decided, and got out of bed.

He was right. The normality of cooking breakfast soothed and calmed. The process of it, the scents, a good hit of coffee. The raw edges of the dream, of memories she wanted locked away, faded off.

And she was right. He liked her eggs Benedict.

“Where has this been all my life?” he wondered as they ate at the kitchen counter. “And who’s Benedict?”

She frowned over it, then nearly laughed. “I have no idea.”

“Whoever he was, kudos. Best four A.M. breakfast I’ve ever had.”

“I owed you. You came when I called, and you stayed. I wouldn’t have asked you to stay.”

“You don’t like to ask.”

“I don’t. That’s probably a flaw I like to think of as self-reliance.”

“It can be both. Anyway, you’ll get used to it. To asking.”

“And you brought me out of a panic attack. Have you had experience there?”

“No, but it’s just common sense.”

“Your sense,” she corrected. “Which also had you distracting me with eggs.”

“Really good eggs. Nothing wrong with self-reliance. I’d be a proponent of that. And nothing wrong with asking either. It’s using that crosses the line. We’re in a thing, Naomi.”

“A thing?”

“I’m still working out the definition and scope of the thing. How about you?”

“I’ve avoided being in a thing.”

“Me, too. Funny how it sneaks up on you.” In a gesture as easy, and intimate, as his voice, he danced his fingers down her spine. “And here we are before sunup, eating these fancy eggs I didn’t expect to like with a dog you didn’t expect to want hoping there’ll be leftovers. I’m good with that, so I guess I’m good with being in a thing with you.”

“You don’t ask questions.”

“I like figuring things out for myself. Maybe that’s a flaw or self-reliance.” He shrugged. “Other times, it strikes me it’s fine to wait until somebody gives me the answers.”

“Sometimes they’re the wrong answers.”

“It’s stupid to ask then, if you’re not ready for whatever the answers are going to be. I like who you are-right here and right now. So I’m good with it.”

“Things can evolve, or devolve.” And why couldn’t she just let it go, and be right here, right now?

“Yeah, can and do. How long did you say your uncles had been together?”

“Over twenty years.”

“That’s a chunk. I bet it hasn’t been roses every day of the over twenty.”

“No.”

“How long have we been in this thing, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure when to start the clock.”

“The Day of the Dog. Let’s use that. How long ago was it we found the dog?”

“It’s been about… a little over a month, I guess.”

“Well, in the time’s-relative area, that’s a chunk.”

She let out a laugh. “World record for me.”

“Look what you’ve got to work with,” he said, gave her that cocky grin. “Let’s see what Month Three brings around. For now, when we’re done with these really good eggs, we should clean it up, take some coffee up to the deck, wait for sunrise.”

When she said nothing, he touched her arm lightly, then went back to eating. “This is your place, Naomi. Nobody can take it or what it means to you away except you.”

“You’re right. Coffee on the deck sounds perfect.”

Nineteen

Brooding, worrying, second-guessing accomplished nothing.

Still, she sat down, wrote a long email to a friend who would understand. Ashley McLean-now Ashley Murdoch-reminded her, always had, always would, that life could go on.

She’d nearly called, just wanting to hear Ashley’s voice, but the time difference meant she’d wake her friend before Ashley got out of bed with her husband of ten years come June, got her kids fed and off to school and herself off to work.

And emails came easier-gave her time to compose her thoughts, edit things out. All she really needed was that touchstone.

It helped, it all helped, making breakfast, watching the sunrise with the man she had an undefined thing with, gearing up for a day of errands while construction noise filled the house.

Life had to go on.

With the dog as company-and why had she tried to convince either of them she wanted him to stay home?-she drove into town. At the post office, she unloaded boxes, carted them in, found herself caught for a full ten minutes in that oddity of small-town conversation.

“Check one off the list,” she told the dog.

She drove down Water Street. Busier today, she noted. Full-blown spring didn’t just bring out the green and the flowers, it brought out the tourists.

They wandered the streets, the shops, with go-cups and cameras and shopping bags. As she looked for parking, she saw boats gliding or putting out of slips, and the kayak/bike rental, with those colorful boats displayed, doing a bang-up business.

She really wanted to try kayaking.

She found her parking spot, pulled in, turned around to the dog.

“You have to wait in the car-I warned you-but we can take a walk around after this stop and before the grocery store. Best I can offer.”

He tried to get out when she opened the back to get the box, and the tussle that ensued to deny him illustrated clearly he’d put on weight and muscle. Gone was the weak, bone-thin dog limping down the shoulder of the road.

She got the back closed again, had to lean against it to catch her breath. When she glanced back, he was all but pressed against the rear window, blue eyes devastated.

“I can’t take you into the shop. That’s how it goes.”

She picked up the box she’d had to put down to win the war, started down the sidewalk. Looked back.

Now he had his muzzle out the partially opened side window.

“Don’t let him win,” she muttered, and aimed her eyes forward.

She knew Jenny worked that morning, as Jenny had called her the night before. Had offered sympathy and comfort. Had offered to bring food, bring alcohol, bring anything needed.

Friendship so easily offered was as unusual for Naomi as ten minutes of small talk in the post office.

She opened the door of the shop to a lovely citrus scent, an artistic clutter of pretty things, and the bustle of business. The bustle made her consider coming back during a lull-if she’d known when and if lulls happened. But Jenny, discussing an old washbasin currently filled with soaps and lotions with a customer, spotted her and gave her a cheerful come-ahead signal.

So she wandered, saw half a dozen things she wanted to buy. Reminded herself she hadn’t come to shop, had a house in crazed construction and shouldn’t shop.

And ended up picking up a set of wrought-iron candle stands that absolutely belonged in her library.

“Let me take that.” The minute she could work herself over, Jenny took the box, set it down. “And do this first.”

