Her heart squeezed and she bit her lower lip, anticipating a trembling that oddly didn’t come. She glided her fingertips over Troy’s image. A mere half-hour after the picture had been snapped by Troy’s uncle, a professional photographer, Troy had died in her arms in the ER.
"Oh, Troy, I’m so sorry," she whispered. She was sorry she’d made him wear a tux, sorry they hadn’t been able to go on the Australian honeymoon they’d planned for more than a year, sorry they hadn’t been given the chance to know what married life was like, sorry he’d died so young with so much ahead of him.
A nearly blinding anger swamped her. She’d never truly hated anyone in her life until Eddie Victor had made her a widow. And in the past two years, that was the one emotion that hadn’t dimmed a bit. If possible, she hated Eddie even more than before. Because now he was trying to take her life in his hands again.
Well, she was having none of it. Reed might be there to protect her, but she was just as determined to protect him. Eddie would not rip away another man she cared about even if she wasn’t entirely sure what those feelings were and where they were headed. Well, they were headed nowhere permanent because he wouldn’t give up being a cop, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever want a long-term relationship again.
A swell in the movie’s soundtrack told her she’d been sitting in the bedroom longer than she realized. Uncas was running up the mountain to save Alice. She choked up. It was the one part of the movie she couldn’t watch anymore even though she knew none of the blood was real. She’d been there the day they’d filmed the scene atop Chimney Rock Mountain in North Carolina. Since its release in the theaters and then to video, she’d probably watched it a hundred times.
A laugh bubbled up, surprising her. Troy had hated the movie as much as she loved it. He’d derived great pleasure from making dramatic gagging noises when she watched it, making such a nuisance of himself that she’d been obliged to beat him to the floor with the couch cushions.
She glanced back at the portrait once more before returning it to the envelope and then its spot at the bottom of the box. With one final look at the box’s contents, she replaced the lid and scooted it back in the corner of the closet. For several heartbeats, she sat staring into the closet, wondering when the despair would slam into her. But as the minutes ticked by, it didn’t. She didn’t know if that made her happy or sad.
After a few more swells of the soundtrack, she kissed her fingertips and blew the kiss toward the box that held the mementoes of her life with her first true love.
"Goodbye, Troy," she said.
She wandered back into the living room, a bit sad but oddly comforted. Had she just emerged from the final step of grief, acceptance?
She’d read so many books about dealing with grief after Troy’s death. At first, they’d sounded clinical, as if written by someone who’d never experienced grief himself. Gradually, the descriptions of denial, anger, and depression had made sense as she moved through the stages. She thought she’d already accepted Troy’s death, but maybe she truly hadn’t to the point that she could resume a normal life.
But what was normal? She had a good life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted changes anytime soon.
The windswept end of the movie faded to black, and she flicked off both the TV and the DVD player. Her eyes darted to the front door at the sound of scuffing on the porch. Her heart leapt into her throat, crowding the lump already there.
Eddie? A ‘possum? Her imagination?
She stood frozen, not daring to blink. She didn’t own a gun, and she doubted anything at hand would prove an effective defense against a murderer who no doubt had acquired a weapon in the days since his release.
Nevertheless, she scanned the room, desperately searching for a weapon. At the sight of the poker beside the fireplace, she crept toward it, hoping her movements didn’t make the floorboards creak. When she wrapped her shaking fingers around the metal, it made her feel absurdly like a character in some Appalachian game of Clue. Ms. Myers in the cabin with the poker.
Should she call Reed? That would be the easiest course. And the most cowardly. She had absolutely zero desire to confront Eddie Victor alone, but what if she called Reed only to find out a cross-eyed ‘possum was the only menace lurking near her cabin? She’d feel stupid and guilty that she’d dragged him from his much-needed rest.
And what if it was Eddie? Sure, Reed had a gun. But could she live with herself if she put him in the line of fire to protect herself? No, she couldn’t, no matter the danger to her own safety. Perhaps if she’d not experienced what she had, but with the memory of Troy’s loss fresh on her mind she couldn’t endanger Reed.
Wishing the lights weren’t blazing, she moved toward the door, her heart thundering so loudly she could barely hear her own footfalls. If it was Eddie, maybe she could surprise him, skewer him in the gut before he could even lift his weapon.
Could she do it, kill another human being?
Her mind flashed to Troy lying in her arms, the life draining from his chest and his eyes. Anger, pure and frightening in its intensity, flooded through her, its heat replacing the chill the sound from the porch had caused.
She tightened her grip on the poker. The urge to have it done, to be able to move on with her life without fear, nearly made her jerk open the door and confront whomever was on her porch.
A bit of sanity sliced through the anger. What if the visitor was one of the guests with an emergency? And what if it was Reed? He’d occupied her front stoop once before. Maybe he was checking out the perimeter, making sure all was well. She couldn’t very well stab away when she didn’t know who or what she’d be stabbing until it was too late.
Could it even be her imagination? The boards in the cabin creaked all the time. Until the past few days, she’d paid them no attention. Now, even the slightest sound sent her heart into a furious hammering.
