“I was out of the country, dear. You wouldn’t have identified the number.”
Gran was the only person I knew who had yet to embrace the invention of the cell phone. After watching a news program on electromagnetic radiation, she never used her dishwasher again. Or the microwave. A cell phone? Forget about it.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “If I knew you were calling, I would have answered. I swear.”
“I’m not here for an apology. I’m here to help you out of this … whatever is happening with you lately.” She ran a hand through my brown mane. “You’ve gone and lopped your hair off. When did that happen?”
“Six months ago, I guess.”
“I like it. It suits you. You need to get your sassy attitude back to match this sassy pixie cut of yours.”
She scrounged around my pantry until she found a single packet of no-name coffee I’d snagged from a prior hotel stay. She brewed it. We sat.
“You were your grandfather’s favorite, you know.”
I knew. My sister had been my grandmother’s favorite. I knew that too.
“He loved all his grandchildren, but you, Sloane…you were different.”
“I always thought he was disappointed I didn’t join the bureau like he did.”
She circled her hand around the coffee mug. “Nonsense. He knew you well enough to know the FBI wouldn’t suit you.” She tapped the edge of the mug with the tip of her finger. “You’ve never done well with authority.”
I supposed it was the nicest way she could think of to say it. A compliment, even, though it didn’t sound like one.
She leaned over, fiddled around the inside of the ostrich Prada handbag next to her, pulled out a navy blue leather book about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I craned my head toward the bag, glanced inside. “What are you packing these days?”
“This little gem.”
She dug back inside the bag, handed me what looked like a child’s toy. It was far from it. “Nine mil?”
“Beretta, yes. It’s small, but it gets the job done.”
“You say it like you’ve used it before.”
The telling grin on her face made me uneasy.
“Only at the shooting range, right?” I asked.
She swatted the air, changed the subject. “The sign outside your house says there’s a sale pending. Why have you decided to sell this place?”
I hesitated, unsure of how much I wanted to say. Best to keep it simple. “Too many memories.”
“Bad ones?”
“Bad enough to make me feel suffocated if I stay.”
She took a sip of coffee, screwed up her face like she’d just swallowed a mouthful of pickle juice. I handed her a canister of sugar substitute I kept for occasions such as this one. She dumped about a quarter cup into the mug.
“Running won’t solve your problems,” she stated.
“I’m not … running. I’m starting over. Clean slate. New life.”
She went for taste-test number two on the coffee, this time rejecting it all together by scraping the bottom of the mug across the tabletop to get it away from her. “I see. Where will you go?”
I shrugged.
“I figured by the time I sold my place, I’d have it all figured out. I didn’t realize it would sell so fast.”
She leaned in.
“You mean to tell me my methodical, ever-so-organized granddaughter doesn’t have a plan yet? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“I can’t be here anymore, Gran. People around me … they’re always in danger. Some have even died.”
“So all of this, the hiding, is about your job?”
“It’s about a lot of things. I ended a relationship several months ago. I lost a friend on the last case I worked—my ex-boyfriend’s brother. Sometimes I wonder—”
“If it’s your fault?”
I nodded.
“Do you think your grandfather saved everyone? You can’t, Sloane, no matter how noble your efforts. You lost someone on the last case you worked. You also rescued a woman on the brink of death. Your friend didn’t die in vain. He died in the line of duty. There’s no shame in that.”
Saving one life didn’t make me feel any better about losing another.
“It’s just … I can’t unsee all the things I’ve seen. I don’t know how to get my past out of my head. It’s hard.”
“Who told you it would be easy? Think of the people you have saved, the cold cases you’ve solved on your own. Those cases would be nothing more than a heap of unsolved files rotting in some box were it not for you.”
“For every life I’ve saved, someone else died because I was too late, too slow, too stubborn, too—”
She folded her hand inside mine. “You have a gift, a kind of intuition others don’t have, and right now, you’re wasting it. You talk about what you do like none of it matters. This isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you back down from a challenge.”
“I’m not backing down. I’m—”
“Avoiding. Everyone and everything.”
She liberated my hand long enough to plop the navy book down on the table in front of me. It made a slapping sound against the wood.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Your grandfather’s journal.”
“I didn’t know he kept one.”
“It’s not what you think, a memoir of some kind, a story of his life. It’s much different.” She stabbed the book’s cover with her pointer finger. “This is what he did when his insomnia got the better of him. Your grandfather lost far more lives than you ever will. It troubled him, and yet, he never gave up. He wouldn’t want you to either.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m taking a break.”
“Suppressing yourself like this—you may as well give up. You were destined for greatness, my dear. Even when you were young I could see the fire in you. I’d never seen a child quite so driven. As long as I’m kicking around this Earth, I won’t allow you to throw it all away.”
