Seeking Worthy Pursuits: A Dark Romantic Suspense Novel (Alace Sweets Book 2)

by MariaLisa deMora

  Oh God. He’d gone from making this a them to just her, that fast.

  After hours in the ER, the relief present in Eric’s eyes had been overwhelming when he’d heard the doctor’s words, calming them with statistics about early pregnancy and spotting. Being granted the chance to watch that fear and relief give way to an enraptured joy when they saw the rapid fluttering movement on the ultrasound monitor had filled her with shame. Having gone from the high of the thrill and excitement of his unfettered happiness at the idea of the pregnancy, to the lows of that terror-filled ride to the ER had slammed the knowledge home that she’d caused this. I did this. Nearly took this from him, from us. Razor-sharp thoughts circled through her head. As selfish and single-minded as I am, how can I hope to be a mother worth having the name?

  “I didn’t mean to do anything to hurt it.” Alace dipped her chin, looking away, bending her knees in turn so the covers seen beyond Eric’s arm looked like a marching army was underneath. Teeth to her lip, she braced for his fear to turn to anger. Maybe even wanted him to rage, because then she could better soak up the responsibility. It’s all on me. “I wouldn’t, Eric.”

  “Beloved.” Her neck twisted at the word, wrenching her head to one side, face angled away, unwilling to brave his anger. “Alace, baby. Look at me.” Strong yet gentle, his fingers gripped her chin, pulling her face back into alignment with where she presumed his was. With her eyes squeezed shut, she couldn’t see, didn’t want to see, wouldn’t stand to see. He shook her gently, side to side. “Alace, look at me.”

  “I don’t want to.” Honesty wasn’t her go-to, but with Eric, she knew nothing else would do.

  “What are you afraid of?” Quiet and calm, he was close enough to send puffs of heated air across her cheek with each word. “Hmmm?”

  Her whisper was clogged with tears. “I didn’t know it would happen.”

  “I know that, beloved. My beloved. How were either of us to know, hmmm?” He’d pinned her against the mattress, his hips on one side, arm on the other, body hovering over hers as he leaned in. Dry heat touched her cheek, his lips skating along her jawline towards her ear, where they pressed a gentle kiss. “The doctor said for the moment everything is okay. Said about a quarter of women who encounter this have spotting with no other problems. And now we know, hmmm? Now we know, and we’ll work together to make things as okay as we can.” We, he was saying we again, and her heart gave a tiny leap that brought more stinging salt to her eyes. She blinked, wanting to believe everything Eric was saying. “I love you, Alace. We’ll figure this out.”

  Her stomach rolled again, and Alace must have failed to keep her composure at the acrid taste because he quirked an eyebrow at her, corner of his mouth pulled to the side. “My stomach’s pissed.” She shook her head. “I ate granola bars and protein packs yesterday, then with everything last night and this morning—everything that happened in between came before food, and now there’s that damn horse pill.” Eric’s expression hovered between angry and concerned, with the empathy eventually winning. “It’s nearly dinnertime. I should probably eat something.”

  “Then I’ll feed you. Feed my baby.” Something shifted in his face, a lightness around his eyes, and she knew in this instant that the phrase had forever changed for him. “Any special requests?” His face drifted closer to hers, his fingers still trapping her chin. Not that she would have tried to avoid his kiss, the touch of his lips on hers something she’d been craving, fearing the loss if he blamed her for the stupid, selfish actions that had caused the spotting. His mouth glided across hers, dropping tender pecks at each corner. “I can cook or call something for delivery.” The glint in his eye promised an argument if she tried for anything other than those options, limiting selections to the ones that could come to her.

