by Norah Wilson
“It is creepy, Dave. When you follow someone surreptitiously or stake out their place, it’s kinda the definition of creepy.”
“I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I don’t do that anymore, not to anyone. I swore to Josh that I wouldn’t, and I won’t.”
“That’s good,” Boyd said. “And don’t think about backsliding because Josh is gone. If I ever learn that you’ve been charged with anything remotely like this, I’ll happily volunteer to testify for the Crown about this conversation of ours, your admissions about stalking Hayden, your theft of the evidence my brother compiled—the whole nine yards.”
The door opened inward and Colin Parsons, the sports writer, came in.
“Boyd, glad you came tonight,” he said. “Hayden too.”
“Thanks, man.”
Parsons nodded toward the door. “They’ve started telling Josh stories. You should get out there.”
“I’ll do that.” He turned to Bradley. “We good here?”
Bradley dredged up a smile, no doubt for Parsons’s benefit. “We’re good.”
CHAPTER 14
Two hours later, Boyd was conscious of Hayden’s eyes on him as he struggled to fasten his seat belt.
“Good thing you arranged for taxi service,” she said dryly.
He wasn’t sloppy drunk—not by anyone’s measure. But when the Josh stories had started, he’d kept the draft beer flowing. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t counting on quite so much reminiscing.” He finally jammed the seat belt home and leaned back.
“Did you get anything out of it?” She keyed the ignition and the engine sprang to life.
“Did I learn anything helpful, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
He closed his eyes as she backed out of the parking spot and exited the lot. “I don’t know. Probably not. But who knows? Sometimes you can’t tell what bit of information might be the thing that trips a connection in your brain that leads you down the right path.” He opened his eyes and glanced sideways at her as she braked for a light that had turned yellow. “Thanks for doing this,” he said. “Tonight, I mean. Even if it turns out not to produce anything especially useful to my investigation, it was still great to hear what an impact Josh had on so many people.”
“Sad, though.” She flicked her gaze over to him, then returned her attention to the traffic light. “You held up better than I did.”
He’d noticed tears, even as she’d smiled and laughed through the stories and shared some of her own.
“Yeah, I’m a freakin’ rock.”
She flicked him another quick glance, but the light had gone green and she needed to focus on traffic.
“We had an official memorial service for him,” she said. “About a week afterward. With the funeral happening in Ontario and most people not being able to go, they needed to do something, you know?”
“Of course.”
“But tonight was better. More relaxed. You got to hear a lot more personal stories.”
Boyd smiled. “Like Josh punking Colin Parsons about the Red Sox trading a star second baseman five minutes before the paper’s deadline, just to see him run.”
Hayden grinned. “I think the whole newsroom appreciated that spectacle.”
Boyd found himself smiling too. “Good thing the guy’s got a sense of humor.”
“Josh would never punk someone who couldn’t take it in stride. Dave Bradley, for instance. Dave is way too serious, too literal. He’s a brilliant guy, or so Josh said, but his social skills are . . . lacking, shall we say.”
Boyd’s mind was whirling. Hayden had insisted Dave was harmless. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was just locked in by his social awkwardness. Maybe Bradley had just tagged around after Hayden, wanting to start a conversation with her but not knowing how. Maybe each time he thought he’d finally screw up his courage and talk to her, but then wound up falling back again, afraid. Not that it made his following Hayden—or anyone—okay. Marginally less alarming, possibly, but still highly inappropriate.
“How does he manage to do his job, if he doesn’t interact well with people?” he mused.
“Phone,” she said without taking her eyes off the road. “I asked Josh the same question, but apparently he has no trouble with interviews so long as they’re not face-to-face. He also does research, information gathering, compiling statistics, that kind of thing, to support the other reporters.”
They lapsed into silence for a moment.
Well, it looked less and less likely that Dave Bradley was a credible suspect. He couldn’t be ruled out, though, because he almost certainly must have been jealous of Josh’s relationship with Hayden. Of course, he didn’t really strike Boyd as the kind of guy who’d commit murder to clear the playing field of competition, particularly when he was clearly too terrified to put himself out there on that empty field.
Also, Bradley didn’t fit with Boyd’s theory that this had something to do with Josh’s investigation.
At least this explained the difficulty Bradley had looking Boyd in the eye whenever they talked. Between his social challenges and the fact that he must have been squirming, wondering if Boyd—or the local PD—had found digital copies of the stalker pics on Josh’s laptop, it was a wonder he’d managed to carry on a conversation at all.