Smelling lightly of peaches, she wrapped her arms around Naomi, tight, tight.

“I’m so glad to see you.” She loosened the hug enough to tip back, study Naomi’s face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Xander stayed with you?”

“He stayed.”

“All right. We’re not going to think about it right now. It’s all anyone’s talking about when they catch a breath, but we’re not going to think about it.”

“You’re awfully busy.”

“Tour package.” Jenny took a satisfied and slightly calculating glance around the shop. “We’ve got two busloads in town for the day. The town planner worked the deal months ago. So we’re very carefully not mentioning what you and I aren’t thinking about in front of tourists. Or trying not to mention.”

She bent down to pick up the box again. “I want to show these to Krista. Come with me. She just went in the back, and we’re covered out here for a few minutes.”

“You’re really busy,” Naomi reminded her, but Jenny was already nudging her along.

Jenny skirted around tables, displays, all bright chatter, and reminded Naomi of a pretty bird singing as it flitted from branch to branch.

She skirted around a counter and through a door into a storeroom/office area where a woman with streaky brown hair bundled up and held in place with a pair of jeweled chopsticks sat at a computer.

“Tracked the shipment-it’s out for delivery, praise Jesus.”

“I’ve got some potential stock and Naomi Carson for you, Krista.”

Krista swiveled on her chair and slid off a pair of purple cheaters. She had a good face with wide brown eyes, a long, full mouth-and the glint of a tiny ruby stud on the left side of her nose.

“I’m so happy to meet you. Pretend there’s a seat I can offer you. I really like your work,” she added. “I’ve combed your website several times, and nagged Jenny to get you in here.”

“I love your shop-which I’ve avoided because I’m weak. I’ve already picked out candle stands, and I probably can’t leave without that oval wall mirror with the antiqued bronze frame.”

“Jenny’s piece.”

“Flea market rehab,” Jenny confirmed. “Naomi brought us some photos.” Jenny set the box on the crowded desk. “I resisted pawing through myself.”

“It’s good to remember the pecking order around here.” Pushing off the chair, Krista opened the box, then put the cheaters back on to take a close look.

She’d gone with small prints, wildflower studies, a series of four of the inlet, one of the marina, another set of nurse logs.

“They’re beautifully matted and framed. You do that yourself?”

“Part of the process, yes.”

“I can sell these.” She propped a pair against the box, stepped back, nodded. “Yes, we can sell these. In fact, with the tour, we can sell some of these as soon as we get them on the floor.”

She took off the cheaters again, tapped them against her hand. Then named her price point. “Standard sixty-forty,” she added.

“That works for me.”

“Good, because I really want them. And I can take more, especially of local flora and fauna, local water scenes, town scenes. I can sell them as unframed prints, too. We can think about that. I’d love the inlet and marina shots as postcards.”

“I can do postcards.”

Turning, Krista wrapped an arm around Jenny’s shoulders in an easy, unstudied way that told Naomi they were good friends. “She can do postcards. Do you know how long I’ve wanted classy postcards?”

Jenny grinned, slid her arm around Krista’s waist. “Since you opened.”

“Since I opened. I’ll take two dozen postcards right off, as soon as you can get them to me. No, three. Three dozen. I can sell a dozen to the B-and-B in a flash.”

“A variety of shots?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Krista confirmed. “Jen, get these priced and out on the floor. Pick your spot. She’s my right hand,” she told Naomi. “Even if she’s planning to leave me in the lurch.”

“Not for months yet. I know just where to put these.” Jenny stacked them back in the box, hefted it.

“If you’ve got a few minutes, Naomi, I’ll print out the contract for what we’re taking.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t leave without seeing me,” Jenny said, and went out to work on the display.

“I’m going to do an order sheet for the postcards while I’m at it. How’s work going up on the bluff?”

“Really well, which is why I need those candle stands, the sinuous ones. They need to be in my library. I think the mirror’s for the foyer. But… it needs to be in there somewhere. And whatever smells so damn good out there.”

“That’s mock orange in our diffusers today.”

“I’m told I need those-the plants. I think I need them in the diffusers, too.”

“Tell Jenny you get one-on the house. We’re going to make some money together, Naomi.”

She left with more than she’d taken in, justified the purchases. The house needed things, and Krista was right. They’d make some money together. No question of it, as four of the framed prints sold before Jenny rang her up.

“We’ve got work to do, Tag.”

She clipped the leash on him when he was too distracted with joy to object, loaded her purchases in, got her camera and backpack out.

“Let’s take that walk and make some postcards.”

–

By the time she got home, the crew was knocking off, again proving the advantage of men in the house. The tile team carried her groceries in while Kevin grabbed her gift shop finds.

“I guess you saw Jenny.”

“And it cost me. But I also now have art displayed by her hands-and a contract for more.” She stopped in the living room, felt the satisfaction of a day well spent kick up another notch. “You finished the crown molding! It just makes the room.”

“It’s a busy day. Why don’t we go up, and you can see what else we finished?”

“If you’re talking about my bathroom, I may break down in tears.”

With a grin, he tapped her arm. “Grab some tissues.”

She nearly needed them.

“You can’t walk on it until tomorrow,” he warned.

“It’s okay. Actually going in might bring me to my knees. It’s beautiful, Kevin. It’s beautiful work. Everything.”

She’d wanted muted and restful, heading toward Zen, and had it with the stone gray tiles, the soft pearly gray of the walls, the gray veining in the white granite counter. She’d added rustic with the big claw-foot tub, gone indulgent with the oversized glass-walled steam shower.

“The brushed nickel was the right choice,” he said. “Chrome would’ve been too shiny. And the open shelving’s going to work, too, because you’re a tidy soul from what I’ve seen.”

“I’m going to bring some blue in-with towels, some bottles. I saw some old blue bottles at Cecil’s. And some green with a plant. Maybe one of those bamboo deals.”

