“That should be ready in about twenty minutes,” he said as he came back in. “But it’s awfully nice out there. Want to eat outside?”
“Sounds good.” She handed him the stack of plates, napkins and silverware. “Why don’t you go set the table and I’ll bring the other things out.” As she removed the salads from the fridge, she noticed a chilled bottle of sparkling cider in the back. And although it was premature, she felt celebratory. As far as she knew, this was their first fear-free night together...perhaps their last night together, too.
“Special occasion?” Logan asked as she handed him the bottle.
“Sort of,” she said. “I mean, it feels like we’re out of harm’s way.”
His expression was hard to read as he opened the bottle. Almost as if he was worried, and she wondered if there was something he hadn’t told her. Just the same, she wasn’t sure she wanted to think about that right now. Even if this was fool’s paradise, she wanted to linger here awhile.
“And it’s probably my last night here,” she said. “I promised Detective Doyle that I’d be in Portland on Monday morning. So I guess I should go back tomorrow.”
“Is that safe?” He filled the glasses, handing one to her.
“I don’t know. But here’s to safety.” She smiled as she dinged her glass against his.
“To safety,” he said a bit glumly.
“When I emailed Janice Doyle today—with the news story and a list of my research sources—I told her that I wouldn’t feel safe returning to my apartment unless Brock was in custody. Or unless the police provide me with a bodyguard.” She made a sheepish grin. “But so far, Detective Doyle hasn’t responded. But it seemed a reasonable request...in light of everything.”
“Reasonable to you, anyway.”
Mallory’s earlier cheer was starting to wear thin. “Maybe we should talk about something else,” she said quietly.
“Good idea.”
And so, while the chicken was grilling, they made small talk, carefully skirting the elephant in the room. Or perhaps there were a pair of pachyderms parked there.
“This is much better than eating at a restaurant in town,” Logan said as they sat down in the Adirondack chairs that Mallory’s dad had made when she was a girl.
“Much better.” She leaned back and breathed in a deep breath of fresh pine scented air. “I think I could get used to this.”
“Get used to it?” Logan chuckled. “You grew up here, remember?”
She chuckled. “Yeah. But I’m a city girl now. Remember?”
“And you like that better?”
She pursed her lips. Did she?
“I mean, it’s okay if you do. Lots of people can’t stand rural living.”
“I actually like both.” She looked at the tall green trees and sighed. “And the truth is I sometimes miss this. Probably more than I like to admit.” She took a sip of the cider. “And after what happened...to Kestra...well, I told myself I was never going back there.”
“Uh-huh?”
“But that was probably a knee-jerk reaction.”
“Seems like a pretty natural reaction to me.”
“Yeah...but it’s kind of like making a hair decision.”
“Huh? A hair decision?”
She laughed. “Yeah, it’s a girl thing. But you’re never supposed to make a decision to cut your hair or change a style on a bad hair day.”
“Oh...yeah, so you don’t regret what you gave up.”
“That’s right. So, I probably shouldn’t make up my mind about my future in Portland, either. Not until I’m in a better place.” She shook her head. “And I’ll definitely get a different apartment if I—” She stopped talking to listen—she’d heard what sounded like a twig breaking beneath a foot. “Did you hear that?”
Logan was sitting up straight now. “Yeah,” he said quietly.
“Probably just a deer,” she whispered, still listening.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Or maybe a cougar or a bear,” she said in a teasing tone. “I hear they’ve been spotted around here.”
“That’s true.” Logan squinted up at the sky. “But seems a little early in the evening for them to be on the prowl. They’re pretty nocturnal, you know.”
“Probably a deer.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt.
Before long, the chicken was done and they moved to the table to eat. “Mind if I say a blessing?” Logan asked.
“Not at all. I’d love it.”
“Dear Father in Heaven,” he began. “We thank You for this food and ask Your blessing on it. We also thank You for our friendship and ask Your blessing on it, as well. Thank You for directing our paths and for keeping us safe. We are grateful. Amen.”
“Amen,” she echoed.
“This really is nice out here.” Logan laid his napkin in his lap.
“Pretty sweet.” She put a serving of salad on a plate, handed it to him.
“And the food’s not bad, either.” He grinned as he forked into a piece of chicken.
“And I have a suggestion.” She loaded her own salad plate.
“What’s that?”
“Just during dinner, let’s put a moratorium on any conversation about—”
“Yes,” he said quickly, “I was just thinking the same thing. Agreed.”
It was the loveliest meal Mallory could ever remember eating. Mostly due to the company, although the food was pretty good, too. As the sun began setting low in the sky, she wished this moment could go on forever. Everything was so perfect.
“This has been fabulous,” Logan said as he laid his napkin alongside his plate.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“But it’s getting dark.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And maybe I’m just suffering some form of PSTD—okay, that’s an exaggeration—but I would feel better if we went inside. And I did assure Deputy Griggs that we wouldn’t let our guard down.”
“Yeah.” She gathered up some dishes and things. “As much as I hate to go inside, I think you’re right.”