  “I’d eat eggs and bacon if you wanted to do breakfast for dinner, or anything without tomato sauce from that Italian place.” She shrugged and allowed her palm to slip up his arm, curling around the back of his neck as she boldly tugged him closer. She had to clear her throat twice before she could croak out her request. “Hug first?” Eric’s arms folded around her in an instant, lifting her from the pillows to be cradled against his chest again, legs draped over his lap. She burrowed her face against his neck, holding her breath to keep the rogue sobs at bay. It took minutes in which he patiently held her, his grip renewing around her waist and shoulders, his hands playing a symphony of touch along her arms and back, where each soft caress felt like a promise of faithfulness and fidelity to her. A pledge he’d spoken many times, had written into their marriage vows, and had delivered again in dozens of loving IOUs. The offering of more he’d kissed into her lips, pressed into her flesh as he loved on her, and scored into her mind with each day that passed.

  “I’ve got you, Alace.” He tipped his head to rest against hers, cocooning her close. “We’re okay. No matter what, baby. Beloved. We’re always okay.”

  “I love you.” At his pleased inrush of air, she silently swore an oath to say those words often and with meaning. An immediate repeat wouldn’t go amiss, because maybe, just maybe, Eric was as wretched as her at the idea of losing any part of the other. Until it had been nearly torn away, she hadn’t yet cherished the idea of holding a tiny bit of Eric inside her. Hadn’t paid enough attention to the miracle in action, had seen it as a distraction and encumbrance. Never a nuisance, not ever again. She wouldn’t take any part of having Eric in her life for granted, and she needed him to understand. “I love you.”

  “As I do you, beloved. As I do you.” He hummed softly, then relaxed his arms to a lighter hold, no longer squeezing the life out of her ribs as he’d been threatening to do. “I’ll go find food.” Another hum. When he spoke again, his voice dipped a register, vibrating with the exposed emotions. “Feed both my babies.”

  He pulled away and she let him go, staring up at him, unsure if he’d allow her request. The hell with wondering, she thought. Just ask. “My pack’s out in the beater. Can you bring it up here to me?”

  Not even a wrinkle of his brow as he agreed. “I’ll bring it up after I sort food. Just the backpack?” Alace nodded. “Okay, back in a minute.” He paused at the door, one hand resting on the wooden frame, knuckles tapping a nervous cadence so lightly it hardly disturbed the air. “Stay in bed.”

  “I will,” she reassured, holding her smile in, wanting him to see how seriously she took the doctor’s warnings. “I’ll still be right here when you get back.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Owen

  Tablet balanced on his knees, his thumbs tapped out a beat much faster than his heartrate. Anxiety rocked him more than the just-finished five-klick section of trail that sported a greater-than-challenging grade along most of it.

  The unassuming surface of the tablet reflected the overhead sun. In between the masking gleam, it also displayed the fact that, other than the initial responses, there’d been zero new activity in the folder. That made it nearly a full day with no new notes, documents, or information—it was as if Alace had dropped him out into the wilderness and then immediately transformed what had begun feeling very much like a partnership he could value into a wasteland instead.

  Alace’s first note had been an admonishment to leave no trace, which had matched what he’d already done at the time. After realizing that clearing was more or less a still-active scene for the killer, Owen had verified no living captives, then taken time and care in retracing his steps, returning everything to the exact place and position it had been found.

  Her second note, time stamped only minutes after the first, was a surprise. Less a directive and more thinking-out-loud comments, she’d plucked at his thought processes with her musing statements. She wasn’t wrong in her assessment, because given the remote location and the sheer weight of the half barrel, the idea the killer had one per field felt hugely significant in some way.

  He just had no idea what that way was at this point.

  Owen discarded the things he felt
were too obvious. This killer’s motivational triggers were further in the past than a horticulture class in college. The dressing up a certain way to fit a part that only existed in the killer’s mind, the carefully prepared pits—and Owen had calculated the time needed to complete even one pit, much less the number they were looking at now, and the facts indicated it would be no less than four days’ hard work each to peel back the layers of vegetation and earth, excavate the pit sized from four feet square to an eight-by-twelve rectangle, shore up the ceiling with boards—another hard-earned carry-in item—create the peephole with the wire or mesh, and then cover everything back up and haul the excess soil away.