“You oughta put some of your pictures on the wall. Some of the ones of the channel.”

“Brushed nickel frames, dark gray matting. Good thought. I just love it.”

“Glad to hear it. I didn’t know if you wanted your desk back in here, and didn’t want to move it until you said.”

“Maybe tomorrow, when the room’s fully functional.”

“We made some progress on your studio, if you want to see that.”

She wanted to see everything. They spent the next ten minutes going over her choices, discussing timelines. And she began to buy a clue.

“Kevin, are you keeping an eye on me?”

“Maybe. I figured Xander might be coming by shortly.”

“And I imagine your wife and kids are home, wondering where you are.”

“I’ve got time. You know, I wanted to ask you about-”

“You’re making time,” she interrupted. “And I appreciate the thought, but I’m fine. I have a fierce dog.”

Kevin glanced back to where Tag lay, studying his own thumping tail as if fascinated, while Molly snoozed beside him.

“Yeah, I see that.”

“And I have a brown belt.”

“I’ve got a couple of them.”

“In karate. I could’ve gone for the black, but brown was enough. And that’s on top of the self-defense courses I’ve taken. Single woman, traveling alone,” she added, though that hadn’t been the primary motivator.

“I’ll be careful not to get in a fight with you, but I’d feel better if I hung around until Xander gets here. And I did have a couple of questions about the bathroom off the green room.”

He distracted her with talk of tile borders and showerheads, with plans on demo-the black-and-blue bath-until Tag’s head reared up, and he raced off barking. Molly yawned, rolled over, and went back to snooze.

“Must be Xander.”

“Then you’re welcome to stay, have a beer with him, or get out.”

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

They walked down while Tag danced and barked at the front door. She wondered if the thing she was in with Xander had progressed to the point of giving him a key and the alarm code.

It seemed a very big aspect of the thing, one to think about carefully.

But when she opened the door, Tag raced out and rushed lovingly to Lelo.

“There’s that boy. There he is!”

They adored each other for a moment before Lelo straightened. “Hey, Kev. Hi, Naomi. I got those drawings and figures for you.”

The Naomi who’d bought the house would have said thanks, taken the packet, and said good-bye. The Naomi she was trying to find took a breath. “Why don’t you bring them in? Kevin’s going to have a beer. You can have one with him.”

“I don’t say no to beer after the workday. Want a beer?” he asked the dog.

“He’s underage,” Naomi said, and had Lelo laughing like a loon.

She went back to the kitchen, opened two beers, then the accordion doors. “I’m going for wine. Those spring chairs out there don’t look like much yet, but they’re comfortable.”

She could hear their voices, muted, quiet, as she poured wine. Curious, she opened the packet out on the counter, began to study the drawings.

When she stepped out, Lelo and Kevin sat in the rusted spring chairs like a couple of guys on the deck of a boat, studying the horizon.

Both dogs sat at the rail, doing the same.

“Lelo, you’re an artist.”

He snickered, flushed lightly pink. “Aw, well. I can draw a little.”

“You can draw a lot. And you’ve turned the grounds into a garden oasis without compromising the space or the open feel. And the raised beds on the deck, that’s inspired.”

“Can I have a look?” Kevin took the drawings, paged through, studied. “This is nice, Lelo. It’s real nice.”

“There’s a brochure in there with different pavers, different patterns. We can get you whatever you want in there.”

She nodded, sat down on the glider to look over the estimates. He’d done it several ways. The entire grounds and deck-holy shit!-and breaking it down section by section.

And breaking it down yet again with the bartering factored.

“My dad did most of the figuring and math there.”

“It’s a lot of math and figuring.” And would take some of her own, but…

“I want the raised beds on the deck. Cooking can relax me after I’ve worked all day.”

“If you ditch Xander, maybe you’d marry me. I can’t cook worth shit,” Lelo told her, “but I sure like to eat.”

“I’ll keep you in reserve. I really want the front done, just the way you’ve drawn it. But I’m going to need another five percent off for the photographs.”

“I can text my dad, see what he has to say. I’m thinking he’ll go for that.”

“And you can tell him if this turns out the way we all want, I should be able to do the rest in the fall. Or next spring. You can’t do the whole front until the Dumpster’s gone, but I’d love to see some of these trees and shrubs in place.”

“Give me a sec.”

When Lelo pulled out his phone, the dogs leaped up and raced down the deck steps.

“That must be Xander,” Kevin noted. “Dogs are a good early-warning system.”

The dogs ran back. Molly settled, but Tag ran away, ran back, all but doing cartwheels until Xander caught up with him.

“Are we having a party?”

“Apparently.”

“Good thing I brought more beer.” He came up with the six-pack he carried, setting it down long enough to grab Naomi’s face and give her a kiss that went from hello to steamy in a heartbeat.

“Just letting them know to get their own woman. Do you want me to top that off?”

She looked down, a little blankly, at her wine. “No, it’s good.”

“Another round?” he asked Kevin.

“No, one’s enough.”

He glanced at Lelo, who wandered the deck as he talked on the phone, and held up his three-quarters-full beer.

“Just me, then.” Xander took the six-pack inside, came back out with a cold one. “What’s all this?”

“My landscape. You didn’t tell me Lelo was an artist.”

“He’s got a knack.” After he sat and blew out a cleansing breath, Xander took the first pull.

“Long day?” Naomi asked.

“And then some. Finished now.”

Lelo wandered back. “We can start next week.”

“Next week?”

“My dad’s going to want to come take a look for himself-mostly to meet you, that’s the truth. He likes knowing who he’s working for, but we can start next week. Probably Tuesday. He’s fine with the five percent more.” Lelo held out a hand. “We have to shake on it. I’d rather kiss you, but Xander’d pitch me over the deck.”