A moment later, Hayden pulled into the drive at Dr. Stratton’s. When she’d reached the rear parking lot, she executed a U-turn and brought the car to a stop right outside the service entrance.
“How’s that for service?”
“Couldn’t be better.” He hit the seat belt release, but he didn’t want to get out. Didn’t want to go in there and spend another solitary night in the bed Josh had slept in for so many months. Didn’t want to leave the warmth of Hayden’s company.
If she were another woman, he’d probably make a play right now. If she wasn’t Josh’s best friend—hell, the woman he’d been in love with—and if she wasn’t so great and smart and dedicated, he’d lean across the console and kiss her. He’d do his level best to talk her inside, where they would not watch TV.
But he’d already tried that, hadn’t he? True, she hadn’t exactly shot him down in flames. In fact, she’d acknowledged the attraction between them with the unflinching honesty he was coming to expect from her. But ultimately she’d reaffirmed her determination to avoid sexual and romantic entanglements, and who was he to drag her off that path?
He glanced at her and realized she was holding her breath. His heart jolted. Was she waiting for him to do what he’d just imagined doing? Hell, she was probably worried tonight would be a repeat of the other day at the lake, with him making a move and her having to say no.
Of course, if he started something and she shut him down, he could blame it on the four beers he’d drunk.
Except that was total bullshit. He hated when anyone—man or woman—used inebriation as an excuse.
Before he could do anything stupid, he opened the door. The dome light came on, dispelling the intimacy. “Text me when you get home?”
She blinked from the sudden change of the mood in the car. Or possibly from the sudden lighting change.
“Of course.”
He climbed out of Hayden’s car, gave her a wave, and watched as she maneuvered out of the driveway. When he heard her turn onto the street in front of the house and accelerate away, he dragged a hand through his hair. Damned alcohol.
Unfortunately, the booze hadn’t dulled the grief and sorrow. On the contrary. It just laid him more bare to it. God, he missed Josh. Missed those texts that drove him crazy, the phone calls. It had been months since they’d been in the same place at the same time, but he missed that too. Their competitions, whether it was running or fishing or shooting hoops back home in their parents’ driveway with that basketball net they’d never gotten around to getting rid of. And, yes, he missed looking at Josh and seei
ng his own features reflected back at him. His twin.
Sighing, he looked up at the old house, his gaze traveling across the second floor to Josh’s room. As he was working up the fortitude to go inside and climb the stairs to that room, he saw a light flicker in the window. Not the overhead light or a lamp, but more like a flashlight. What the hell?
Galvanized, he unlocked the door and took the stairs two at a time. He pushed the door to his room open and hit the light switch.
Clear.
A quick check of the bathroom proved it was clear too.
Shit. He sank down on the edge of the bed. He must be losing it. He could have sworn there was someone in here with a flashlight.
A tap on his door made him leap up and started his heart pounding hard in his chest.
“Detective McBride?”
It was Sylvia Stratton. He opened the door to see her standing there with a lightbulb in one hand and a flashlight in the other. “Can I borrow your height for a moment? I was trying to change a bulb, but I’m not quite tall enough. It’s Mrs. Garner’s evening off, and she’s staying the night with her daughter.” She looked up at him with those clear blue eyes. “No doubt she has a step stool she uses for this sort of thing, but I’ve no idea where she keeps it. I don’t like to climb on the furniture, especially with no one handy to help in case I fell.”
Christ, he must have been looking at the wrong window. Got himself all worked up over nothing. How many beers had he had?
And how anal was she that one bulb couldn’t wait another six hours to be replaced?
“Detective?” she prompted.
Very anal, apparently.
“Sure, Dr. Stratton.” He took the bulb from her. “Lead the way.”
Five minutes later, Dr. Stratton went on her way and Boyd went to his room.
Two hours later, he wished to God Dr. Stratton had a dozen middle-of-the-night handyman jobs for him to do. If he could keep his hands busy, maybe he could still his thoughts.
He’d lain there in bed, filled with memories of Josh and a deep, aching sorrow. The alcohol had long worn off, but the maudlin cast of his thoughts had not.
Eventually, the Josh memories gave way to thoughts of Hayden.
