by Freya Barker
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, taking her hand between mine as her eyes close. “They got him out at the same time we got to you, and worked on him all the way to the hospital. He didn’t make it. They suspect the smoke inhalation was too much for his body to take. An autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow, we’ll hopefully know more then.”
She nods, a few tears slipping from under her closed eyelids.
It’s quiet in the room; the only sound the ticking of the plain clock hanging over the door, marking minutes going by. I think she’s fallen asleep again when her eyes suddenly open.
“He has nobody.”
“I know.”
“He wants to be buried next to his wife. He told me he misses her every day—misses waking up to her in the mornings. She’s buried at Greenmount Cemetery. I told him I’d take him to see her, but I never got the chance.”
“You still can,” I tell her softly. “You can make sure he gets to rest right by her side.”
Chapter 18
Autumn
“I’m fine, Sophie.”
I roll my eyes at Keith, who is grinning behind the wheel when I repeat myself again.
I was just released and he’s driving by my place to pick up a few things I might need on the way to his house. I have no idea where he lives, the only thing he told me is his place is secure, so I’m going willingly. My first reaction when he reiterated I was coming with him, had been to dig my heels in, but frankly the thought of staying at some hotel by myself makes me uncomfortable. I don’t generally scare easily, but I am now.
Stupid hospital rules had me wheeled out in a damn wheelchair—despite my assurances there’s nothing wrong with my legs—and Keith insisted on helping me into the passenger seat. I was about to tear into him for treating me like an invalid when Sophie’s call came in on his phone. Mine had been on the counter in the kitchen and apparently didn’t survive the fire.
“Are you s-sure you don’t want m-me to come until you’re back on your feet?” The hands-free setting projects Sophie’s sniffly voice through the car’s sound system.
“Positive,” I say as firmly as I can with my raspy voice. I know I sound horrible, which is probably why Sophie keeps persisting, but aside from that I’m fine. “Chief is right, honey, I may not be the safest person to be around. Don’t blame him for looking out for you.”
“But who’ll be looking out for you?”
“I will,” Keith’s deep rumble cuts in, spreading a warm feeling from the pit of my stomach.
It’s a strange sensation, to be at the receiving end of things. I’m usually the one to do the caring for. I’ve done that since I was ten years old and my father walked out the door, leaving my mother a mess.
“Keep her s-safe,” Sophie says softly after a pause.
“My house has a top-of-the-line security system, and we’ll pick up a new phone for her today. She’ll be able to stay in touch with you,” he assures her, and I throw him a grateful smile.
He pulls up along the curb in front of my place, and my heart sinks at the sight of the caution tape still surrounding the mostly burned porch and the blackened house behind it.
“We can’t go in the back—it’s been boarded up—and the porch is unstable but a stepladder has been rigged up to get in the front. It’s still considered a crime scene. My guys are patrolling regularly, to make sure some idiot doesn’t decide to ransack the place. At least until we have a chance to clear out your belongings.”
“And Joseph’s,” I add wistfully, a sharp stab of sadness hitting me square in the chest.
“And Joseph’s,” he echoes. “But first let’s get you a few things to tide you over, and we’ll brainstorm how to take care of the rest. I’ve already been in touch with a storage facility not far from the hospital, which has a large unit available. Temporarily,” he adds quickly. “Until you can figure out what’s next.”
“Shit. I haven’t even contacted the landlord yet,” I point out, looking sideways at Keith’s profile, who seems to be clenching his jaw.
“Be hard. Bartik was your landlord.”
“What? I never knew that, I’ve always dealt with the real estate office and my rent was made out to Barnes and Finley, the law office on East 12th. I was under the impression the owners were out-of-towners.”
“Guess he preferred it that way. I imagine living next door to your tenants can be difficult at times. Especially at his advanced age. Easier to let an agency take care of it and avoid knocks on your door every time a tap leaks.”
“I suppose.”
“Come, let’s grab your things and get out of here.”