  Powering down the tablet and Wi-Fi, he stowed them in his pack, mind still going a hundred miles an hour. He had another sixteen klicks to go before he’d gain access to the final clearing he’d marked from the mix of drone footage and satellite imagery. Alace hadn’t remarked on the location, but Owen wanted to rule it in or out before he turned back to where his car was parked, now a couple of days south.

  Gauging the time left until darkness fell from the sun’s arc towards the horizon, he was about to shove to his feet when he heard rattling stones ahead. Listening closely, he caught the muted scrape of leather on rock followed by rustling canvas. A fellow hiker. Owen quickly checked himself over, verifying no weapons were visible before he forced his body into a more relaxed position, one knee to the ground as he lifted a water bottle to his lips. When the hiker rounded the hip of the hill in front of him, he intentionally stilled, giving lip service to being startled, then waved in friendly fashion as he took another drink of water.

  He automatically marked her physical traits—petite, slim—and focused on what he could see of her face, half obscured by a bandanna pulled up over her nose to keep the dust out. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were bold accents, and he wondered about the rest of her features.

  “Hey.” Quiet and low from behind the concealing cloth, the woman’s greeting held confidence but not even a little excitement.

  Interesting.

  “Happy hiking.” He nodded and stood, making a show of more effort than was needed, playing up the imitated weakness and exhaustion, easily falling back into the habits for which Alace had chastised him. He suppressed a smirk, knowing Alace would be doing the exact same thing in this position. “How’s the trail?”

  “Clear and in good shape.” The woman halted twenty feet away, transferring the grip of her trekking poles to one hand so she could push expertly feathered bangs off her forehead.

  That was not a discount cut from a place housed in a strip mall. Her hair was also not sweat-sodden.

  The skin on the back of his neck prickled.

  Her fingers hesitated over the bandanna, finally tugging it down an inch or two, still keeping her mouth and chin hidden. The wind wasn’t right for him to get a whiff of her to evaluate trail sweat, but her appearance had Owen frowning. Somethin’ ain’t right. The maps had indicated no road crossing this trail for another thirty miles, and there were no intersections with other trails either. That meant it was a long distance to where she could have started hiking, yet she didn’t look like she’d been traveling more than an hour, not the days it must have been. Even if she’d been one of the other cars parked at the trailhead, it was a long way away. There was something distinctly off about her appearing here, now.

  When a hiker had to carry everything on their back, space and weight were at a premium. Clothing was one of the first things experienced hikers left at home, keeping only the most necessary of items and removing unneeded extras from their pack setup. That meant by the end of the first day, pants were wrinkled, and shirts stretched ever so slightly at the hem. Her outfit was pristine, or near enough. Either she hadn’t been hiking long, or the brand of starch used in her laundry was industrial strength.

  “How far’ve you come?”

  He took another drink before answering, then held the bottle out in a mute offering. She turned him down with a headshake, and he found himself watching how oddly the ends of her hair swung. It moved stiffly, more as a unit than strands of hair. A wig, maybe? It was a dark enough blonde to effectively hide any evidence of sweating, no telltale splotches at her nape or the part on her scalp. He named the trailhead where his car was parked, and she nodded. “Trail south is good back to there, if you’re going that far.”

  “That’s good news.” She took a side-step, edging away from him and towards the drop-off side of the trail. A finger tugged the bandanna over her nose, settling it back into place. With a lifted hand, she muttered, “Be safe.” It was an effective dismissal, and Owen didn’t move a foot out of place as she passed his position and began making her way down trail, head turned partially so she could keep him in view.

  He didn’t try to hide his stare, not caring now if he made her nervous.

  It wasn’t uncommon to meet fellow hikers out on a trail. They could be overtly friendly or less so, gregarious or near silent, whichever suited their nature. Sometimes it would be a traveling encounter, neither party slowing their steps beyond what was required to give way on what was intended to be a single-file path. Sometimes hikers would share a meal, share water, gaining snippets of hiking stories out of those chance companions.

