Skin and Bone

by T. L. Keary

Davis’ eyes snap back to me. “Well then we’ve got two days to figure out who the hell this woman is and gather all the evidence we need to have her thrown in jail for the rest of her life.”

  I nod, pushing my plate away from me. “Do you have access to property ownership records?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It’s just starting to get dark when we finish cleaning up dinner. We stash all the trash and the food in the truck, making sure the windows are rolled up and the doors are locked.

  It would certainly wreck the weekend if a bear showed up and got into everything.

  And I need everything to go perfect until Sunday night.

  “You’ve become quite the camper over the last thirteen years,” Ezra says as we step into the tent and start getting ready for bed.

  I smile as I pull off my smoky shirt and pull on something more comfortable. I revel in him watching very intently, the hunger sparking in his eyes. “I always thought I hated camping, but some of my friends from Bellevue dragged me out a few years ago, and, I don’t know… I just kind of took to it finally.”

  “Well, your foil dinner skills are top notch,” he says with a smile as I slip on my pants. He pulls down the double sleeping bag and we both climb in. The air mattress wobbles and bunches beneath our bodies as we settle in.

  I’d be fine just sleeping on the ground in the sleeping bag, but Ezra was being thoughtful and bought us a brand new camping mattress.

  I tuck myself into Ezra’s side, laying my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, resting his cheek on the top of my head.

  “Today was awesome,” he breathes.

  I smile, recalling the whole, perfect day. The two-hour drive, the light, easy conversation. Setting up camp, the hour-long hike. Splashing around in the river.

  “Yeah, it was perfect,” I say, smiling to myself.

  “Who knew that Sawyer James was outdoorsy enough to go wilderness camping without even a pit toilet,” Ezra says with a laugh as he hugs me tight.

  “You highly underestimate the adult version of Sawyer James,” I say with a little begrudging in my tone. Seriously, it really does bother me a little bit. Sawyer James was prissy and spoiled and everything was just way too easy for her.

  She was kind of boring. Why did Ezra fall so hard for her?

  “You have surprised me more than once in the last few weeks,” Ezra says, a bit of apology in his tone. “Not that I’m complaining. I certainly appreciate those new moves you’ve learned.”

  “Ezra!” I squeal, slapping his chest in mock embarrassment.

  I know the “moves” he’s taking about. And he certainly has appreciated them. Many times.

  He just laughs and hugs me tighter.

  “How long till you think everyone else will start seeing me as the adult version of myself and not the scared little girl who ran away?” I ask carefully, stepping one foot down the path this trip needs to lead to.

  “Are you still fixating on Melody?” Ezra says, his tone losing patience a little.

  “It’s not just her,” I say, giving a small shake of my head.

  “Who?” he asks.

  I take a few beats to answer, playing out reluctance, my hesitance to cause drama. “It’s just that…” I pause again, playing it up. “Davis just keeps making these comments. It’s not that he’s being cruel, at least I don’t think he’s trying to be. He’s just looking out for you. But…I don’t know. You know how he can get under people’s skin.”

  “What’d he say?” Ezra asks, a sharp prick in his voice, anger and annoyance flaring.

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to cause any drama between you two, Ez.”

  He rolls over, propping his head up in his hand. “Hey,” he says, taking my hand in his free one. “I’m in this for the long, long haul. And I don’t know if you feel the same, but at least for now, we’re together. And Davis is just going to have to get over himself. I’m not going to put up with him intimidating you. I know how he is, how he runs his business.”

  My heart flutters. And a smile pulls on my face. “I’m in this, Ez,” I say, letting the Davis issue die for now. I’ve planted the seed. Now it’s time to give it a few days to germinate. “I’m here for the long, long haul.”

  Even though it’s dark, there’s still just enough moonlight to allow me to see Ezra’s face. I see the smile that spreads on it, and every careful plan has been worth it just to have that smile caused by me.

  He leans forward, cupping his hand around my jaw and kisses me. Gentle and sweet. His kisses are full of promises. They easily paint a picture of the future.

  It’s so close, I swear I can reach out and touch it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sawyer

  Davis’ home office is intimidating and spectacular at the same time.

  The walls are painted a dark gray, stretching high up. A modern and contemporary chandelier hangs from the ceiling. White, gauzy curtains climb up the sides of the window.

  Rows of wood bookshelves stretch along one wall, organized to obsessiveness. A huge desk is pushed up against another wall and Davis has not one, but three monitors.

  We pull chairs up, and together, we start going through the property records, which in Washington State, are public.

  “The shape of the parcel I bought from Old Man Walker is long,” Davis points out, following the strip that branches off from the main road, south. “You were here, at the end of it.”

  The spot is close to the property line. “What about these two properties?” I ask, pointing at two parcels that back up to Davis’. They’re large pieces of property, I’d guess each is two to three acres. “What if someone thought they were still on their property when they put in that bunker, but they’d gone just over?”

  Thirty minutes ago, Davis had gotten off the phone with the Walker patriarch. He’d not known anything about an underground bunker, and certainly hadn’t put it there.

  So here we are.

