Noah exhaled. My pace picked up as I gaped at the dozens of eggs that had been chucked at his car. From the looks of them, they’d been thrown recently. Strings of clear whites were still dribbling down the side, pooling on the cement below.
It wasn’t until I noticed what had been done to the back windshield that I stopped moving.
The symbol associated with the Huntsman. A death mark . . .
Haphazardly sprayed across my husband’s car window.
“What the hell?” The words leaked out of me as shock receded to fury.
Noah shifted his weight, his face resigned. “I was publicly outed as a ‘pedophile shrink’ a few days ago. First it was prank calls and threatening emails.” His arm gestured at his car. “It’s apparently escalated to destruction of personal property. Although if we were hankering for a raw egg smoothie, we’d be set.”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to make a joke out of this,” I said, digging into my purse in search of my phone.
“My Toyota is an omelet on four tires. Of course I’m going to joke about it.”
“This isn’t a routine case of property damage.” Phone in hand, I debated who to call first. “Someone has made a blatant death threat against you.”
Noah’s hand folded over my phone as he put himself in front of me so the car was out of sight. “It was probably some kid with a can of spray paint from his parents’ garage who got dared by his friends. If someone really wanted me dead, they’d wire a bomb to my car instead of chucking some eggs and spray paint at it.”
I backed away, crossing my arms. “You have to report this. Yesterday it’s prank calls, today it’s vandalism. Who knows what someone will try tomorrow?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “So you want to keep me around for a while more?”
“At least until the house is paid off.” My expression relaxed a bit. “Don’t get romantic on me now.”
His arm looped around my neck to steer me away from his car, still fighting a smile. “We should probably take your car.”
“There’s got to be security cameras in here. You should have someone check them to see if the vandal can be identified,” I said, letting him guide me back to the elevators.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’ll take care of it how?”
“Grace.” He punched the down button, his tone changing. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“I don’t have to trust you,” I replied, climbing onto the elevator. A sigh seeped out of me. “But I will.”
Once we were in my car, Noah caught himself as he was putting it in drive. “What’s the plan?”
“Where’s that one trail you like to run so much?”
Noah’s face said everything. In seventeen years of knowing one another, only once had I voluntarily suggested running—this exact moment.
“On Tiger Mountain?” He flicked on the turn signal but waited to pull into traffic.
“That’s it. I was thinking maybe I could check it out with you. See what the appeal is.”
He scanned my face, almost as if he were checking for some hint of lunacy. “It’s going to be pitch black by the time we reach the trailhead.”
“I picked up one of those headlamp things you use on your night runs. That should work, right?”
His gaze moved down my black suit. “Did you bring a change of clothes?”
Reaching into the back seat, I lifted the duffel bag I’d packed before work. “And I even brought you a change in case you didn’t have one on you.”
Noah patted his messenger bag behind him. “I always have a change of clothes.”
“Like a Boy Scout.”
Waiting another minute to give me a chance to change my mind, Noah eventually pulled out into traffic when he determined I was serious. “Do you own a pair of running shoes?”
“I do as of this afternoon. I hit up the one-stop-shop of outdoor supplies.”
“You realize there’s a difference between road and trail running?” he asked, seamlessly maneuvering the SUV in and out of traffic.
“Such as?”
“Mud, roots, rocks, steep grades. That kind of thing.” He merged onto the highway, eyes shifting between the rearview mirror and front windshield every few seconds. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to dinner instead? Check out one of those new restaurants in Issaquah you’ve been wanting to try?”
My head shook. “I’m committed now. I’ve got to see what this whole running thing is all about.”
He pressed the SUV faster, until we were whipping past and through other vehicles. “Nearly two decades together and you still manage to surprise me, Grace Wolff.”
My hand reached for the handle above the door as the odometer inched a little faster. “Same for you, Dr. Wolff.”
Nineteen
“You need a break?”
The flash of Noah’s headlamp cut back at me for a moment, his breathing so regular we might as well have been sitting on the couch watching a movie. For my part, I was panting as if I was about to give birth to a porcupine.
“No,” I gasped, sucking a few gulps of air. “I’m good.”
The plod of his shoes hitting the soft ground slowed yet again as we continued the climb up the trail. We probably could have walked as fast.
“We can walk the last mile back to the car. You’ve already proven how tough you are.”
My teeth gritted at how unhurried his breathing was. “How many miles have we gone?”
He checked his watch. “About four and around twelve hundred feet of climbing. No small task.”
My thighs felt like they were going to rip apart as we neared the top of the hill. “How far’s the route you normally take here?”
He didn’t reply immediately. “I’ve been running consistently for years—”
“How far?” I panted, trying not to collapse when I crested the top of the hill, only to get a peek of the next one up ahead.
“Around eight miles,” he answered.
“Liar,” I grumbled.
There was an uneven smile on his face when he glanced back. “Eight miles—one way.”
“More like it,” I mumbled, reaching for my side that had been aching from the first quarter mile. “All this running . . .” A few broken breaths before I could continue. “Why do you do it?”