  A woman alone would definitely be more wary than most, keeping her distance like this one had. He knew this. So why then did her arrival and subsequent departure bother him? Her appearance hadn’t lined up with expectations, unless he was wrong about the up-trail connections this path might have. He glanced around, studying the mountains and trees, gaze skimming the skyline on all sides. Startled by a shape rising from the trees to the west, Owen took a moment to refocus his eyes on the nearby object, then pushed out a hard huff of air, relaxing somewhat when he recognized what he had spotted. Mystery solved.

  There was a fire tower on the next peak over. It would be only a couple hours’ distance easy hiking, and while he didn’t remember seeing the structure or any kind of access path to it on the maps he’d pored over, the evidence was right in front of him that he’d missed it. The woman must be a seasonal volunteer. Hired by the DNR, volunteers lived on-site for weeks or months at a time, keeping watch for the first indications of fire. Didn’t matter if the blaze was caused by lightning strike during a storm or a careless visitor, the threat of an uncontrolled wildfire was ever present and needed careful attention.

  Her pricy pack hadn’t been large, not small enough to be a day pack, but far less than his, which was the minimum he’d consider for a multi-day hike. Which made sense if she’d come from the fire tower. Her appearance was consistent with the idea, right down to the neatly trimmed and glossy nails. She must be on the beginning portion of her volunteer assignment, which lined up with the seasons, too. And because she was female, her obfuscation of how far she’d come down-trail made the most sense of all.

  Owen settled his pack straps over his shoulders, reaching back to clip the water bottle to the carabiner attached for that purpose. He ran the image of the map through his mind again, verified his position in relation to the clearing, and decided he’d hike at least another five klicks before he started scouting for a campsite. That would leave less than twelve for tomorrow morning, and he could be at the clearing before lunchtime if he got an early start.

  He glanced back down the trail, no longer catching any sign of the woman. The route wound through the trees and along the ridges and dips of the side of the mountain, so she was well and truly out of view. Another squint at the fire tower and he sketched a quick salute to her with a silent thanks for watching over the woods.

  Gravel ground under his boots as he began walking, taking care to stretch out his legs as he slowly increased his strides and speed. Places to go, he thought, jaw clenching as he remembered the body lying contorted in the pit hidden under the half barrel. And dead people to see.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Owen

  Eyes on the tiny blue flames, he watched as they began consuming the fu
el cube he’d placed in his camp stove, heating the pan of water for his morning oatmeal. His mind was in automatic mode, not a state he worked to attain, just the simple effects of exhaustion and too little food. This was the start of day four on the trail, and he estimated he’d covered more than fifty klicks, not including the distances off-trail to the clearings. His body needed calories to continue at this pace, but by his calculation, even with Alace’s extra supplies, he should have already begun rationing food to fuel his impending exit from the forest, having barely enough to make it back to the car parked at the trailhead.

  He’d made good time between clearings, that effort part of what contributed to his caloric deficit. When he made it to the third clearing and found what he expected, it had given him a mental boost. Unlike the second clearing, it had looked to be retired, just like the first he and Alace had investigated together. Finding the half barrel tucked in the cache pit for safekeeping had cemented in his mind that the second clearing had to be still active.

  Alace agreed.

  She’d come online while Owen was otherwise occupied, and he’d felt a whoosh of relief this morning when he’d booted up the tablet and logged in to see new notes and info waiting for him. Not a word of explanation about the silence, which should have been expected.

  Except there’s that pesky trust issue between us.

  Once they were both online and available, they’d used the shared document to toss ideas back and forth as if they were seated at a table across from each other. Something about having to compose his thoughts to put them into text made it a more productive exercise for Owen, and the half a dozen theories between them by the end of the session felt solid, reliable. Alace would spend the day sorting through what she could, and he would do what he did.

  After spending the better part of yesterday afternoon digging through death, Owen had lain in his hammock last night working through ideas to keep an eye on that second field, watching for the killer’s eventual return. If he’d had even a single field camera with him, he could have scaled a tree and placed it to catch images triggered by movement. He didn’t, though, not having considered they’d be necessary given the information he and Alace had at the time.