I ran the pads of my fingers against the book, caressing the soft, pebbly grain. An odor of seasoned leather and men’s aftershave wafted through the air, and for a brief moment I flashed back, saw myself sitting on my grandfather’s lap, begging him to tell me a story. Not the kind of story most kids want to hear, the fairy tale with the predictable, happy ending. Grandfather’s stories were different. They were real, not make-believe. Intriguing. They created visions in my head that helped shape my own destiny. “What’s in the book? His cases?”
“Read it and find out.”
I opened it.
She reached over, smacked it closed. “Not now. Later.”
“Why later? You just said to read it.”
She stood, slid her chair back under the table. “Pack some things.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me. I’ve made the necessary arrangements. Maddie will see to the dog while we’re away.”
Away.
It sounded so … far.
It was.
I spent the next two weeks exfoliating my feet into delicate grains of fine, white sand while I watched the remaining moments of twilight fade into a coral horizon. I filled my lungs with salty, sea air, closed my eyes, and paired my breathing with the rise and fall of each cresting wave. Even if for the briefest of moments, I felt something I hadn’t in a long time—complete and utter peace.
I returned to Park City renewed. I signed over my house, put my things in storage, and drove to Wyoming, where I currently festered. It was the first time I’d felt this uneasy since Gran whisked me to the Big Island. Somewhere inside me, I couldn’t shake the feeling I had.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
CHAPTER 3
A ray of light danced into the room like a siren begging me to wake. Where was I, and how did I end up here? I glanced around. A knotty pine dresser with resin antler drawer pulls rested a few feet in front of the bed against a log wall.
Cade’
s house. Right. Now I remember.
I’d embraced sleep sometime before dawn, not for long, an hour, maybe two. I checked the room for a clock. There wasn’t one, and I wasn’t keen about rising just yet. The mattress I relaxed on was topped with a four-inch memory foam, the perfect temptation to stay right where I was for an undetermined amount of time.
A pungent, meaty aroma emanated through the one-inch slit beneath the bedroom door. At first I pegged it as steak. After inhaling a subsequent whiff, I abandoned the theory, thinking it was some kind of wild game.
Someone tapped on the other side of my door. “You up yet?”
“I’m awake.”
Cade entered the room, grinned. “I made breakfast.”
“Smells like … meat of some kind?”
“Elk steak.”
His grin expanded for a moment then dissipated. “Somethin’ wrong?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d never eaten elk or any other kind of wild animal before. I explained this, but not wanting to disappoint him, I offered to try it, with a side of eggs to break up the flavor if the taste didn’t suit me.
My comment about the eggs on the side got lost in translation, and minutes later, I was greeted at the table by an elk steak omelet. Cade stood beside me, waiting for me to take a bite. I stabbed a piece, stuck it in my mouth, and swallowed. Avoiding the chewing part seemed like an optimal choice under the circumstances. I reached for the apple juice in front of me and half-smiled. “It’s … different.”
“How’d you know? You didn’t leave it in your mouth long enough.”
The jig was up.
“I’m not used to this kind of food.”
Cade’s daughter Shelby sauntered into the room wearing a black-and-white-striped crop top, a black leather skirt, and Chuck Taylors in a shade that made me crave an Orange Julius. The skirt looked like it was the exact length needed to pass the principal’s tape measure inspection at school, and not a centimeter more. Her navel showed. Her neon-orange bra straps did too. She’d just started her senior year in high school, and as such, she probably assured herself such a display would garner attention. And she’d be right, except at that moment it was garnering the wrong kind.
Cade crossed his arms in front of him, didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Shelby tilted her chin just enough to notice the infraction he was gawking at. She yanked the shirt lower. It didn’t budge. She tried again, got the same result. She patted Cade on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Dad. Breathe.”
Her amateur charm had no effect.
“You’ll change your shirt,” he said.
“Dad, I can’t—”
“Now.”
She snatched a piece of chopped elk off a plate, popped it into her mouth, and winked at me. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the flavor eventually.”
I wasn’t thrilled. I popped another piece of scrambled elk into my mouth anyway. This time, I even chewed.
“Well?” Cade asked.
It was coarse, tenderer than I imagined, and while it wasn’t my favorite meat, it wasn’t the worst I’d tasted either. “Not bad.”
Shelby reentered the room, a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Shirt number two was only a couple inches longer than the first one, but it looked like she’d get away with it.
“I’m off,” she said. “School starts in ten. You two behave yourselves now.”
She picked a piece of bread out of the toaster, slapped on a dollop of cherry jam, and bit down, swiping a finger across her face to catch the red sauce before it leaked onto her chin.
“Aren’t you going to wear a sweater or something?” I asked. “Looks like it’s cold out today.”
She giggled. “You’re funny.”
I didn’t perceive why. When I was young, unlike the other girls in school, those willing to freeze their asses off in order to flaunt their slim, trim physiques, I’d always preferred a warmer, more practical approach. Of course, it may have had something to do with my grandfather drilling into my brain that no man ever bought a cow when free milk was being offered. Not that I’d ever thought of myself as a cow, or a woman available to the highest bidder.
“Wear a sweater,” Cade called after Shelby.
“Fine, Dad.” she yelled back.