“I’d knock you unconscious first so it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“That’s a friend.” Lelo sat again, scrubbed Tag’s head, then Molly’s. “You’re going to have to teach him not to dig in your beds or lift his leg on the shrubs.”

“God. I never thought of that.”

“He’s a good dog. He’ll learn.”

Naomi sipped her wine. They were subtle about it-they’d known each other so long, these men. But she caught the signals passing back and forth.

Like Xander, she let out a breath. “Why don’t we talk about the elephant on the deck? I’m not the tender sort, and don’t need to be shielded. I don’t like it either. So has there been anything more about Marla’s murder?”

Lelo looked down at the beer he dangled between his legs and said nothing.

“They did the autopsy,” Xander said. “And there’s some talk leaking out. It could just be talk.”

“What could be just talk?”

“That she’d been raped, probably multiple times. Choked multiple times, cut up a little, beat on more than a little.”

“I don’t get how somebody could do that to somebody else,” Lelo murmured. “I just don’t. They’re saying she wasn’t killed down below here, just dumped there that way. I heard Chip about went crazy.”

“He loved her,” Kevin said. “He always did.”

“It couldn’t have been anybody from the Cove,” Lelo put in. “We’d know if somebody who could do that lived right here.”

No, Naomi thought, you don’t always know what lives with you.

–

She lost herself in work. She rarely worked on an agenda other than her own, and found it interesting to create photos with Krista’s specific wants in mind.

When she talked to or emailed her family, she said nothing of murder.

She didn’t give Xander a key-nor did he ask for one. But she thought about it.

Though it brought on a massive stress headache, she attended Marla’s funeral. She sat through the short service with Xander, with Kevin and Jenny flanking her other side.

It seemed to her nearly everyone in town had come, wearing sober faces, paying respects to Marla’s mother, to Chip.

The church smelled too strongly of lilies-the pink ones draped over the glossy coffin, the pink and white ones rising in sprays from tall baskets.

She hadn’t been inside a church in more than a decade. They reminded her of her childhood, of Sunday dresses stiff with starch, of Wednesdaynight Bible readings.

Of her father standing at the lectern reciting scripture in his deep voice, so much sincerity on his face as he spoke of God’s will, or God’s love, of following a righteous path.

Being inside one now, the sun streaming through the stained glass, the lilies clogging the air, the reverend reading all-too-familiar passages, she wished she’d stayed away. She hadn’t known Marla, had only had a difficult encounter with her.

But she’d found her, so she’d made herself come.

Relief came like a sharp wind through musty memories when she stepped outside into the clear, uncolored sunlight, the clean, unscented air.

Xander steered her away from where most gathered to talk before the drive to the cemetery.

“You went pale.”

“It was so close in there, that’s all.” And too many who’d come snuck glances at her.

At the woman who’d found the body.

“I need to go to the cemetery,” he told her. “You don’t.”

“I don’t think I will. It feels too much like gawking when I didn’t know her.”

“I’ll drive you back, drop you off.”

“I should’ve brought my own car. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not much of a detour,” he began, then turned as Chip walked up.

The picture of grief, Naomi thought. Red-rimmed, dazed eyes, pale skin bruised under those dazed eyes from lack of sleep. A big man with a hollow look.

“Chip. Sorry, man.”

They exchanged the one-armed hugs men seemed to prefer before Chip looked at Naomi.

“Miss Carson.”

“Naomi. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You found her. The chief said the way they’d… how they’d left her, it might’ve been a while before anybody did. But you found her so they could bring her back, take care of her.”

Tears leaked out of those dazed eyes as he took her hand between his massive ones. “Thank you.”

Habitually she avoided touching strangers, getting too close, but compassion overwhelmed her. She drew him to her, held him a moment.

No, killers didn’t think of this-or did they? she wondered. Did pain and grief add to the thrill? Did it season it like salt?

As he drew back, Chip knuckled tears away. “The reverend said how Marla’s gone to a better place.” Chip shook his head. “But this is a good place. It’s a good place. She shouldn’t have to go to a better one.”

He swallowed hard. “Are you coming to the grave site?”

“I am. I’m taking Naomi home, then I’ll be there.”

“Thank you for coming, Naomi. Thank you for finding her.”

As he walked off like a man lost, Naomi turned away.

“Oh God, Xander.”

And she wept for a woman she hadn’t known.

Twenty

As most of the crew had known Marla, Naomi came home to a relatively quiet house. The noise centered, for now, in what would be her studio, and came in the form of country music and a nail gun.

Still, when she tried to work, she couldn’t settle. Whatever images she brought onto her screen, she ended up seeing shattered eyes.

Instead, she took the dog and her camera out front. She’d get those before pictures for Lelo, as simple and routine a task as she could devise. She’d make copies for herself, she thought, maybe put together a book on the evolution of the house.

She could keep it in the library, revisit the process when it would have the charm of distance.

When the dog dropped one of his balls at her feet, she decided to embrace another distraction. She tossed it, watched him joyfully chase after it.

The third time he returned, he spat it out, his ears pricked up, and his gaze shifted with a low, warning growl seconds before she heard the sound of a car.

“Must be the crew coming. Talk about distractions.”

But she saw the chief of police’s cruiser come up the rise.

Everything in her tensed, balled up in tight, cold fists. She’d seen him at the funeral. If there’d been any progress on the investigation, the odds were high she’d have heard something there. In any case, her finding the body didn’t mean he’d feel obliged to tell her anything directly.

There was only one reason he’d come to see her.

To help calm herself, Naomi laid a hand on Tag’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve been expecting him.”

They started across the bumpy, patchy grass as Sam got out of the cruiser.

“The Kobie brothers,” he said, nodded toward the truck.

“Yes. Wade and Bob are upstairs working. The rest of the crew went to the funeral.”

