FIVE
The Night Stalker was out on the lake.
Charlotte doubted she was supposed to know that. She’d been pacing her room, trying not to think about Adam out in the rain hunting a killer, trying not to imagine what would happen if he came face-to-face with the Night Stalker. Wren had been in the living room, setting up equipment that a pretty blonde agent named Honor had brought. She’d had no idea how thin the walls were or how easily sound traveled through closed cottage doors. Charlotte hadn’t been trying to listen to the conversation, but she’d heard enough of it to understand what was going on. Adam and River had found the truck, and they’d spotted the gunman fleeing in a rowboat. The local authorities had been called and a Whisper Lake police boat was being readied.
She’d been hearing sirens for ten minutes, and she knew state and local law enforcement had responded. They were creating a dragnet to bring the Night Stalker in, and she was pacing her room, praying that they’d be successful.
She wanted her life back before she forgot how little it resembled the life she’d once dreamed she’d have. When she was a kid, she’d thought she’d grow up and be like her mother—a modern-day nomad who didn’t want to set down roots.
Even after she’d moved in with her grandparents and experienced small-town life, she’d been certain that one day she’d travel the world. She’d never pictured herself married with children. She hadn’t wanted the white picket fence and the cute house and the puppy.
Until she and Adam had fallen from friendship to love. Then those dreams had formed.
Even more, she’d finally understood that home was always and only in the hearts of the people she loved. Location had stopped mattering. Traveling had ceased to be her goal. She’d been willing to stay in Whisper Lake or move to a big city or buy a tract home in the suburbs. She’d known she could be happy and content anywhere her little family was.
And then her family was gone, her heart shattered, everything she’d believed about the path her life had taken changed. She’d re-created her dreams; she’d refocused her energy. She’d convinced herself that this life was the one she wanted.
One look in Adam’s eyes had changed that.
One look in his face had reminded her that an empty cottage on the lake couldn’t take the place of scrawny-armed hugs from her little boy or late-night talks with the only man she’d ever loved.
A hot tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away impatiently. She wasn’t going to go backward. She wasn’t going to waste one more second of her time hoping and praying that Adam would come back to her. She’d given that fantasy up the day she’d signed the divorce papers. Even if she hadn’t, they were different people now. They’d grown up and matured and moved on.
“And it will do you a lot of good to remember it,” she muttered.
Clover whined, and she dropped down beside him, pulling his sturdy body close. “It’s just you and me, Clover. And I’m perfectly fine with that.”
Clover whined again, dropping his head onto her thigh and staring into her eyes. He probably wanted a late-night walk, but she’d promised she’d stay inside. She wouldn’t break that promise, but she was going to be very sure not to make any more.
Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped, swiping her hand down her cheek to make sure all the moisture was gone.
“Come in,” she called, and the door opened.
She was expecting Wren or Honor.
She wasn’t expecting Adam, but he was there, his hair wet from the rain, a few drops of moisture sliding down his neck.
She wanted to wipe them away.
She wanted to grab a towel from the linen closet and dry his hair, tug off his sopping-wet coat and wrap him in a comforter. She wanted to do a dozen things that she had no right to, so she stood and shoved her hands into the pockets of the oversize cardigan she wore.
“Did you find him?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“Not yet. We had a visual, but the rain picked up, and we lost it. The Whisper Lake police just dropped a boat in the water. Hopefully, they’ll be able to find him before he goes to shore.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll keep looking. He left his truck on that old loading dock down near the logging camp. We’ve got a team collecting evidence there. I plan to rejoin them shortly, but I wanted to check on you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yes. I did,” he said simply. No extra words or embellishments. Just the facts. Just like always, and it reminded her of the teenager she’d met her first day at Whisper Lake Middle School, of the young man she’d married, of the grief-stricken parent she’d let walk away.
“Adam, this isn’t a good idea,” she said. She was staring into his eyes, seeing the man she’d loved with all her heart, the one she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with, and she couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if she’d followed him out the door five and a half years ago, if she’d walked him to his car. If she’d begged him to stay.
“What?” he asked. “Me making sure you stay safe? Because if that’s what you’re talking about, then it’s not just a good idea. It’s a great one.”
“You being part of my life again,” she corrected. “Even if it’s just for a few days or weeks. Even if it’s only because there’s a killer after me.”
“I guess you have a reason for saying that,” he commented. “Because from where I’m standing, I can’t see one good reason to walk away when you need my help.”
“I’ve got local, state and federal police helping me. That makes your presence a little redundant,” she pointed out.
“I’m a federal police officer, so that point is moot. What’s the real reason you don’t want me around, Charlotte? Because I know there is one.”
“Having you around just feels too...” Right. That was what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t. Not without giving him a glimpse into the most vulnerable part of her soul.
“It feels what?” he prodded, and she swallowed down the truth, reached for the word she thought she should say, the one that was guaranteed to keep distance between them.
