by Karen Kirst
“Would this project threaten the businesses that supply saltwater fish?”
“It doesn’t work that way. We either get fish from other facilities or teams of aquarists travel to the ocean once or twice a year and catch wild populations,” she said. “Roman is my partner on this project. Why isn’t he being threatened?”
“You indicated that you’re the one in charge, not him. He follows your lead. With you out of the way, the project falls apart.”
Julian returned to the freezer for second helpings. “Let’s look at it from a different angle.” He set the half-gallon tub on the counter. “Do you have any admirers in your life? Someone interested in romance?”
Brady opened his mouth to refute the idea. Everyone knew she was in mourning. But the expression on her face stopped him.
“The aquarium vet, Dr. Zach Ledford,” she said, absently pushing her fingertips between the cast and her skin. “He asked me out, and I declined.”
“Seriously?” Brady demanded. “Does he not know about Derek?”
Her lashes swept down. “He knows.”
“Everyone grieves at their own pace.” Julian shot him a warning glance. “He might’ve assumed you were ready to date again.”
Brady watched as she continued to try to ease the itch beneath her cast. “Was he upset when you told him no?”
“He said he understood, but I got the impression he was annoyed.”
Julian leaned against the island. “While most guys don’t enjoy rejection, they deal with it and move on. Some hold grudges.”
“And that’s a motive for murder?”
“It is if he’s become obsessed and doesn’t want anyone else to have you.” Brady reached out and linked his fingers with hers, stilling their movement. “Do you need an antihistamine? We can’t have you roaming the house hunting for pencils or wire coat hangers.”
She winced and nodded. “The itching is becoming more noticeable.”
“You kept the cast dry in the bathroom?”
“I wrapped it in the plastic bag you gave me and taped it up.”
“Good.” He fetched the medicine from his bathroom and poured her a glass of water. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
Brady intercepted Julian’s speculative glance and raised eyebrows. He didn’t want to begin to guess what his friend was thinking. He hadn’t shared his reservations about Olivia with anyone other than Derek. In fact, he’d said very little about her. Julian was probably wondering how he’d gotten involved and why he’d chosen to stay involved.
“What do you know about Dr. Ledford?” he said.
“Zach’s a competent and caring vet. He’s been on staff for about six years, I think. I don’t know much about his personal life besides the fact he’s single.”
“Has he asked other employees out?”
“If he has, I haven’t heard about it. I honestly don’t think Zach’s a bad guy. His behavior toward me hasn’t changed since I turned him down. He’s still the friendly, laid-back guy he’s always been.”
He and Julian shared a glance. Evil wore many faces.
The doorbell chimed, and Olivia tensed. Brady touched her arm. “I’ll let the police know we’re both running on fumes, and that they’d better make it quick.”
“Let them do their job.” She shrugged. “The sooner they catch this guy, the sooner you and I can resume normal life.”
Normal life? What would that look like now that they’d agreed to a fresh start?
As Brady made his way to the front door, he admitted that he wouldn’t like going months without seeing or speaking to Olivia. What she wanted, however, was a mystery.
EIGHT
Olivia bolted upright in the strange bed. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. Had she heard actual gunshots? Had they been part of her nightmare or was there a gunman on the property?
Late afternoon sunshine streaked through the open blinds of the guest room.
Her eyes gritty, she shoved off the heavy maroon coverlet and tiptoed toward the door.
A floorboard creaked, and Brady arrived in the doorway. “Olivia? You okay?”
She stopped short. “I thought I heard gunshots.”
“Gunshots?” he repeated, his brows drawing together. “You must have been having a nightmare. I heard you talking. I thought you were on the phone, but you must’ve been talking in your sleep.”
He leaned against the frame and ran his fingers through his blond hair, further messing the short, disheveled strands. One cheek was pink and creased from his pillow, and his eyes were bloodshot. His soft cotton T-shirt was wrinkled. Striped socks peeked from beneath his jeans.
She liked seeing this less formal side to him, liked seeing hints of vulnerability. Her gaze roamed over his face, noting for the first time the pleasing symmetry of his features—the cheekbones that could cut glass, the tough angle of his jaw, the slight dimple in his chin and the full, pleasing mouth that balanced his inherent masculinity.
Olivia reached behind her to clasp the footboard and closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. Most likely a product of the strange events and serious lack of sleep.
“What’s the matter?” He entered the room and, coming close, pressed his palm to her forehead. “Are you dizzy? Feverish?”
She looked up. “Your eyes are blue today, the same hue of the wildflowers in my grandmother’s yard. Fringed bluestar I think, is their name.”
He slowly lowered his hand. “What?”
Feeling silly, she said, “Um, sometimes your eyes are gray like winter skies. Other times they’re blue.”
“Yours are always brown.”
The way he was looking at her sent a strange yearning arrowing through her. Her mouth went dry. “I know. Boring, right?”