She pivoted and left the room.
Once she was out of sight, a generous portion of laughter I’d been concealing poured out.
“What’s so funny?” Cade asked.
“You know she’s just going to change back into the first shirt she was wearing once she gets to school, right?”
Confusion coated his face. “Whadd’ya mean? She changed like I asked.”
“Go into her room. See if you can find the first shirt she had on.” I tugged a bill from my back pocket, snapped it in front of me. “Ten bucks says you can’t.”
“And what do I get if I win?”
I winked. “You won’t.”
“You’re not helpin’.”
“Of course I am. I’m offering you the truth.”
Determined to prove me wrong, he went to her room. A fair amount of jostling ensued, followed by a few verbal expletives, followed by him exiting the room sans the shirt. Red-faced and out of breath, he said, “How’d you know?”
“I was her age once. It may have been a long time ago, but still.”
He whipped around, started down the hall.
“Where you headed?” I asked.
“To improve her wardrobe.”
Cade disappeared. In his absence, I scraped the omelet down the garbage disposal. He returned with an armful of what appeared to be his T-shirts. “Let’s see how she feels when this is all she has to wear for the next two—”
Cade’s cell phone buzzed, temporarily interrupting him from fulfilling his quest. He bent his head toward the kitchen counter where it sat. “Would you?”
I never liked answering other people’s phones. I picked it up anyway. “Cade McCoy’s phone.”
“Who’s this?”
The voice was tough, deep, familiar.
“This is Sloane. And you are?”
A long pause followed. “Why you answerin’ Cade’s phone, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“I do mind. Would you like to leave a message or call back?”
“Neither. I’ll speak with Cade. Now.”
“He’s occupied.”
“As fun as this must be for you, I don’t have the time, Miss Monroe.”
“Neither do I, Chief Rollins.”
I pushed the speaker button.
“I need to speak with Cade right away.”
The chief’s grave tone of voice prompted Cade to toss the shirts to the side. I took the phone off speaker and handed it to him.
“I’m here,” Cade said. “What’s happened?”
Although both sides of the conversation weren’t audible, Cade’s playful demeanor deteriorated. He slumped over the counter, weakened, clutching the granite surface as if trying to sustain his weight.
“When did this happen?” Cade uttered into the phone. “And Jack, you’re with him now? What has he said? How is he?”
More muffled words were spoken on the opposite end.
“What about the baby?” Cade asked. “Who has Finn?”
The chief replied once more, and Cade said, “I’ll be right there.”
I watched him slide his cell phone into the front pocket of his jeans. He bent his head over the counter, placed both hands on top of it.
“Cade, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Last night, someone broke into my cousin’s house. Jack. He’s my mother’s sister’s kid.”
I covered my mouth with a hand. “Is he all right?”
Cade nodded. “He was at work when it happened.”
“Does he have a wife? Kids? Was anyone home at the time?”
“Jack’s wife, Serena, was found in the nursery. She’d taken a single gunshot wound to the head.”
“Is she—”
“Dead? Y
eah. Doesn’t look like she suffered much, if at all. She died instantly from what they can tell. She’s with the coroner now.”
“You said nursery.”
“They have a new son. Finn.”
A sickened feeling filtered through me. “Where is he—the baby?”
Cade’s eyes closed. For several seconds he stood, quiet and placid, like he was wrestling impatient emotions from surging to the surface. I entwined a hand inside his, offering a subtle gesture of support. When his eyes reopened, he said, “The baby’s gone, Sloane. He’s gone.”
CHAPTER 4
The sideways glance Chief Rollins gave me when I stepped inside the station with Cade was all bitter and no sweet. He looked wasted and worn, his face unveiling far more wrinkles than the last time I’d seen him. Maybe his job was catching up to him, or maybe it was his age. Either way, there was a sense of borrowed time, like his rugged lifestyle was finally catching up to him.
The chief jerked his head my way. “What’s she doin’ here?”
“Don’t see why it matters,” Cade replied.
The chief shoved his thick, calloused fingers halfway inside the pockets of his washed-out Wrangler jeans and bent one knee. He leaned back, his python snake-skin boot tapping the wall behind him. “Matters to me. I don’t need her pokin’ her head where it don’t belong, like she did last time she was here.”
Cade folded one arm over the other. “And I don’t need to remind you that we have Sloane to thank for findin’ those missing girls.”
While true, it was a fun fact the chief would just as soon forget.
“What we’re dealin’ with right now, it don’t concern her.”
The chief had yet to look at me, in the eye anyway. Why not make things even more unpleasant by approaching him myself? “Since I’m standing right in front of you, why not talk to me directly?”
He accepted the challenge. “All right. That doorway you just walked through—use it to show yourself out. I need to speak with Cade. Alone.”
Cade muttered something I didn’t catch. I didn’t need to—his expression said it all.
“It’s fine,” I said. “His house, his call.”
I was an outsider.
I didn’t blend in.
Sloane Monroe 06-Hush Now Baby Page 2