  Davis clicks on the first piece of property. Immediately, a name comes up, one as Everlee Piques.

  “How old would you say that bunker was?” Davis asks. “I mean, did it look like it had been there for thirty or forty years?”

  I shake my head. “No, I mean, ten, maybe twenty years. But definitely not that old.”

  Davis shakes his head. “Everlee is about ninety-five years old. She’s lived in this town since it was nothing more than twenty houses and two stores. So unless she put it in before her husband died before I was even born, I really doubt it was her.”

  I nod. I vaguely remember the old woman. She was old way back then. I kind of remember her volunteering at the library.

  “What about the other one?” I question, nodding toward it.

  There’s something comfortable about working in Davis’ office. Maybe it’s because he feels…prepared. Competent. I somehow have this confidence that he can figure this out. But maybe it’s just the late hour, messing with my head. It has to be nearing eleven o’clock.

  Maybe it’s just that I finally know I’m not going to die in a hole.

  But I feel calm, despite what we’re doing. I feel in control.

  And oddly, I think that has a lot to do with Davis.

  He clicks on the other property and after a second of thinking, the county site pulls up a box with a name.

  Brad Milton.

  “Do you know this guy?” I ask, my eyes glancing to Davis.

  Davis leans forward, his elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his hand. “The name is familiar, but I can’t…”

  He pauses and sits forward once more. He opens a new tab and pulls up his social media.

  Brad Milton, he types into the search bar.

  A few hits come up, all variations of the name. But nothing seems right.

  He Googles the name next.

  We scroll through a few hits, finding nothing that looks promising.

  Until the ninth one down.

  “Articles from 2001,” Davis says as both ou
r eyes scan the screen. “Brad Milton, of Arlington was arrested for stalking. In an interview, he claimed to be a private investigator and was looking into the woman for a former lover who suspected her son was his biological child. When they searched his home, they found a camera with dozens of pictures of her, notes on her schedule and habits. But no evidence could be found that he’d been hired.”

  “The charges were dropped but a restraining order was issued. Brad moved to Snohomish to take care of some family matters,” I read the end of the article.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Davis says, nodding his head. “I remember this guy now. Kind of a creep. Huge loner. He totally fits the MO of someone who would put in an underground bunker.”

  “So it was him?” I say, my brain spinning, trying to puzzle this all out. “He’s helping whoever she is.”

  Davis shakes his head. “No, I’m pretty sure he actually died, like, five years ago.”

  “Then who owns the house now?” I ask, my eyes flicking back to the screen.

  Davis shakes his head again. “If it had sold the new owner would be listed here. But he could have deeded it to someone. The county is sluggish at updating that kind of stuff, so long as someone keeps paying the property taxes. I’ve got a guy at the clerk’s office who could look it up.”

  “Well, let’s call him!” I say, hope surging in my chest at the possibility of answers.

  Davis looks over at me, and a little, controlled smile begins forming on his face. “It’s late, Sawyer. Like, way past an acceptable time to call in a favor like this. I’m going to trust that this can wait until morning.”

  I sit back in my chair, running my fingers through my hair. I let out a big sigh, reining in my previous excitement. “You’re right. You’re right. And I’m so tired I can barely think straight.”

  “You need some sleep,” Davis agrees. “We’ll find you some clothes in the morning and make some calls. And by tomorrow night, we’ll have your answers.”

  My eyes fall to his. Through the dim light of the office, I see his brown eyes watching me.

  “Thank you, Davis,” I say, my voice quiet. “For everything.”

  He doesn’t say anything at first. I can tell he’s thinking. He’s evaluating me and he doesn’t hide it.

  “You’re welcome,” he finally says. He stands and so I do, too.

  Through his immaculate home, I follow him. Back to the guest bedroom, and for a moment, I have to appreciate him.

  We didn’t discuss me staying here tonight.

  There’s just something about every bit of his body language, his behavior, the intensity in his eyes that tells me I am.

  He stops at the guest bedroom, pushing the door open for me. “Goodnight, Sawyer.”

  I step inside, hesitating as I look back at him. He looks dangerous in the dark like this. Broad shoulders, lean waist, hands curled and ready.

  I shouldn’t feel safe. Not after what I’ve just escaped. But I do.

  “Goodnight, Davis.”

  “I’m going to pay you back,” I say under my breath as the cashier scans the clothing items I picked out. It’s the same exact thing I said at the other store when we grabbed toiletries, hair stuff, and other essentials.

  “If you say that one more time, I’m going to take offense,” Davis says from behind me, actually daring to glare at me. “I’m doing pretty damn well for myself, Sawyer. I can afford to grab a few things out of the goodness of my heart.”

  “Goodness of your heart, ha,” I say with a mock. “I don’t even live here, and I know your reputation, Davis. You’re a shark.”

  “Well, when you smell blood in the water,” he says, low and dangerous.

  Something in his voice makes me smile, and I kind of like what it does to my stomach.

  Davis pays for my clothes and he grabs one of the bags before I can snatch them both. Side by side, we walk out of the store, back to his sports car.