“Wrong,” she managed, and he frowned.
“That’s not the word I would put to it,” he said, his tone curt and a little hard.
“You asked me to put a word to it, Adam,” she reminded him. “I did. Let’s not spend time arguing over whose perspective is more valid.”
“No argument. I was just making a statement. If you feel that way, I’ll respect it.” He stared into her eyes as he spoke, and she was certain he knew she’d been lying, that what she felt was vastly different than what she’d said.
She could have told him the truth.
She could have allowed herself to be that vulnerable.
But she’d been hurt before, and she didn’t ever want to be hurt again. Not by anyone, but especially not by Adam.
“Have you heard from the hospital?” she asked, changing the subject. “I’ve been worried sick about Bubbles.” And you. If she’d been braver, she’d have added that. Not because he elicited such strong feelings in her and she wanted him to know it, but because they’d shared a past and caring about him without loving him should have been possible.
“We’ve got an agent there making sure she stays safe. He called Wren a few minutes ago. Bubbles is awake and lucid.”
“Thank the Lord,” she whispered, and he nodded.
“A few more minutes in the water and the outcome wouldn’t have been as good.”
“Does she remember what happened? How she fell in the lake?”
“No. She stopped by here to let Clover out before she went to bed. When she opened the door to leave, he started barking and darted out the door. She thought you were home, so she stepped outside to say hello. Only, of course, you weren’t there.”
“Di
d she see whoever was?”
“She didn’t see anything. Clover had run toward the road, and she was worried about him. She headed that way. Her memories are blank after that. The doctor seems pretty confident they’ll return eventually. For now, it’s probably best that she doesn’t remember. When she arrived at the ER, there were bruises on her forearms and her neck that looked like finger marks. She also had a head injury. The doctor can’t say how that happened, but it was likely caused by blunt force trauma. For a woman Bubbles’s age, not remembering might be best.”
“Poor Bubbles,” she murmured. “I really wish I could be there with her.”
“I’ll take you after I finish here.”
“Really?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“Only when you said you’d love me forever,” she responded, the words popping out unbidden.
He stilled, his eyes drilling into hers, a million words suddenly dancing in the air between them.
“Who said I ever stopped loving you?” he finally asked, his voice gentle and filled with things that she was better off not acknowledging.
“This probably isn’t the time to have this conversation,” she responded, her throat dry, her heart pounding. She wanted to reach for him, to slide her arms around his waist like she had hundreds of times before. To rest her head against his chest and listen to the strong steady beat of his heart.
“We didn’t find the Night Stalker at the logging camp, but we did find someone else,” he said, his tone clipped and businesslike, all the warmth and gentleness gone.
He’d shown her a piece of his heart.
She’d shown him nothing but fear.
She already regretted that, but he’d turned away and was stepping back into the hall. Any chance she had of making it right had been gone the minute she’d made it wrong. Just like before, she’d let him go. Only this time her grief over Daniel’s death wasn’t as raw, her sorrow wasn’t a deep well that she was drowning in. Her mind was clearer, her thoughts more focused, and she knew in her heart she was making another mistake.
“Adam,” she said, following him out of the room, ready to tell him the truth—that she’d never stopped loving him, either.
He kept walking, and she could feel the old broken places in her heart, the places that she’d slowly knit back together after he’d left, coming apart again.
She cleared her throat, told herself she wasn’t going to cry.
“Who did you find at the logging camp?” she managed to ask.
“A runaway. She’s in the living room. She’ll be staying here until Wren decides how much she saw and whether or not she’s going to be a federal witness.” His tone had changed completely. He sounded...unfazed and unaffected.
“What’s her name?” she asked, striving to sound exactly the same.
“Savannah Johnson,” he responded as he walked into the living room. She followed, saw a young girl sitting on the couch. Stiff, tense, scared. That was how she looked, her hair buzz-cut and purple, studs in both ears and one in her left eyebrow. A military-green T-shirt clung to her skinny frame, and cargo-style camouflage pants bagged around her lean legs. A dark jacket lay beside her on the couch, and a duffel bag sat at her combat-booted feet. Tough clothes, tough haircut, but nothing could change the sweetness of her face. She had pale skin and freckles and a delicate bone structure that made her look like a middle school kid.
“Hello,” Charlotte said, walking across the room and offering her hand. “I’m Charlotte Murray.”
“Savannah.” Her grip was confident, but her hand was freezing, her fingers icy. “Sorry to bust in on you like this. They wouldn’t let me leave.”
“I don’t mind. Clover and I like company.”
“Clover?”
“My dog.” She didn’t have to call him. He’d already padded down the hall.
Savannah’s eyes widened as he nudged his head into Charlotte’s hand and leaned against her leg.
“This,” Charlotte said, patting his curly side, “is Clover.”
“Are you sure he’s a dog? He looks more like a miniature bear,” Savannah said, but she was smiling, her expression soft.