“I just left the cemetery myself. I wanted to have a private word with you before the rest of Kevin’s crew got back.”

“All right.” Her stomach in knots, she turned toward the house. “I don’t have a lot of seating yet, but it’s nice on the deck off the kitchen.”

“I heard you hired the Lelos to do some landscaping.”

“They plan to start on Tuesday.”

“You’re making real progress,” he commented as they stepped inside.

She only nodded, continued back. Progress, she thought, but for what? She should never have let herself fall in love with the house, with the area. She should never have allowed herself to become so involved with the man.

“This is a hell of a nice kitchen.” Hat tipped back, Sam stood, at ease, looking around. “And a view that doesn’t quit.”

When she opened the accordion doors, he shook his head. “Doesn’t that beat all? Did you come up with this, or did Kevin?”

“Kevin.”

“They fold right back out of the way, just open it all up. You couldn’t have a prettier situation here.”

She took one of the spring chairs while Tag poked his nose to Sam’s knee.

“I saw you at the service,” Sam began. “It was good of you to go. I know you didn’t know her, and what you did know wasn’t especially friendly.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

“We all are.” He shifted, turning from the view so his gaze met hers. “I wouldn’t be doing my job, Naomi, if I hadn’t gotten some background on the person who found her body.”

“No. I should have told you myself. I didn’t. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t look, and no one would know.”

“Is that why you changed your name?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name, my uncle’s name. He raised us after… They took us in, my mother, my brother, and me, after my father was arrested.”

“You were instrumental in that arrest.”

“Yes.”

“That’s about as hard on a young girl as anything could be. I’m not going to ask you about that, Naomi. I know the case, and if I want to know more, it’s easy enough. I’m going to ask you if you’re in contact with your father.”

“No. I haven’t spoken or communicated with him since that night.”

“You never went to see him?”

“No. My mother did, and ended up swallowing a bottle of pills. She loved him, or he had a hold over her. Maybe it’s the same thing.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“No.”

For a moment, Sam said nothing. “I’m sorry to add to things, but it must have struck you. The similarities. The binding, the wounds, what was done to her, the way she was killed.”

“Yes. But he’s in prison, on the other side of the country. And the terrible reality is, others rape and kill and torture. Others do what he did.”

“That’s true.”

“But I’m here, and I found her. Like I found Ashley. Only I found Ashley in time. I’m here, and Marla was raped and killed and tortured the way my father liked to rape and kill and torture. So you have to look at me.”

“Even if I did, I know you didn’t take her, or hold her for two days, and do what was done to her. Even if I did, you were with Xander at times you’d have needed to be with her. I’ve known Xander all his life and sure as hell don’t believe he’d be party to something like this. I don’t believe you would either.”

She should be grateful for that; she should be relieved. Yet she couldn’t find the energy for either.

“But you wondered. When you found out who I was, you had to wonder. Others will, too. And some of them will think, well, Blood tells. It’s blood that ties us together, makes us who we are. Her father’s a psychopath. What does that make her?”

“I won’t tell you I didn’t wonder. That’s part of my job. I wondered for about ten seconds because I’m small town, that’s a fact, but I’m good at my job. I came here to ask you if you’re in contact with your father, or if he’s in contact with you, on the slim possibility what happened here is connected.”

“He didn’t even look at me. That morning, in the police station back in West Virginia, when they brought him in.”

She could still see it, in minute and perfect detail, down to the sun hitting the water in the water fountain, the dust motes in the air.

“I came out of the room where they had me waiting. I just came out for a minute, and they were bringing him in, in handcuffs. And he looked right through me, like I wasn’t there. I think I was never there for him, not really.”

“You’ve moved around a lot in the last few years.”

“I made it part of my job. Our uncles shielded us as much as they could from the press, the talk, the stares, the anger. They uprooted their lives for us. But the shield didn’t always hold. Every few years, he bargains something, some privilege, something, for the location of another body. It brings it all back-the stories on TV, online, the talk. My brother says it’s what he wants more than whatever privilege he’s thought up, and I believe that, too. Moving around means you’re not in one place long enough for anyone to notice you, or not very much.”

“You bought this house.”

“I thought I could get away with it. I just fell for it, and convinced myself that I could have this-a real home, a quiet place-and no one would ever know. If I’d walked another way that day, if someone else had found Marla, maybe, but I didn’t walk another way. I’ve got no reason to tell anyone about this.”

When she turned her head to meet his eyes again, Sam gave her hand a pat. “It’s yours to tell or not.”

She wanted relief but couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a favor. I got background, that was an official act. I don’t go around gossiping on people’s private business. I needed to ask you the questions I did. Now we can put it away.”

“I… I just want to find out if I can live here. I want time to try.”

“It seems to me you’re already living here, and doing it well. I’m going to say something personal now, and then I’m going to go, get back to town. It’s clear to me now you haven’t told Xander any of this.” Sam pushed to his feet. “I’m going to say to you, on a personal level, you’re doing him, and yourself, a disservice. But it’s your story to tell, or not. Take care of yourself, Naomi.”

He walked down the deck steps, left her sitting there staring out at the water, at the white sails of clouds above it, wondering if she’d ever feel again.

–

Like twin storms, grief and gossip rumbled through the cemetery and left Xander with a low-grade headache. He slipped away as soon as possible, switched the radio off for the drive back to town. He could do with some quiet.

He had enough work, including what he’d postponed that morning, to keep him fully occupied. He stopped into parts and sales, got a ginger ale from the machine, picked up some parts, then headed over to the garage.

After a check of his worksheet, he opted to take the easy first, ease his way into the delayed workday. Before he walked out to drive the Mini Cooper into the bay for its diagnostic, he swung by to see the progress in the body shop.

He considered himself better than good at bodywork, but Pete was a freaking artist. The wrecked Escort would look showroom fine when Pete finished the job.