  It, just like his truck, is black.

  Everything matches, it’s all coordinated. From his clothes to his house to his vehicles.

  I tell myself I’m not overly appreciating Davis’ control and organization. I’m just admiring a successful professional.

  We climb into the low car and the engine growls to life. I push the bags at my feet aside, though there isn’t much room anymore. There’s no trunk on this thing and there certainly isn’t a back seat.

  I adjust the sunglasses with a glance in the mirror and adjust Davis’ ball cap, making sure I’m covered.

  I can’t blow my cover right now. Not while we’re taking advantage of this opportunity to look into things without tipping the imposter or Ezra off.

  “I want to drive by Brad Milton’s property on the way home,” Davis says as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Maybe it will give us some answers.”

  I give a nod, looking both directions as we pull onto the road, even though I’m not the one driving.

  Davis called his contact this morning but didn’t get an answer. He left a voicemail, telling him it was urgent he call him back. So, for now, we’re just waiting to hear back.

  We cut through town, heading far across it to the outskirts. It’s weird being back in a town I’ve been away from for so long. In a lot of ways, it’s changed a ton. There are a lot more homes, more businesses. But in others, it’s still the same small town with the exact same people.

  “How soon you leaving town once we get this all taken care of?” Davis asks as we drive.

  I glance over at him, trying to get a read on his expression, his mood and motivation for asking the question. But he’s hard to read. He has a good poker face.

  “I think everyone here thought I hated Snohomish because I left,” I say, looking back out the front window. “But kids grow up. They leave home and they go to college. Just because Ezra wouldn’t come with me, it’s not fair I was made to be such a pariah.”

  I feel Davis’ eyes glance to me and there’s a weighted moment as he considers what I’ve said. “You asked Ezra to go with you?”

  “Of course, I did!” I say, the defense jumping out of me after harboring it for so many years. “Me and him, we were a good thing. But he started mapping out our whole future, from where we would build our house to how many kids we’d have. He planned to take a year off after high school to work for your dad. But when I told him I was still planning to go to college, he didn’t like that.”

  From the furrow between Davis’ brows, I can tell he had no idea about any of this.

  “I told him over and over that there was no reason for both of us to wait a year before starting college,” I explain. “I asked him so many times to just come with me. But he wouldn’t deviate from that plan he had for us. So, in the end, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to be my own person and figure out my own future. It isn’t like it wasn’t the natural way for things to go. How many high school relationships last forever? It was bound to happen at some point.”

  Davis takes another moment to consider. He is always in control. He takes his time in deciding exactly what to say next. He considers his words carefully before he reacts.

  “I hated that Ezra’s heart was so broken,” he finally says. He doesn’t look toward me, just out the window at the road before us. “But I never blamed you for leaving. I… I kind of admired you. You saw what you wanted, knew what you wanted for your future, and you just went for it. You didn’t hesitate or look back.”

  I’ve carried this little weight around with me for the past thirteen years, knowing what the town thought of me, the prom Queen leaving her King behind. I never let it grow too heavy, because I’ve always known that the picture was so much bigger than high school and everyone’s little fantasy of us making it all the way.

  But that weight has been there.

  And suddenly it feels so much lighter with Davis’ words.

  Just one person actually understands.

  “Thank you,” I say, the words slipping out before I give any thought to them. “I… It’s kind
of nice to have someone who understands the bigger picture.”

  “Stop thinking about that guilt,” Davis says as he looks over at me. “You’re your own person. Don’t apologize for it, Sawyer.”

  He gets it.

  I see in his eyes the same thing I’ve felt guilty about for a long time.

  Davis is unapologetically who he is. He doesn’t hide his ambition. He carries his confidence in himself on his shoulders, for anyone to see.

  That’s all I’ve been going after for thirteen years.

  A small smile forms on my face as I look out the passenger window.

  The car slows and Davis points out across a field. “That’s where I found you.”

  There really isn’t much to see. Tree stumps stick out of the ground. There are tractor tracks zigzagging across the property. And toward the back, there’s an excavator, sitting unused.

  And I know, down in the ground, there is a shipping container that was buried in what was surely once surrounded by trees.

  “You said there was a tunnel you collapsed?” I ask, squinting against the bright light.

  “Had to be,” Davis says, pulling over and turning his blinker on. “The ground suddenly gave way. There wasn’t any obvious access from above.”

  “So there had to be access from somewhere further away,” I say, mostly thinking out loud. “Maybe there’s access somewhere on the Milton property. The tunnel could run from there, clear to the bunker. And if whoever this was had seen the development you’re doing here, surely they’d see it as too high of a risk? I mean, they would have known some digging would start soon?”

  “You’re right,” Davis says, studying the field. “It’d be really stupid if they’d realized what was going on here. But unless you’re driving by on this road,” and it’s not a main one, it’s three streets over from the main strip, “you’d never know what was going on. I haven’t even put up signs yet. I don’t like to get those going until the infrastructure is done.”

  I nod. “Let’s drive by. I don’t know that it’s a good idea to go snooping around the property searching for a tunnel, but we can at least take a look.”