As Mallory started rinsing the dishes, Logan went around the house pulling the drapes and shades closed. But instead of giving into fear—which really didn’t seem necessary—Mallory decided to simply enjoy being holed up in here with him.
“At least Trent won’t be able to spy on us,” Logan said in a teasing tone as he returned to the kitchen.
They made cheerful banter as they finished cleaning up and putting away. As Mallory gave a final wipe to the countertop, she decided that they made a good team. She wondered what it would be like to live like this always—with Logan by her side.
“You look deep in thought,” Logan said.
“Oh?” She blinked. “Just daydreaming, I guess.”
“You’re probably tired,” he told her. “All the recent excitement is pretty exhausting. I know how much I needed that long nap today.”
“No...” She hung up the dishrag. “I’m not tired.” She peered curiously at him, suddenly feeling guilty for how much of his weekend she’d taken. What if he had wanted to do something else? Like sleep in his own bed? “You know you don’t have to stay here with me,” she said suddenly. “With those two men locked up and Deputy Trent outside, I’m sure I’m safe here now.”
Logan’s brow creased. “What if I just feel better being around? I mean, unless you have a problem with me sleeping on the sofa.”
“No, not at all. I actually feel much safer with you here.”
He smiled.
She pointed to the DVD cabinet by the TV. “Want to watch a movie or something? My dad has a pretty good selection of action films. Unless you prefer my mom’s chick flicks.” She poked him in the ribs. “Yeah, you really look like a chick-flick kinda guy.�
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He laughed. “You might be surprised to know that I sometimes do enjoy a quality romantic film with my mom and sister.”
“That’s what I like. A manly man with a feminine side. The best of both worlds.” She giggled. “You can pick it out.” She watched as he looked through the DVDs, finally selecting one of her all time favorite films. “To Kill a Mockingbird!” she exclaimed.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I love that movie. I haven’t seen it for years.” She hurried back to the kitchen. “This calls for popcorn.”
“And ice cream,” he called out.
The movie was just ending when she heard her phone chiming on the coffee table. “Maybe that’s Dad,” she said cheerfully. “He might’ve got an earlier flight.” But when she picked up the phone, she saw that the text was from “unknown.” “Oh, no,” she gasped as she looked at the words.
“What is it?” Logan asked.
“Look.” She held it out for him to see.
Enjoy your last few hours with your boyfriend. Because it ends tonight.
TWENTY-ONE
“It has to be Brock,” she said somberly. “It just has to be.”
“But he’s in Portland,” Logan reminded her. “He anchors the eleven o’clock news, right?”
“Right.” She pointed to the clock above the fireplace. “It’s almost eleven.”
Logan grabbed the remote, turning the TV back on and tuning it to the right channel, where a car ad was playing. As much as he didn’t enjoy seeing Brock Dennison’s face, it would be reassuring tonight. For both of them. Because although he hated to admit it and didn’t want to frighten Mallory, he felt certain that—if her theory was correct—Brock really was her biggest threat. But since Portland was three hours away and the news show ran for thirty minutes...they still had time to do something about it.
They watched in silence as the news came on. But Mallory reached for Logan’s hand when they realized it was another newscaster seated beside the vivacious blonde Abby Kingston. Abby did some quick highlights then explained Brock’s absence. “As many of you know, our beloved anchor has endured a difficult week,” she said with compassion. “Faithfully coming into work despite his personal loss. And just today, he delivered a touching eulogy at murder victim Kestra Williams’s funeral, which we’ll show you some footage of later, but our generous station manager insisted Brock take some much needed time off. We’ll all be glad to see him back here tomorrow evening. Now for a quick look at—” Logan turned it off.
“What do we do?” Mallory asked with fearful eyes. “What do you think this means?”
“Maybe nothing.” Brock stood up, taking her hand. “And I’m probably overreacting, and I hope I’m wrong, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Just in case. Come on.” He led her down the hallway to the bear cave and, after they were securely locked in the room, did a quick inventory of the firearms and unused rounds of ammo, still displayed on the coffee table like a mini arsenal. “We just need to be prepared...for anything.”
“Good call.” Mallory sat down in the office chair with a perplexed expression. “There’s something that’s been nagging at me,” she muttered. “I didn’t really want to think about it anymore. But it doesn’t go away.”
“What’s that?”
“Trent.” She looked up, peering into his eyes. “I honestly don’t know what to make of that guy. I mean he seemed convinced that I was still behind everything—even suspecting I was the one to sneak into the hospital and smother Perez.” She scowled. “And yet he’s the one who comes out here? To protect me? And in the back of my mind, I still hear my dad saying ‘don’t trust him,’ but there he is parked in front of our house. Seems kinda weird.”
“Yeah. I had similar thoughts.”
She picked up her pistol and holster, laying it in her lap along with her cell phone—almost as if she was getting herself armed up and ready. Probably not a bad idea. “So, when does Deputy Griggs get here, anyway?”