When the trail widened, Noah fell in beside me, both of our headlamps creating one bright stream of light into the darkness. “It’s a form of therapy, I guess.”
“Therapy for the therapist.”
“Something like that,” he said, pointing out an exposed root before I tripped over it. “In my experience, there are two types of runners. Those who are running toward something, and those who are running away from something.”
I gave that a moment’s thought, arriving at the conclusion that I was neither as I was in no way, shape, or form a “runner.”
“Which one are you?” I asked, examining his effortless stride from the corner of my eyes. He moved with grace and power, a panther in human form.
Noah took a moment before answering, our footsteps filling in the silence around us.
“A little of both,” he replied in the kind of far off voice that suggested there was no end or beginning to the story.
“Since we’re on the topic of voluntary suffering.” I caught my breath, still digging at my side. “How would you feel about teaching me a few of those fancy martial arts moves?”
His pace slowed to a walk. “Moves?” A hint of teasing rested in his voice.
“Whatever you call it. Moves, holds, positions, can of whoop-ass . . . just show me a few basic things for self-defense.”
“Self-defense?” He stopped walking. “Is there anything I should know about?”
“No,” I replied, my breath slowing now that we were stopped. “I’m just curious.”
“You’d tell me if anyone was threatening you?”
“I’m not the one with a death stamp spray-painted across the back of my car
. This is strictly for curiosity’s sake.” The loose scree rolled beneath my feet when I shifted. “And maybe a bit to do with the recent revelation that all of the measures we take to feel safe are nothing more than an illusion. Laws, street lights, security systems, it’s all a smoke screen when it comes down to it.”
“There’s a deep thought for a Friday evening.” After scanning up and down the trail, Noah dimmed his headlamp to its lowest setting. “But you’re right. All the good intentions in the world won’t stop or deter the monsters among us. Security is society’s lullaby, meant to lure us to sleep when darkness encroaches. Safety is a lie packaged under the pretense of a guarantee. Good people follow the rules. The evil ones make their own.”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my sleeve, staring at the man I’d tied my life to and wondering how much of the iceberg still resided beneath the surface. The more he exposed to me, the more I realized was still hiding.
“Sounds like I’m not the only one feeling philosophical tonight,” I said.
He plodded off the trail onto a relatively flat section of terrain, kicking aside a few loose rocks and branches. “Jiu Jitsu is as much about offense as it is defense.” He clicked off his headlamp entirely, sliding it from his head into the pocket of his light-weight jacket. “It levels the playing field, taking away the advantage of size and raw brute strength when used properly. A person your size could overpower someone two times larger with an understanding of pressure points and limb manipulation.”
I watched him unzip his jacket and slide out of it one arm at a time before setting it aside on a rock. Now that we weren’t running, the cold was creeping in, made more potent by the night and elevation. I felt entirely out of my element in this sort of environment, while Noah seemed most at home, thriving in the harsh climate where discomfort eclipsed well-being.
“So I could take you down?” I asked.
Under the shine of my light, his eyes flashed. “You could try.”
“This isn’t going to be one of those things where you let me win?”
“You don’t want your self-defense training to be constituted of your opponent letting you win every time.” Noah slid off his running shoes and socks, bare feet tramping over the cool earth. “Turn off your light and give your eyes a minute to adjust.”
“How can I fight in the dark if I can’t see you?” I clicked off my headlamp and set it aside, but kept my jacket and shoes in place.
“When and if you ever need to protect yourself, it will never be under ideal circumstances. Train for the worst possible scenario so you’re prepared when the worst comes.” His voice came from behind me, though I hadn’t heard him move.
Blinking in an attempt to adjust my vision quicker, I spun around. He wasn’t there. “Noah, it’s dark, my body feels like putty, I’m pretty sure I just heard a coyote howl, and I’m stuck on some mountain trail I’ve never been on before. I don’t need you adding to the creepy vibe.”
“Don’t forget you’re on Tiger Mountain.” This time his voice came from the side, far sounding and high, as though he’d scaled one of the trees lining the trail. “Where a skull belonging to one of forty-eight victims of the Green River Killer was discovered.”
“Did you really have to bring that up? This place feels haunted enough without the mention of unearthed human bones.”
My eyes had adjusted enough I could differentiate the landscape from the dark, the faded line of the trail stretching beyond.
“What is it about the northwest that seems to attract serial killers? Ridgeway, Bundy . . . even the Huntsman for a lone kill?” I turned when I heard a sound, but there was no sign of Noah. “The rain? Lack of sun? Something in the water?” I attempted to keep my voice light, despite the increased beat of my heart, this time not from the uphill running.
“Up here, in the dark, wet corner of the country, a killer can hide right in plain sight.” Out of nowhere, he appeared in front of me, lips parted and eyes excited. “Boo.”
A surprised cry rattled low in my chest before I shoved him back. “Not helping.”
Once his chuckle tapered off, he extended his arm toward me. “Grab my wrist.”
Exhaling, I clutched his wrist.