I’m grateful he doesn’t even question me climbing the ladder to get inside, but he does stay right behind me, making sure he can catch me if I fall. Something I’m very grateful for the moment we step inside. Already lightheaded from the small amount of exertion getting up the ladder—the wrecked state of my house has me sway on my legs—and Keith’s arms instantly brace me.
“The upstairs is much better,” he whispers in my ear, as my eyes take in the devastation.
The kitchen is unrecognizable, and in what was my living room, the furniture—blackened and still soggy—is shoved out of the way in a pile against the far wall. Nothing salvageable there. The pictures I’d so painstakingly hung just a couple of weeks ago hang dirty and lopsided on the wall.
Stepping out of Keith’s hold, they’re the first thing I salvage. The sum of my life represented in a handful of snapshots. He silently takes the stack of frames out of my hands and puts them on the floor by the door.
I’m doing my best not to mentally inventory all that might be lost, or I might lose it on the spot. Instead I head up the stairs, trying not to touch the layer of soot coating the walls. The smell inside the house has my throat spasm, and I launch into a coughing fit.
“You okay?” Keith asks, concerned. “Let me know if you want to go sit in the car. I can grab what you need.”
“I’ll be fine,” I manage, forcing myself to breathe slowly in and out through the nose. It helps a bit.
My bedroom looks no different than normal. Nothing appears out of place, but here too everything is dirty and wet. I walk over to my nightstand and pick up my Kindle, still lying there. The screen is blank, and stubbornly stays that way, even after I try turning it on. I discard it on the bed. I can’t deal with this right now.
“I brought a garbage bag,” Keith says behind me. “We’ll toss everything you need in there. It’s all going to smell like smoke, but we’ll wash it at my place. Don’t think too hard right now.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I let his words bolster me before walking determinedly to my closet. Ignoring the fact even my clothes haven’t escaped both water and soot, I grab a few random things and shove them in the bag Keith holds open. Shoes are next, a lot of them ruined beyond salvation, but I manage to secure a few pairs. I can’t wait to get out of these borrowed hospital scrubs and lost-and-found sneakers. At least the stuff in my dresser drawers isn’t in such bad shape. Underwear, T-shirts, shorts, and yoga pants all get dumped in the bag.
The bathroom is next. Much the same as the rest of the house, so I ignore anything that was out in the open. Toothbrush, razor, hair stuff—it can all be replaced. I pull open the top drawer, holding my jewelry, and clear it out. Second drawer nets me a few toiletries that are still packaged and unopened; I promptly toss those in the bag as well. And the third drawer…oh shit.
Keith—who’s leaning in the doorway—chuckles as I quickly slam that drawer shut.
Ignoring him—and the hot blush on my cheeks—I do a quick scan of the cupboard before straightening up. Instead of stepping aside to let me by, Keith moves farther into the bathroom, forcing me back before determinedly reaching for the bottom drawer.
“We’ll bring this too,” he says in a low voice as he pulls out Old Faithful: my purple, ten-speed, waterproof, full girth, G-spot tickler. “I’m sure we can find some use for it.”
He tosses it in the bag and puts a hand
on my elbow, steering me into the hallway. His deceptively innocent touch sends heat pooling between my legs.
“Anything you want to pick up on the way?” he asks when we get back into his SUV. “Or we can go home, get cleaned up first.”
“Your place first,” I manage, wheezing by the time I’m buckled in. Perhaps coming here hadn’t been such a great idea. It’s like sucking in air through a thin straw.
Keith takes one look at me and reaches in the back seat where he tossed the medication I was sent home with. “You’re pale. Take a hit of this.” He hands me an inhaler I was told to use as needed. “Two puffs,” he orders, scanning the sheet of home care instructions they handed him.
Doing as he says, I can feel my airway relaxing within seconds and I send him a little smile of assurance. Only then does he start up his SUV and pull away from the curb. I have to admit, I’m curious to see where he lives. I just know it’s somewhere off the beaten path.
That’s confirmed when he takes a road leading out of town and into the mountains behind the college.