“Soon.” Logan glanced at his watch. “Well, about forty minutes.”
“Good.” Mallory seemed to relax a little. “I’ll feel better having him around.”
“I get what you mean about Trent,” Logan admitted. “He’s a hard one to figure out. He acts like he’s dedicated to law enforcement, and yet from what I hear, he’s kind of a lone ranger and most of the deputies don’t really like him.”
“And there’s that little fact, how he just happened to go to the same college as Brock.”
“Yeah.” Logan nodded. “I kind of forgot that.”
“What if he has a connection to Brock? What if he’s actually working for him?”
Logan considered this. “I don’t know, Mallory. I mean, it just seems way too convenient. Trent has been a deputy in Clover a few years now. It’s not like Brock could’ve planted him here just to get to you. And then, if you think about it, it seems awfully convenient. I mean that Trent could really be working for Brock. You know?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“But back to Brock,” Logan said slowly. “Do you know if he’s familiar with firearms? Does he own any guns?”
Her eyes grew wide. “What are you saying?”
“Well, like I said, he wasn’t on the news tonight...which means he could be anywhere. If Sanders and Perez really were his hit men—and they obviously messed up—well, what if Brock decided to take matters into his own hands? What if wanted to finish things up himself? But unless he’s experienced with firearms, I don’t think we need to feel too threatened. Do you know if he owns a gun?”
Her brow creased. “Yeah...he’s really into duck hunting, and he’s got a pretty impressive shotgun collection. And he goes out skeet shooting quite a bit. He took me once. He’s a good shot.”
“Oh...” Logan didn’t like the sound of this. “Okay. Good to know.”
Mallory stood up, frowning at her rumpled sundress. “I’d really like to get into my jeans now. Is it okay if I go upstairs to my room?”
“Good idea. I’ll stay nearby and keep an eye on things.”
“Thanks.” She picked up her holster and phone and headed back down the darkened hallway with him trailing her. “It’ll just take a minute or two,” she quietly told him.
“I’ll be right here.” Feeling somewhat like a sentry, but suddenly wondering why he hadn’t strapped on the Ruger holster, he stood at the foot of the stairs waiting. Still, he told himself, he’d probably overreacted. Just because Brock had been MIA on the news was no reason to go off the deep end. And to go prowling around a darkened house with firearms probably wasn’t terribly prudent. Just as he decided to tell Mallory, he heard a loud boom outside in the yard.
It was definitely a gunshot; it sounded like a large rifle or even a shotgun. And suddenly he remembered what Mallory had said about Brock’s guns. Hunching down, he was headed for the bear cave to grab a firearm when he heard another loud boom.
“Stay put,” he yelled up the stairs as he ran through the house with the AR rifle and a box of rounds that he shoved in his pocket.
“What happened?” she screamed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he yelled back. “But you stay put—and call for help!” Leaning against the wall between the door jamb and the window, he peered outside. Fortunately the exterior lights were on and it wasn’t difficult to see the yard around the house. But there was no movement. Nothing.
* * *
Mallory had barely pulled on her jeans when she heard the first gunshot. Logan had commanded her to remain upstairs, so she threw on her flannel shirt over the sundress, and she was just shoving her feet into her hiking shoes when she heard the second blast. Feeling seriously alarmed, she strapped on her holster and wished she’d thought to grab a box of ammo, too. But at least it was loaded. Now a
ll she could do was wait.
And, instead of running down there as she wanted to do, she reached for her phone, but afraid to make any noise in case someone was in the house, she put it on quiet mode and texted Deputy Griggs. Help. Gunshots. Help. She shot up a quick silent prayer as she hit Send. Please protect Logan. Get help here fast. Please!
Despite Logan’s orders to stay put, she was ready to burst downstairs and help him. But she remembered their agreement—he was calling the shots. It was possible he knew something she didn’t. Perhaps the shooter was in the house. And although she couldn’t lock her door, she could keep quiet...and wait. Plus she had her gun. But as each second dragged by, her patience was wearing thin. What was going on?
She was just about to go peek down the staircase when she heard the sound of quiet footsteps downstairs. Was that Logan? Should she call out? But what if she put him in danger? Better to just lie low...wait it out. And pray. It seemed as if an hour went by, but according to her phone it was less than four minutes when another loud boom, followed by the sound of breaking glass, broke the silence. Followed by nothing but more silence. What was going on?
* * *
The silence was so thick and deep that Logan almost wondered if he’d imagined those gunshots. But as he peeked through the crack in the front room drapes, he caught sight of the cruiser’s fluorescent strips glowing from the garage light. The car was still parked behind the trees, but unless he was mistaken, the driver’s door was opened. Had Trent fired those shots? And if so, why?
Suddenly he saw what looked like Trent’s uniform. He was down on the ground just a few feet from his vehicle. At first Logan thought perhaps Trent was on his belly in order to get off a good shot without making himself into an easy target, but then he noticed that Trent appeared to be struggling, trying to crawl. As if he’d been shot.
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