“With your other hand, reach under my armpit and grab hold of the back of my arm.”
Doing as instructed, my fingers curled into the sinew of his tricep, feeling the heat burning his skin, as though he had a fever.
“Now use that leverage to lunge behind me, then wind your right arm around my neck as fast as you can.”
“You are, like, half a foot taller than me,” I replied.
His head tipped. “So?”
“Fine,” I grumbled, tightening my grips before going into motion.
My thighs screamed in protest from the sudden movement, but I somehow managed to finagle my arm around Noah’s neck once I was behind him.
“Now take your other arm and cross it behind my neck, creating a kind of lock.”
“Like this?” I asked, once I’d adjusted my other arm into the proper position.
His head nodded in the crux of my arms. “You can use your hips or knees to bend me back, taking me to the ground or to my knees.”
It took me a moment to figure out what came most naturally. Driving my knee into his spine, I pressed until Noah’s body arced away from me, his knees eventually crashing to the ground.
Through the frame of my arms, he smiled at me. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”
Weakness had exited my body, leaving a dizzying, almost smug kind of power in its wake. I’d never considered myself strong in body, but the ability to render a man inept proved otherwise. “Surprisingly not.”
“Squeeze your arms tighter, applying pressure to the sides of my neck.” He nodded at me.
“They’re wrapped around your throat. If I squeeze any tighter, you’ll go unconscious.”
“That’s the whole idea.”
“Brain damage,” I said. “It’s a thing.”
“My IQ score suggests I have some to spare.” His hands lifted to my arm roped around the front of his neck and pressed it deeper into his throat. “You’re not cutting off my air supply, you’re cutting off my blood supply to the brain. Done correctly, I’ll go unconscious in five to ten seconds.”
“I get the idea. You don’t have to pass out for me to get the basics.”
“You learn by doing. Not by imagining what comes next.” His hands fell away from my arm. “Squeeze.”
“What if I hang too long and cause permanent damage? Or worse . . .” My head shook, but I didn’t release him.
“As soon as I go unconscious, that’s when you’ll know to release your hold.” His knees shifted beneath him, rocking his head in my hold. “You can do it, Grace.”
“You promise everything will be all right?”
His expression relaxed. “I promise.”
Taking a breath, I tightened my arms around his neck. I felt his trachea through one forearm, his spine against my other. I thought he was trembling until I realized it was me who was shaking. I wasn’t sure why I was doing this—why I’d agreed to such a hazardous tactic—excusing it with the reassurance that Noah had been practicing this for over a decade and possessed some sliver of self-preservation.
“Harder.” The word rattled in his chest, barely discernable from the adrenaline raging inside me.
Biting my lip, I squeezed until I could go no further. A strange hissing sound rushed past his teeth after another minute before his eyes rolled back into his head. The moment his body went limp in my arms, I released my hold and eased him onto the ground.
“Noah.” My voice wavered as I gently shook his body.
He remained still, peaceful looking in his slumber—too tranquil for a man who’d literally been strangled into oblivion.
“Shit, Noah. Come on,” I cried, speaking each word louder, continuing to rock his body.
The few seconds that followed spanned an eternity.
&
nbsp; Finally, Noah’s eyelids quivered, his mouth parting to gasp for air right after. After blinking and collecting a handful of breaths, he looked totally normal, as though the living breath hadn’t been choked out of him a minute ago.
“For a moment there, it almost looked like you were worried about me.” One corner of his mouth twitched, his voice hoarse.
Exhaling my relief, I lightly shoved his shoulder. “You’ve never been good at reading my mind.”
“I don’t need to read it. I’m a shrink.” His dark brows moved as he sat up, color flooding back into his face. “I can simply crack it open and peek inside.”
“If it’s so simple, why do you get me cookware every year for Christmas?” I asked, brushing away the dirt and debris covering his back.
“You don’t like cookware?”
I blinked at him purposefully. “I don’t cook.”
He rubbed his mouth. “What do you like?”
“Not having to consider facing twenty to life for killing my husband.”
Noah swept the sweaty tangles of my hair from my forehead, eyes gleaming with a playful sheen. “Not sure how to wrap that up and stick it under the tree.”
“Then how about a nice handbag from Nordstrom? Any color so long as it’s black.” Standing, I tried not to give away how sore I was.
Noah basically sprang up, looking capable of setting a personal best in a marathon. “Why has it taken so long for you to tell me? Nearly two decades of Christmases together and you’re just telling me this now.”
“I didn’t think you cared,” I replied, trying not to wince as I stretched my quads.
“I didn’t think you cared either,” he echoed, his expression knitting together. “Where did we go wrong?”
His question should have taken me by surprise, but instead I felt as though I’d been waiting years for him to ask that very one.
“I’m not sure we ever were right,” I said. “Right for each other, right for a relationship, right for building a future.”
“Then why have you stayed? Why didn’t you leave me years ago?” He looked me straight-on, no hesitation in his words. It was as if he’d been waiting years for this conversation as well.
These Violent Roots Page 18