“It’s not far,” he assures me, and a few turns later, we end up on a quiet road with only a few houses nestled in the tree line on either side. Keith pulls into a long driveway going up to a good-sized, gorgeous, one-level log home with a green roof, peaked over the center of the house. Thick full logs support an open porch along the front, and I spot a couple of rocking chairs and a small table on one side. Perfect spot for morning coffee.
“Wow, this is beautiful.”
“It’s a nice spot. Just fifteen minutes from downtown but you wouldn’t know it up here. It’s quiet, just the way I like it.”
He’s right; I can’t hear anything but the peaceful sounds of nature when I get out of his SUV. I never considered myself an outdoorsy person per se, but the beautiful setting and clean air may have just turned me into one.
Curious, I walk up to the house, the sound of a car door slamming behind me. The porch is a mere step up and I run my hand along one of the rough-hewn logs holding up its roof.
“Let me show you around,” Keith offers, unlocking the rustic front door and carrying my stuff inside.
I follow him into a large main room that looks like it was taken straight from Architectural Digest. Exposed logs span the cathedral ceiling and line the walls. Either side of the spacious room has a hallway leading to the rest of the house. A large stone fireplace sits slightly off-center on the far wall, a worn tan leather couch and a couple of lazy chairs facing it. To the left of the entry is a dining area: a beautiful large harvest table, surrounded by six sturdy-looking dining chairs. The table is empty except for a pile of newspapers and a discarded coffee cup on the far end. I’m guessing that’s where Keith has his morning coffee. Very little adorns the walls, other than a well-stocked bookcase and a few impressive racks of antlers. The only reminder of the twenty-first century is the large screen TV mounted over the fireplace, and the modern open kitchen, extending from the dining area toward the back, where stainless steel appliances gleam. I’m officially jealous.
“Let’s get your stuff in the laundry and then I’ll show you the rest.”
I follow him down the hallway on the right, where he opens the first door to a small laundry room. I decline his offer to wash my stuff for me, already mortified enough without having him sort through my undies. He doesn’t push it, just quickly explains the settings on the washer, before discreetly leaving me to do my own sorting.
The first load running, I go in search of Keith. Sticking my head into the next door, I find a full bathroom with a nice sized tub. Immediately across from it, facing the front of the house, is what looks to be a spare bedroom. A simple twin bed and nightstand the only furniture in the room.
“I’m in here,” Keith’s voice calls out from the end of the hallway where a door stands open.
He’s perched on the edge of a desk, in what is clearly an office space, an impressive collection of monitors and assorted electronics behind him, and bookshelves lining the rest of available wall space. A club chair with footstool sits next to the front window, and on the other side of the room, French doors open to the outside where I can just see a little of an amazing view beyond. “You’re welcome to use this space. There’s enough to read, and I have Wi-Fi so feel free to use my computer.” He indicates a notepad next to the large iMac on his desk. “I wrote down the password.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, wincing at the reminder my laptop didn’t survive the fire.
My shoulders slump, thinking about the vast number of details comprising my life that will need to be restored somehow. I don’t even know where to start. At least I was given a week’s leave, hopefully enough to get a decent start on that.
“Not today,” Keith mumbles, walking up to fold me in his arms, apparently able to read my body language. “Today you take a breath, tomorrow you make a list.”
I nod my head against the comfort of his shoulder, taking a moment before I lift my head, finding his bent down already.
“Thank you,” I repeat, after rising on my toes and brushing his lips lightly. “Now show me the rest of your dream home.”
The other wing of the house is laid out much the same as this one, except the larger bathroom is on the front of the house, with a big walk-in shower and separate toilet. On the opposite side of the house is a room full of exercise equipment, and a large picture window facing the stunning view behind the house. The master bedroom is at the end of the hall, running the full depth of the house. The space is sparse, with a closet, a dresser, and a large bed matching the rustic features of the house. It faces the rear, where another set of French doors leads to a deck spanning the entire back. A second discarded coffee cup sits on the small table just outside, wedged between two rustic wooden chairs, showing it as another favored spot. I can see why.