She strained to hear any further noise, but the outdoors remained silent except for the insects in the surrounding woods. Her ears buzzed with the effort to hear more. What was out there? Knowing she wouldn’t rest until she had an answer one way or the other, she raised the poker, took a deep shuddering breath and pulled open the door with a quickness she hoped would surprise her prowler long enough for her to take advantage.
Reed jerked as if he’d been asleep and nearly tumbled from his perch on the edge of the porch. His reaction startled her, making her jump and gasp in surprise. She lifted her free hand to her breast to prevent her heart from beating out of her chest.
"Damn it, Reed, you about got yourself shish-ka-bobbed," she said when she found her voice again.
He stared down at the poker in her hand. "Looks like I still might."
She loosened her grip but didn’t set the poker aside. "I ought to give you a couple of good wallops just for the heck of it."
"That’s some Southern hospitality."
"Stop trying to be funny."
"What are you doing charging out into the night with a poker anyway?"
"I heard you scuffing around out here."
"What if I’d been a bear?"
"A bear wasn’t what I was afraid of."
They stared at each other in the dim light, not uttering Eddie’s name but knowing his menace was there between them.
"You shouldn’t expose yourself to danger like that."
"What am I supposed to do, cower under my bed?"
"If necessary."
"I won’t live like that."
"At least you’d live."
"No, I’d exist. Living is an entirely different thing."
He didn’t comment. She was right, and he knew it.
A rustling sound from the bushes beyond the clearing ended their conversation. Shelly’s heart, only now beginning to calm, leapt into her throat again.
"Turn out the light," Reed whispered, his command allowing no argument.
She took a slow step backward and flipped the interior light off.
"Go inside and lock the door," Ree
d said.
The hell with that. She’d made a promise to herself to protect Reed as much as he protected her. She might be armed with only a fireplace poker, but she figured she could do some damage if necessary.
A soft rubbing sound from Reed’s direction told her he was pulling his gun from his shoulder holster. The faint moonlight and the muted beams from the security light by the parking lot reflected dully on the cold steel of the barrel. Her eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light, allowing her to see the outline of the man who’d sworn to put himself between her and
the man who evidently wanted to kill her.
Fear invaded her heart like a ruthless conquering army. She wanted to grab Reed’s arm, to keep him from putting himself in danger. Maybe he could cower under the bed with her, keeping himself safe as well. But she knew him well enough to know that he’d never hide. She prayed he didn’t let his personal hatred for Eddie Victor mar his judgment to the point he’d make himself a target.
Her heart jumped when he moved toward the corner of the porch, his feet nearly soundless on the ground. She stood still, not wanting to distract him or draw attention to herself when she was Reed’s only backup.
She stared toward the forest and its thick understory of bushes and flowering plants. Its lushness provided beauty by day but potential danger at night. Eddie could be out there anywhere, watching them as if they were a pair of ducks gliding on a pond. A chill seeped down to her bones, making her shiver from the inside out.
No more sound issued from the bushes as Reed stood behind the corner porch support with his gun sighted on some indecipherable object in the woods. She scarcely dared breathe. The minutes stretched as did her nerves. Whatever or whoever had made the initial sound had either snuck away or remained still in defensive mode.
The sudden movement in the bushes nearly made her scream.
"Come out, you bastard," Reed said with deadly calm.
More rustling had Reed moving closer, using her car as a shield. Her back to the cabin’s wall, she hurried to the edge of the porch. She was determined to help Reed, but the fear pumping in her blood left a bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed to try to rid herself of the taste but only succeeded in making it more pronounced.
More scurrying in the bushes made her stiffen. Reed, whom she could see more clearly now, propped his gun hand on the hood of the car and fished a powerful flashlight out of his back pocket. Not taking his eyes off the forest, he lifted the flashlight and pointed it toward the noise.
Two bright eyes stared back at them.
Relief overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t help the snort of humor as she sagged against the side of the cabin. "Well, Detective Tanner, you have successfully drawn down on your first raccoon." Though she couldn’t distinguish his features, Reed no doubt was looking at her with annoyance. Not only had she not obeyed his order to go inside, she also was laughing at him. But he had to see it was funny.
He muttered something, and she laughed again.
He stalked toward her. "I thought I told you to go inside."
"Yes, I must protect myself from marauding raccoons."
"It could have been a person."
"Or a bear, or a deer, or a host of other things."
He growled in frustration. "You sure are stubborn."
"Takes one to know one."
He climbed half the steps leading up to the porch, putting him at about eye level with her. "I’m serious, Shelly. If that had been Eddie, he could have spotted you and taken a shot without you ever seeing him."
"He could have taken you out just as easily." All hint of laughter seeped out of her at the thought.
"And what were you going to do if he did, attack an armed man with a poker?"
"Yes."
Her answer seemed to startle him because he didn’t reply. She wished she could see his face more clearly. Was he thinking her the biggest of idiots or was he touched by her loyalty?