“He’s a dog, and he loves to be petted. He also loves sitting on that couch with our guests and pretending that I never give him any attention. Do you mind if he joins you?”
“No.” Savannah shifted to the side, one pant leg riding up and revealing a skinny shin pockmarked with what looked like old cigarette burns.
“Place,” Charlotte commanded Clover, her gaze shifting to Adam.
He’d seen the marks. She could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the anger in his eyes.
Clover jumped onto the couch and dropped his big head onto Savannah’s lap, looking up at her adoringly. He was an exceptional therapy dog, in tune with the emotions of the people he visited. He sensed something in Savannah that made him cuddle close and lie still.
She touched his head tentatively, a soft smile curving the corners of her mouth.
“Hello, Clover,” she murmured.
His tail thumped, and he looked at Charlotte. She gave him the signal to stay.
“I’m going to make some hot chocolate,” she announced.
Savannah stopped petting Clover and scowled.
“I’m not two,” she said.
“Did I say it was for you?” Charlotte responded. She’d been Savannah’s age once. She’d had the big attitude, the chip on the shoulder and the need to be in control. She hadn’t had physical scars, but she’d had plenty of emotional ones.
“No, but—”
“This kind of weather demands warmth and sugar. Besides, I’m more of a hot chocolate drinker than a coffee drinker,” she cut in. “I’m going to have some. With whipped cream. If you’d rather have coffee, I can make that, too.”
“Either is fine,” Savannah said grudgingly, her hand back on Clover’s head.
“Cool. It should only take a couple of minutes.” She walked away, snagging Adam’s wrist as she went.
The open floor plan didn’t offer much in the way of privacy, so she dragged him through the kitchen, past the table where Wren sat staring at a computer monitor and into the mudroom.
“We’re not going outside,” Adam said, stopping short a few feet from the door.
Her fingers were still curved around his wrist, and she knew she should release her hold, but she held on as she leaned close and whispered, “Where did she come from?”
“She was squatting in a shanty in the logging camp. She saw the truck but not enough details to be helpful. We’re keeping her here while we check her story, make sure she’s really eighteen and that she doesn’t have a warrant out for her arrest.”
“Eighteen? She looks twelve!”
“She has ID that says otherwise. A driver’s license and a copy of her birth certificate and social security card.”
“She’s well prepared for her age, isn’t she?” She glanced into the kitchen. Wren was still hunched over the table and the screen.
“You saw the scars, Charlotte. She probably had to be to protect herself,” he said.
“Where’s she from? How did she get here? She sure isn’t from Whisper Lake. I’d have recognized the purple hair and eyebrow studs.”
“If her story is to be believed, Rhode Island. She claims she ran away. Since she’s eighteen, she can do what she wants as long as she’s not breaking any laws.”
“Trespassing on private property is against the law.”
“Do you really think the Whisper Lake Sheriff’s Department is going to press charges for that? She’s a kid. She was looking for shelter from the elements.”
“Of course not, and they shouldn’t. I was just pointing out that she wasn’t exactly abiding by the law. Not that it matters. She could freeze to death out there. We have at least another month o
f winter temperatures before it starts warming up.”
“That’s why I brought her here instead of having the local police take her to the station. I was afraid her story would check out, and they’d release her. She’d be out on her own again. Most stories that begin that way don’t end well.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to go back to the camp. Your promise stands, right? You’re not leaving the house until I return.”
“You already returned,” she pointed out, finally finding the strength to release his wrist.
He caught her hand before she could move away, and just like every time he touched her, she felt his warmth seeping into her blood, pulsing into her heart, pulling her back to those very first days when they’d laughed at each other’s middle school jokes and helped each other with homework.
She’d loved him even then.
He’d made her feel valuable and funny and smart.
Those were things she’d never felt in her parents’ home. She’d been the afterthought, the kid who got in the way of them doing their own things. How many times had her mother screamed that Charlotte was the biggest mistake she’d ever made? How many mornings had her father told her to go back to her room so that he could eat in peace?
Her grandparents had been wonderful warm human beings, but by the time Charlotte had been shipped off to live with them, she’d already learned that she had minimal value, that what she wanted didn’t matter and that she was more trouble than she was worth.
Adam had never seen her that way, and after a while, she’d begun to view herself through his eyes. She’d started to see her innate value and understand her worth in a way she never could have without his friendship.
“Don’t split hairs, Charlotte,” Adam said, his voice gruffer and deeper than it had been when they were married. “You made the promise. I’m holding you to it. If I’m out there worrying about you, I’m not going to be as effective or focused as I need to be.”
“I’m not your worry, Adam,” she said, and she meant it. She’d learned to go it alone. Having him suddenly appear back in her life wasn’t going to change the person she’d become in the years since he’d left. It certainly wasn’t going to make her start needing him again.
Night Stalker Page 8