“Not possible. You have beautiful eyes, the rich color and exquisite shape...” He swallowed hard and glanced at his watch. “I, uh, think we should eat. It’s been about twelve hours since we had anything, and that was ice cream.”
“Agreed.”
Getting food into their systems would prevent any more odd exchanges. When she was ready to risk her heart again, she would never choose Brady, not with their history. And he would never choose her.
He rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a brown package and several peppers and onions. “How do you feel about pasta and meatballs? I don’t have salad, but I do have garlic bread in the freezer.”
“Comfort food. I’ll take it.” Quickly braiding her hair and securing it with a band, she washed her hands. “Where do we start?”
He located two cutting boards, and they worked, side by side, chopping vegetables. It was a mundane chore that she hadn’t dreamed she’d share with him.
“Have you told your family what’s been going on?”
Her knife slowed. “Not yet. My sisters would insist on coming here.” Her older two, especially. Jaqueline and Farrah would argue over who could protect her better. They argued about everything.
“If one of them were in trouble, you’d want to know.”
She reached for another pepper. “I can’t put them in harm’s way.”
“Are you close?”
“We’ve had our fair share of squabbles over the years, but nothing major. We air our differences of opinions and hug it out.”
“I used to imagine what it would be like to have a big family,” he mused. “Sometimes, when I was especially lonely, I daydreamed about my parents returning with younger siblings.”
Olivia hid her surprise at the shared detail. “You don’t have extended family?”
“My mom was an only child and orphaned at an early age. My dad’s older brother died before I was born. He didn’t have kids.”
“Your grandmother didn’t have siblings?”
“A few, scattered around the country and in no shape to trav
el.”
“Growing up in our area of the Qualla Boundary, which is land owned by the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians, adults took responsibility for kids whether they were related or not.”
Brady actually smiled at her. “It takes a village to raise a child.”
The smile transformed his face. She averted her gaze and focused on her task. A companionable silence filled the space as they prepared the meat sauce and noodles. He used a music app on his phone to play French cooking music and made her promise not to tell anyone, especially Julian, or he’d never hear the end of it.
When it was time to eat, Brady bowed his head and said a poignant, humble prayer that brought tears to her eyes. Derek had professed to be a Christ-follower and had attended church services, but he hadn’t prayed with her. Not once. They hadn’t shared the same spiritual values, and it had caused rifts in their relationship.
Olivia began to pose questions, personal ones, about his faith. Brady didn’t divert the conversation or raise his guard. He answered each one with frank honesty. He didn’t like discussing his childhood, but he had no problem sharing his walk with God. By the time their plates were cleared and the bread basket empty, she realized she’d learned more about him in one sit-down dinner than in two years of knowing him.
Her phone rang as he was clearing the table. Her good mood vanished. “It’s Detective Shaw.”
He resumed his seat across from her. She ended the call and set her phone down.
“The heating and air employees did a thorough examination of the basement system. It’s in prime working condition.”
“It’s what we expected.”
She twisted her hands together on the table surface. “They did find something unusual in the vent—long tubing with a nozzle.”
His face flushed. “To attach to a carbon monoxide canister, right?”
“That’s their assumption. Shaw called around town and located a welding company who’d recently had a canister stolen. Unfortunately, they don’t have surveillance cameras.”
“Any prints on the tubing?”
“Wiped clean.”
“The bullet could provide valuable intel.”
“This guy is good, Brady. Smart. Thorough.” His resourcefulness could prove their downfall. “I doubt that the gun or the car belonged to him. He probably stole both.”
He encased her hands with his own, warming them. “He’ll make a mistake. They always do.”
But would it be too late for them when he did?
* * *
The presence of military police outside her home should’ve put her at ease. After Shaw’s call, Brady had driven her to the air station’s provost marshal’s office. They’d informed them of recent events and, to her surprise, received the promise of protection for the rest of her stay in base housing, and now she was back home. But her enemy had devised creative ways to reach her, and she worried he might decide to take out a marine in order to achieve his goal. She knew that Brady wasn’t completely at ease, either. He’d told her that if he’d been able to bow out of today’s flight training, he would’ve.
Pushing aside her concerns, she tackled the task she’d been procrastinating...deciding what to do with Derek’s clothes. She planned to keep one camouflage uniform and most of his Marine-issued T-shirts. The rest would go to charity, she supposed.
Asking the Lord for strength, she entered their walk-in closet and began removing shirts and pants from hangers, folding them and making neat stacks on the bed. His scent had faded over the course of time. She was nearing the end of her task when she discovered a thick piece of paper in one of his pant pockets. Unfolding the smooth paper, she skimmed the printed article about a string of crimes in New Jersey. How strange. Why would Derek be interested in this, and furthermore, why would he keep it? Thinking it might be connected to his work somehow, she decided to ask Brady.
Her foot connected with a stack of decorative storage boxes and knocked them over. When she bent to restack them, her gaze fell on a shiny object in the carpet. Her eyelids prickled.