“Back from the funeral?”

“Yeah.”

Frowning, Pete adjusted his safety goggles. “Can’t stand funerals.”

“I don’t think anybody likes them.”

“Some do.” Pete nodded wisely. “Some people are fucked-up and get off on them. They hunt them up and go even when they don’t know who’s dead.”

“It takes all kinds,” Xander said, and left Pete to his work.

Once he’d finished with the Mini, keyed in the worksheet on the shop computer, and sent it to sales, he broke long enough to go up to his apartment, make a sandwich with the slim pickings he had available. With the Mini in the pickup area, he moved on to the next on his sheet.

He put in a solid four hours more-ditched the headache, picked up a stiff neck.

Since he’d told Naomi he’d bring dinner, he called in an order for baked spaghetti before going about the business of closing up.

He’d just started to his bike when Maxie from Rinaldo’s pulled in with her flat rear tire bumping.

“Oh, Xander! Please.” She actually gripped her hands together as if in prayer as she jumped out of the car. “I know you’re closed, but please. Something’s wrong with my car, it just started making this noise, and I could hardly steer it.”

“You’ve got a flat, Maxie.”

“I do?” She turned, looked where he pointed. “How did that happen? It didn’t like blow or anything. It just started thumping. I thought it was the engine or something.”

After raking her hand through her purple-streaked blonde hair, she sent him a sheepish smile. “Can you change it?”

He squatted down. “Maxie, this tire’s bald as your grandfather, plus you trashed it by driving on it.”

“I have to get a new one? Can you change it for now, put the spare on?”

“You don’t have a spare, you’ve got a donut-emergency tire-and you can’t drive around on that.” He circled the compact, shook his head.

“Your tires lost any excuse for tread about ten thousand miles ago.”

Her mouth dropped open; her eyes went to shocked moons. “I need four new tires?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Crap. Crap. Crap. There goes the money I’ve been saving for a shopping weekend in Seattle with Lisa. And now I’m going to be late for work.”

She tried a quick flirt. “Couldn’t you just, you know, patch the flat one, just for now, and… One more crap,” she muttered as he just stared her down. “You’ve got my father’s look on your face.”

That stung a little, as he only had about a dozen years on her. But he didn’t relent.

“You could have a blowout, end up wrecked. I’ll make you the best deal I can, but you’ve got to replace these. I can have them on for you tomorrow, before noon, and I can run you over to work. I’ve got a couple of takeouts waiting anyway. Can you get a ride home?”

Resigned, Maxie blew out a breath. “I can just walk over to Lisa’s, stay there tonight.”

Risking being compared to her father again, Xander shook his head. “No walking alone after closing. Not right now.”

“Everybody thinks whoever killed Marla is long gone. Just some horrible pervert passing through.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You get the tires at my cost, and you make this deal with me. No walking alone after closing.”

“All right, all right. I’ll get my dad to pick me up.” When Xander narrowed his eyes on her face, she rolled hers. “I promise.” She swiped a finger over her heart.

“Okay.” He got the spare helmet, handed it to her. “You break the deal, I charge you double for the tires.”

“Oh, Xander.” But she laughed and got on the bike behind him. “A deal’s a deal, and at least I get a cool ride to work out of it.”

By the time he got to the big house, all he wanted was to sit out on the deck with Naomi, maybe have a beer. And let the entire day shed like dead skin.

By the time he’d unstrapped the takeout, Tag had raced around from the back of the house to greet him as though he’d been off to war.

Appreciating the welcome, he held the food up out of reach with one hand, gave the dog a rub with the other. And when the tennis ball landed at his feet, he gave it a good boot to send Tag joyfully after it.

He noted that Naomi’s car sat alone, and wondered why Kevin hadn’t waited. Even with the delay, he’d expected Kevin to hang tight until he got there.

He walked around the back, stopping long enough to give the ball another kick.

She sat on the deck alone, working on her tablet, with a glass of wine on the little table beside the glider.

“Got hung up,” he said.

She only nodded, kept doing whatever she was doing.

“I’m going to grab a beer, put this in the oven on low.”

“That’s fine.”

He didn’t consider himself particularly sensitive to moods-at least, he’d been told by annoyed women he lacked that insight-but he knew when something was off.

In his experience, the best way to handle things when something was off, and you didn’t know what, was to just keep going until whatever was off popped out.

Sometimes, if luck held, it just went away.

He came back with his beer, sat beside her, shot out his legs. And Jesus, didn’t that feel good?

“Where’s Kev?”

“At home with his wife and kids, I imagine.”

“I figured he’d hang out until I got here.”

“I insisted he go home. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

It didn’t take Mr. Sensitivity to recognize a bitchy mood when it snapped its teeth at him. He took a pull on his beer, let it ride.

The silence lasted maybe twenty seconds.

“I don’t like the two of you arranging shifts. I’m not an idiot, and I’m not incapable.”

“I never thought of you as either one.”

“Then stop hovering, and stop asking Kevin to hover. It’s not only insulting, it’s annoying.”

“Looks like you’ll have to be insulted and annoyed.”

“You can’t decide for me.”

“Marla’s body, about thirty-five feet straight down from where you’re sitting, says I can.”

“No one dictates to me, and if you think sleeping with me gives you that right, you’re very wrong.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the dog slink down the steps-looking, Xander imagined, for a safe spot out of the line of fire.

“That’s bullshit. It’s even weak bullshit. You can either tell me what crawled up your ass since this morning or not, but I know when somebody’s looking to pick a fight. I’m not in the mood for one, but that can change.”

“You’re crowding me, it’s as simple as that.” She pushed off the glider, picked up her wine, set down the tablet. “I bought this place because I like being alone, and now I never am.” She took a long drink from the glass, which he’d bet a week’s profits wasn’t her first of the evening.