What wasn’t apparent, coming in the front, is the property sits right at the edge of a canyon; giving the impression you’re sitting on top of the world.
“Can’t imagine what it’s like, waking up to this every morning,” I say, half to myself, as I open the door and walk outside.
Resting my hands on the railing, I take in the view, when the heat of Keith’s body braces me from behind.
“You don’t have to imagine.” His warm breath strokes the shell of my ear. “You’re welcome in my bed.”
Chapter 19
Keith
“What was on the note?”
I look up to where Autumn is curled up on my couch with a John Grisham book she found in my office. She’s been quiet the last couple of hours. Withdrawn. I barely managed to get any lunch into her.
One moment she was warm in my arms, the next she disappeared to the other side of the house, when I took a call. After, when I went to look for her, I could hear water splashing in the guest bathroom and I assumed she was taking a bath. When I knocked on the door to check on her, she assured me she was fine.
I used the time to make a few more calls. I checked in with the station to see if there was any news from either the fire inspection or this morning’s autopsy—there wasn’t—and among other things, caught Ramirez up on my earlier conversation with Luna. She’d offered to have the far more advanced FBI lab take a closer look the evidence collected so far, including the latest note. I’m not about to turn down the offer of additional assistance, especially since we don’t have a hell of a lot to go on.
I heard the tub drain and Autumn moving around—going in and out of the laundry room—and then the pad of her bare feet as she retreated into my office. At some point, while I was outside grabbing my laptop from the Tahoe, she’d come out and was sitting on the couch.
Other than her, “No thank you,” to my offer of a drink or something to eat, she’d been silent, even when I put a sandwich and a bottle of water in front of her anyway. Figuring she needed a little time to adjust, I let her be, so her sudden question catches me off guard. It’s the first time she’s brought up the note.
She twists ar
ound, staring at me over the back of couch. Her intense gaze has me ignore my plan to blow her off and I answer truthfully instead.
“You should’ve been grateful.” I watch shock register on her face and walk over to sit beside her on the couch. I put my hand on her knee, but she scoots into the corner, pulling her knees to her chest defensively.
“For what?”
“Who knows?” I shrug, turning my body to face her, but leaving her some space. Time for full disclosure. “What we do know is that whoever it is knows you—or thinks he does—and we’re pretty sure he’s been watching.”
“Watching?”
“His notes suggest his purpose shifted from a twisted need to please you, to anger directed at you. But even before the last note, his focus and methods changed with the first fire at your place.”
“I don’t get it, why?”
“The fire in your backyard? That was an impulse. Unplanned. It was also the night you and I went out for dinner, and ended up at the lookout point.” I note the sudden blush on her cheeks at the reference with some satisfaction. “I got the call on the Delwood fire, dropped you off at home, and kissed you on the porch. Not even an hour later, your shed went up in flames. Luna suggested the two things might well be related.”
I can feel the shift in the air the moment I mention her name. Fuck. In the past few days, the reason for Autumn’s abrupt departure from the Irish that Saturday night had all but been forgotten. We’d had other things on our mind. Now I get why she booted it when I answered Luna’s call earlier, although for the life of me I can’t recall if I’d called her ‘sweetheart’ again. It’s entirely possible.
Looks like some explanation is necessary, although I won’t be able to fully explain my relationship with Luna. Some things are not mine to share.
“I’ve never exactly been a choir boy,” I start, trying to get her to look at me. “But I’ve also never been a cheat, Red.” Her eyes narrow on mine before they slide off into the distance again. “Luna is a friend. More of a sister, actually. When I said she and I have a history, I meant I met her back in college. When I was in my final year and she was a freshman, we bumped into each other at a party. I hadn’t seen her in about eighteen years when she surfaced here in Durango, and despite the fact she’s a kick-ass FBI agent now, and not a timid first-year student, I feel protective of her.” From the look on her face I can tell she remains dubious, but that’s as much detail as I’m able to give her. She’ll have to trust me. “You’ll meet her soon enough,” I add. “Her office is helping out with the investigation. We often pool resources on serious cases.”