Derek’s dog tags.
She let them dangle from her fingertips, the engraved letters catching the light.
They were supposed to go to Brady, she remembered with a start. Derek had been clear about what should happen to certain possessions should anything happen to him.
Closing her fist around them, she brought them to her chest, reliving the somber instructions. His preoccupation with death had been at odds with his carefree personality. She’d assigned it to his career’s inherent dangers. That, and his other quirks. He’d insisted she keep her maiden name, Smith, instead of taking his surname. Social media accounts were taboo. He’d preached the importance of online security and had advised her not to share photos.
She glanced at the clock. Brady had texted that he’d be returning from a flight around 1700 hours. If she hurried, she could get the dog tags to him before he left the air station. And she could ask him about that article.
After changing into jeans and buttoning a jewel-toned sweater over her shirt, she grabbed her phone and keys, locked the front door and strode down the driveway. The driver’s door of the police car swung open, and a female marine who’d reported for the afternoon shift stepped out. Of average height, she had big green eyes and vivid red hair pulled back into a braided bun. She introduced herself as Corporal Baker.
“Everything all right, ma’am?”
“I was wondering if you’d drive me over to the hangars. Captain Johnson is returning from a flight soon, and I need to see him.”
The corporal considered her request, indecision playing over her gamine features.
“It shouldn’t take long.” Hooking her thumb over her shoulder, she said, “I’m not used to being confined to the house. The walls are starting to close in.”
Understanding flashed. She motioned with a tilt of her head. “Hop in, ma’am.”
“Thanks. And please, call me Olivia. I’m guessing we’re around the same age.”
Her smile was rueful as she climbed behind the wheel. When Olivia was buckled in, she said, “I’m Catriona. Off-duty, most people call me Cat.”
“Your accent isn’t local. Where are you from?”
“Chicago.” Turning out of their neighborhood, she drove slowly past the old building that housed a bowling alley. “What about you?”
“On the other side of the state. I was born in Cherokee.”
“I’ve been planning to visit the mountains ever since my transfer four months ago. I haven’t found the time.”
“The national park is worth the trip,” Olivia said. Cat navigated the two-lane road winding through the base. The car chase forefront in Olivia’s mind, she continually checked for cars in the rearview mirror. “Were you stationed in California?”
“Okinawa.” Her fingers tightened on the wheel, and her lips thinned.
Olivia fell silent. She recognized the signs of distress. Whatever happened at Cat’s last duty station, she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Well, I hope you like living here,” she said. “If you enjoy the outdoors, specifically the water, you won’t get bored.”
The brim of Cat’s cover cast her forehead and eyes in shadow. “I have no complaints so far,” she said lightly. Turning into the squadrons’ parking lot, she pulled around to the first building and cut the engine. “I’ll walk with you.”
Olivia nodded, suddenly bombarded with bittersweet memories. Family days were hosted here whenever the guys returned from missions. Welcome home days were special.
A door on their right opened, and a stocky, silver-haired gentleman emerged from the building. His face lit with surprised pleasure.
“Olivia!” Striding over, he gave her a quick hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, sir.” Lieutenant Colonel George Russell had been Derek’s commanding offi
cer. The squadron leaders encouraged off-duty socializing, and she’d spoken with him on multiple occasions at the officer’s club.
“None of that. Call me George.” His gaze assessed her in the gathering darkness. “How are you doing?”
He was talking about Derek, of course. “It’s a process. Good days and bad, all mixed in together.”
“He is missed.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat.
“You broke your arm?” he said, nodding to the cast peeking out from her sweater.
“Yes. At work.” She had no desire to recount the awful turn her life had taken.
George belatedly noticed Cat’s presence. “Is there anything I can help you with, Olivia?”
“I’m here to see Brady.”
“He and the others should be flying in shortly. Why don’t you come with me?” He smiled kindly. “I’ll take you to the flight line so you can watch them.”
Cat remained with the patrol car as the Lieutenant Colonel ushered Olivia through the massive hangar that housed Huey helicopters. Since the flight line was restricted, he told a sergeant to inform the guys upstairs that they had an approved visitor.
They took up position at one end of the yawning opening that led out to the tarmac and runway. On her left, tilt-rotor Ospreys were parked in a uniform line. To her right, there was another hangar and more helicopters, framed by pine woods.
While they waited, she asked George about his wife and new grandbaby. Pride filled his voice as he spoke about being a first-time grandfather.
“Here they come,” he said, nodding to the orangesicle sky above the distant New River.
She counted four AH-1 SuperCobra attack helicopters.
“Captain Johnson has been quiet in recent months,” he said.
“Quieter than usual? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“When he’s not busy with his charity work, he attends our after-hours gatherings because he knows it’s expected. He sticks to himself, though.”
“Derek was the brother he never had.”
“They were tight, all right. Of course, he hasn’t let it affect his work. I’ve kept an eye on him. His instincts haven’t wavered. His flying ability is top-notch.”