“Yeah, that could change. If you’re trying to give me the boot, then be straight about it.”

“I need some space.”

“And clichés like that are more weak bullshit. You can do better.”

“I shouldn’t have started this… thing with you, and it’s moved too fast, gotten too complicated.”

Anger, and something he couldn’t quite pin down, spiked into her voice.

“I’m tired of feeling surrounded and boxed in. And it just needs to stop. Just stop. You, the house, the yard. God, the dog. It’s all too much. It’s all a mistake, and it needs to stop.”

He wanted to push back, and hard, because, Jesus, she’d hurt him. He hadn’t expected the punch or just how completely it flattened him.

Complicated? She had that right. Complications twisted up inside him he hadn’t known existed.

But she was shaking, and her breath came just a little too fast. She was working herself up to another panic attack, and he’d damn well know why.

“You want me gone, I’ll go. I’ll take the damn dog if that’s how you want it. I don’t force myself on anyone. But give me the truth.”

“I just did! This is a mistake. All of this, and I need to correct it.”

“By dumping me, the dog, this house, what you’ve started making here? That’s not what you want.”

“You don’t know what I want.” She hurled the words at him, along with a fear-tinted rage. “You don’t know me.”

“I damn well do.”

“You don’t! That’s the bullshit. You don’t know me, who I am, or what I am. You know weeks, the weeks I’ve been here. You don’t know anything from before. You don’t know me.”

It struck him then, clear as glass. That unidentified something under it all, the base of the anger and fear. It was grief.

“Yes, I do.” He set the beer aside, rose. “I know who you are, where you came from, what you went through, and what you’re trying to make now, away from it.”

She shook her head, took a step in retreat. “You can’t.” He saw her lips tremble before she pressed them together, saw tears glitter before she forced them back.

“Chief Winston told you.”

Now he had the match on the fuse. “No, I haven’t talked to him, haven’t seen him since the cemetery. But you have. He didn’t tell me anything. You did.”

She crossed her arm over her body, gripped her own shoulder with her hand as if shielding herself.

Not from him, he thought. Goddamn it, not from him.

“I never told you anything about this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pushed down his own anger. He’d let it fly later, but for now, for right now, he spoke matter-of-factly.

“The day up in my place, that first time. You saw the book on my shelf. The Simon Vance book. You looked like someone kicked you in the gut. It didn’t take much to figure it out from there. There are photos in the book. You were about eleven or twelve, I guess. Just a kid. You’ve changed your hair, grown up. But you have the same eyes, the same look about you. And Naomi, it’s not an everyday name.”

“You knew.” The knuckles of her hand went white as bone.

“I can wish the book hadn’t been there to put that look on your face. But it was.”

“You… you’ve told Kevin.”

“No.” The doubt in her eyes came so clear he waited a beat, kept his gaze level on hers. “No,” he said again. “Womb to tomb doesn’t mean I tell him what you don’t want told.”

“You haven’t told him,” she repeated, and her fingers loosened on her shoulder, her hand slid down. “You’ve known all this time, known since before we… Why haven’t you said anything to me, asked me?”

“I didn’t know, so the book was there. But once I knew? I wasn’t going to put that look on your face again. And okay, I hoped you’d tell me before I had to shove it in your face like this, but you pushed the buttons.”

“You didn’t.” Rubbing the heel of her hand between her brows, she turned away. “You didn’t shove it in my face. Others have, so I know exactly what it feels like. I don’t know what this feels like.”

She set the wine on the rail, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I need a minute.”

“If you need to yell, I can handle it. If you need to cry, I can handle it. Yelling’s preferred.”

“I’m not going to yell, or cry.”

“I think most people would do some of both. You’re not most people.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Shut up.”

The ripe temper shocked her enough to make her turn back.

“Just shut the hell up.” Now he let some of that anger fly. “Are you fucking stupid? Maybe I don’t know you, because I pegged you as smart. Really smart. But maybe you’re stupid enough to believe because you share DNA with a psychotic bastard, you’re made wrong.”

“He’s a monster. He’s my father.”

“My father doesn’t know a carburetor from a brake pad, owns two sets of golf clubs, and likes easy listening.”

“That’s not the same, at all.”

“Why not? Why the hell not? We have blood ties, he raised me-mostly-and we’re as different as they come. He reads like one book a year, as long as it’s a bestseller. We baffle each other every time we spend more than an hour together.”

“It’s not-”

“What about your brother?”

He threw her off stride, just as he’d intended.

“I… What about Mason?”

“What kind of man is he?”

“He’s… great. He’s smart. Actually, he’s brilliant, and dedicated, kind.”

“So he can be what he is, with the same gene pool, but you’re what? Tainted?”

“No. No, I know better. Intellectually I know better, but yes, sometimes it feels that way.”

“Get over it.”

She stared at him. “Get… over it?”

“Yeah. Get over it, move on. Your father’s as fucked-up as it gets. That doesn’t mean you have to be.”

“My father is the most notorious serial killer of the century.”

“It’s a young century yet,” he said with a shrug, and had her staring again.

“God. I don’t understand you.”

“Understand this, then. It’s insulting and annoying-remember that-for you to think I’d feel differently about you because your father’s Thomas David Bowes. That I’d act differently because seventeen years ago you saved a life-no doubt saved a lot of lives. And if this whole fucked-up bullshit is the reason you’re trying to kick me to the curb, you’re out of luck. I don’t kick that easy.”

“I don’t know what to say to you now.”

“If you want me gone, don’t use Bowes as the lever to pry me loose.”

“I need to sit down.”

She sat on the glider. Obviously deciding she needed it, the dog picked his way back, laid his head on her knee.