As if fatigue had finally gotten the best of him, he sank onto the porch step, turning his profile toward her. She moved away from the wall and leaned on one of the porch supports.
"Were you asleep when I opened the door?"
"No," he answered in sharp annoyance, not the least bit convincing.
"That’s why you sleep so late in the mornings, isn’t it? You’ve been sitting on my porch all night every night since you got here, haven’t you?"
He didn’t respond, but his lack of words answered her questions. Her heart swelled at his dedication to seeing her remain unharmed. She leaned the poker against the wall and moved to the steps. She sat beside him and stared out toward the dim glow shed by the security light.
"You don’t have to stand sentinel every night," she said. "You need a good night’s rest, more than one probably."
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. She fought the urge to smooth the mussed locks.
"You don’t take this seriously enough," he said.
"What am I supposed to do? I don’t go anywhere without you, I lock my doors, I don’t leave windows open when I go to sleep. Do I need to buy a shotgun and sit on my couch staring at the door all night?"
"No."
"The thought that Eddie might show up scares me so much I can barely breathe sometimes, but I can’t help but think that he’s more concerned with staying free. It makes more sense that he’d be sipping a tall drink on the beach in Acapulco or the Keys."
"He’s not in Mexico or Florida."
"You don’t know that."
"Yes, I do."
Her nerves jolted at the conviction in his voice. "How? Have you heard something?"
"No, we don’t know where he is. He hasn’t been seen since Berk lost him in Vegas." He turned his face toward her. The faint light showed enough for her to read the fatigue and concern there. "But I know, Shelly." He pointed to his stomach. "I know it here."
Her heart seized up before remembering to beat, and she swallowed against the dryness invading her mouth.
"He’s coming for you." He paused. "And me."
****
CHAPTER NINE
Threat permeated the air surrounding Shelly and Reed, more real than when she’d thought only minutes before that Eddie might be standing on her porch. She rubbed her arms against the goosebumps peppering her exposed skin.
She froze when Reed wrapped his arm around her shoulder, but a memory, so bright and clear it could have been playing on a screen in front of her, helped her relax and lean against him. He’d held her like this the day of Troy’s funeral. She’d already cried so much she could barely see out of her swollen eyes, and if Reed hadn’t held her upright, she would have crumbled on the ground beside Troy’s grave. It had been Reed who’d known she couldn’t handle the sight of Troy being lowered into the maw of the earth and dirt being tossed onto his coffin, so he’d led her away.
And here he was again, giving her strength when she needed it most.
Overwhelmed with worry and appreciation, she lowered her head to his shoulder, and he rubbed up and down her arm like she had moments before.
"Thank you," she said.
"I don’t mind lending a shoulder."
"You’ve given me a lot more than a shoulder. I would have never survived those months after Troy’s death without you."
He stiffened, though he didn’t increase the pressure squeezing her. "You had your parents, your brother and sister-in-law."
"But mostly you."
He sighed deeply, and she imagined him closing his eyes against the painful memories.
"I know you still miss him," she said. "You’re still grieving. I could see it on your face the day you arrived."
"Not something you get over."
"Not entirely, but you learn to live again. Otherwise, it eats you up inside until you’re nothing but an empty, soulless shell."
"You figure out how to do that?"
"I wouldn’t say I had any light bulb moments, but each day I think it hurt a little less than the day before. I did
n’t realize that for a long time, not until I woke up and found I wasn’t crying myself to sleep anymore. The first time I laughed afterward, it startled me so much I felt guilty. I mean, how could I laugh when my husband was dead?"
"I’m glad you were able to start over." His tone told her he couldn’t imagine how.
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. With her face so close to his, his breath caressed her cheeks. "But you haven’t. I see it in your eyes. Every mention of Troy is like a stab to you. And you can’t enjoy life because of it."
Reed retrieved his arm, and she tried not to focus on how much she missed the simple, comforting touch. He laced his fingers and leaned his forehead against his intertwined hands.
"He was my best friend. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get that image of him lying on those church steps out of my mind. Every time I think of him, that’s all I see. Not the times when we were young, not the police academy, not fishing, just all that blood."
Shelly swallowed against the rising gorge in her throat. Though she no longer thought about it every day, that same image haunted her as well. No one could see such a thing and not be scarred.
"I was the same way for a long time, but I finally had to force myself to concentrate on the good memories. Otherwise, I was going to lose my mind."
"I’ve thought I would more than once. And I’m still so damn angry I could rip Eddie’s head off with my bare hands." He unclasped his hands and made a choking gesture in front of his knees.
Shelly placed her hand over one of his. "You can’t let Eddie do this to you. If he knew how this was still ripping at you, he’d glory in it. You can’t give him that satisfaction."
"It’s not a damned water faucet. I can’t turn it off."
His muscles bunched, and she wrapped her hand more tightly around his to prevent him from springing up and stalking away. If he had any hope of healing, he needed to talk out his feelings, whether he liked it or not.
"I know that," she said in her most soothing voice. If she said the wrong thing, he’d bolt like a scared deer.
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