“I didn’t mean it,” she murmured, and stroked the dog. “I didn’t mean it about the dog, or the house. I didn’t mean it about you. I told myself I should mean it; it would be better all around if I could mean it. It’s easier to keep moving than to root, Xander, for someone like me.”

“I don’t think so. I think that’s something else you’ve told yourself until you mostly believe it. If you believed it all the way through, you wouldn’t have bought this place. You wouldn’t bring it back to life. You sure as hell wouldn’t have taken on that dog, no matter how I worked you on it.”

He crossed over, sat beside her again. “You’d have slept with me. I saw that the first time you came into the bar.”

“Oh, really?”

Not yet settled, but getting there, he picked up his beer again. “I’ve got a sense about when a woman’s going to be willing. But if you believed all that crap all the way through, this wouldn’t have turned into a thing.”

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

“A lot of good things happen by accident. If Charles Goodyear hadn’t been clumsy, we wouldn’t have vulcanized rubber.”

“What?”

“Weatherproof rubber-tires, for instance, as in Goodyear. He was trying to figure out how to make rubber weatherproof, dropped this experiment on a stove by accident, and there you go, he made weatherproof rubber.”

Baffled, she rubbed her aching temple. “I’ve completely lost the point.”

“Not everything has to be planned to work out. Maybe we both figured we’d bang it out a few times and move on, but we didn’t. And it’s working out all right.”

The sound of her own laughter surprised her. “Wow, Xander, my heart’s fluttering from that romantic description. It’s like a sonnet.”

Yeah, he realized, he was settling again. “You want romance? I could bring you flowers.”

“I don’t have anything to put them in.” She sighed. “I don’t need romance, and I don’t know what I’d do with it. I like knowing my feet are solid on the ground. And they haven’t been, not consistently, since I saw this house. Today… the funeral. It hit so hard because it reminded me, again, of all the people my father hurt. Not just the women he killed, but the people who loved them.”

“I’d have been sorry you found her no matter what, but I was a hell of a lot sorrier knowing what it would bring back. Have you talked to your brother, your uncles about it?”

“No. No, why bring it back for them? I wasn’t going to talk to anyone about it. Not about what it brought back.”

“It’s yours to tell, or not. You’d find good friends in Kevin and Jenny. Not trusting that? It’s a disservice to them, and to you.”

“That’s what Chief Winston said to me, about telling you. That same word. Disservice.”

“Do you want to tell me what else he said?”

“I knew as soon as he drove up.”

She closed her eyes, let herself feel the dog at her feet, the man beside her.

“The world just fell out from under me. Just dropped away. I’d expected it-he’d do a background run on me because I found the body. But the world dropped away. He was straightforward, and he was kind. He said he wouldn’t tell anyone else, that he hadn’t and wouldn’t. I’ve never been around anyone but family who knew. Or if it came out, I left before things changed.”

“Left before you knew if they’d change or not?”

“Maybe that’s true, but I’ve been through those changes, and they’re awful. They steal everything,” she said quietly, “and crush you.”

“I’m sitting here having a beer like I’d hoped to do since I closed the garage. There’s a hot meal keeping warm in the oven, a nice sunset right out there. Nothing changed or needs to. You’ll get used to it.”

Nothing needed to change. Could that be true? Was it really possible?

“Maybe we can just sit here for a while longer, until I get used to it.”

“That works for me.”

–

Hours later, when all but the bars shut down for the night, and the streets in town went quiet, with pools of light from streetlamps shimmering against the dark, he watched and waited.

He’d taken the time to study the routine along the main street with its shops and restaurants. To study the women who closed up those shops, or walked home from their job as line cook or waitress.

He had his mind on the pretty young blonde, but he wouldn’t be picky. At least three young ones worked the late shift at the pizzeria.

He’d take his pick-but the pretty young blonde? She was top choice.

He’d left the camper at the campground a good twelve miles away, all legally set up.

And if they only knew what he’d done inside that home away from home. Just the idea made him want to chuckle.

But the excitement grew, a hot ball in the belly, when the rear door of the restaurant opened.

The hot little blonde, just as he’d hoped.

And all alone.

He slipped out of the car, on the dark edge of the lot, with the rag he’d soaked with chloroform held down at his side.

He liked using chloroform, going old-school. It put them out-no muss, no fuss-even if it tended to make them a little sick. It just added to the process.

She walked along, firm, young tits bouncing some, tight young ass swaying. He glanced back toward the restaurant, making sure no one else came out, started to make his move.

And headlights sliced over the lot, had him jumping back into the shadows. The little blonde waited for the car to turn toward her, then opened the passenger door.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem, honey.”

He wanted to kick something, beat something, when his desire drove off, left him yearning and hot.

Tears actually gathered in the corners of his eyes. Then the door opened again.

Two more came out. He saw them in the light above the door, heard their voices, their laughter as they talked.

Then one of the boys came out. He and the younger of the women linked hands, strolled off together.

The young girl turned around, walked backward. “Have fun tomorrow! Drive safe.”

The lone woman started across the lot. Not young like the others, not so pretty-not blonde like his desire-but she’d do. She’d do well enough.

She hummed to herself as she opened her purse to dig out her key.

All he had to do, really all he had to do was step up behind her. He deliberately gave her that instant to feel fear, to have her heart jump as she turned her head.

Then he covered her face with the cloth, gripped her around the waist while she struggled, while her muffled screams pushed hot against his hand. As she went so quickly, almost too quickly, limp.

He had her in the back of the car, wrists and ankles wrapped in duct tape, more tape over her mouth, a blanket over her, within twenty seconds.

He drove out of the lot, through town, careful to keep to the posted speed, to use his turn signals. He didn’t even turn on the radio until he passed the town limits. He opened the windows to cool his hot cheeks, flicked a glance in the rearview at the shape under the blanket.

“We’re going to have some fun now. We’re going to have one hell of a good time.”