She had looked so good tonight. And not just that mane of hair, or the dip of her waist emphasized by that tiny jean jacket, or the way her skinny-legged pants hugged her curvy but athletic butt. Yeah, those things had made an impression. An indelible one he’d probably see on the backs of his eyelids when he finally got off to sleep. But it was also her quick smile. Eyes that sparkled when she laughed and grew soft when she was sad. And her formidable energy! He didn’t know how she put in those long days and still had enough gas left in the tank to help him, if not with the investigation, then with his grief. She was a match for Josh in that respect.
Hell, she was a match for Josh in every respect. No wonder he’d loved her.
His mind leapt to those moments in the car. He’d talked himself out of kissing her, ostensibly to avoid being rejected. But if he was honest, he was pretty sure she would have welcomed his kiss. And maybe he wouldn’t have gotten any further than that, just a few hot kisses stolen in the parking lot. Not tonight anyway. But there’d be another night and another night, and eventually she would sleep with him.
That wasn’t arrogance speaking. That was their undeniable chemistry, plus her unflinching honesty. If he pressed her, he could have her.
His body responded accordingly, but he couldn’t even enjoy that. A wave of guilt suffused him. Jesus, he was fantasizing about bedding Josh’s girl.
Okay, so she wasn’t his girl, but she was the woman he’d loved. What corner of hell would it land him in if he seduced her?
“Don’t worry, buddy. I won’t do it. She was yours as far as I’m concerned.”
He turned off the bedside light and tried to settle to sleep.
A moment later, he sat up, grabbed his phone. There was one way he could be sure to keep that vow to his brother.
He started composing a text to Hayden.
Then he put his phone down, lay back, and looked at the ceiling. Finally, when the gray light of predawn lightened the room, he fell asleep.
CHAPTER 15
Hayden was supposed to have had the day off, but they’d run into a scheduling problem in the ER and had asked if she could come in and do an eight-hour shift. Shell-shocked as she was by Boyd’s late-night text, which she’d read that morning, she’d leapt at the chance to go to work.
Josh had loved her. Loved loved her, as in girlfriend and boyfriend. Husband and wife. Not the way she’d loved him. Apparently he’d told Boyd as much months ago.
She’d texted back, basically saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” and telling him she’d been called in to work.
The ER had been busy, for which she’d been grateful. As long as she was working, she didn’t have to think about it. Because the moment her thoughts did turn to it, she inevitably remembered some moment they’d shared and imagined how the things she’d said or done, or didn’t do, might have hurt him.
On her lunch break, she’d phoned Boyd, thinking they had to talk before things got too weird. He’d answered, but he’d been with Ray Morgan, working on running down those numbers. He’d stayed on the line long enough to invite her to supper, offering to pick her up after work. She’d hesitated before answering, but then asked herself why. What had really changed? Nothing. Josh was still dead. Boyd was still here, and he still wanted her help and support. So she’d accepted.
As it happened, their supper plans got scrapped when they’d had multiple trauma cases roll in as a result of an MVA on the Vanier Highway. The ER had been backed up for hours, and her eight hours turned into an interminable stretch.
Unfortunately, the medical cases didn’t stop showing up just because they were full up with trauma. Hayden had dealt with a suspected heart attack, a possible stroke, an uncomplicated fracture, and the usual assortment of sudden, severe pain in the pick-your-spot. So she’d told Boyd to pick her up whatever the daily special was at her favorite vegan restaurant and she’d join him when she could. She liked everything on their menu, and it was all organic.
She’d thought about asking him to meet her at her place, but she was still feeling kind of strange about that whole text exchange. By meeting him there, and by taking her own car, she could leave whenever she felt like it.
No sooner had she parked her Subaru and walked to the staff entrance when Boyd appeared.
“Wow, an escort,” she said.
“I remembered what you said about Josh meeting you down here so you didn’t have to run the gauntlet alone.”
“Thank you. Is supper ready?” she asked brightly.
“Yep.”
“Thank God. I’m starving.”
He held the door for her to enter the house. “How are all your patients from that accident?”
“I only got to see two of them, both with minor injuries. Cuts and abrasions.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be learning to deal with the rougher stuff?” He gestured for her to precede him up the stairs.
Good. He was treating her normally. “Yeah, but when there’s so much multiple major trauma all at once, it’s a bit different,” she said, sending a glance over her shoulder. “It was all hands on deck for the more experienced guys, leaving me to cover everything else. And believe me—that was plenty.” They’d reached his room. He opened the door, and she walked in. “Would you believe I had a heart attack victim drive himself to the hospital? When will people learn to call an ambulance when they have chest pain?”
“So nobody died?”
“Not so far.” She toed off her shoes, put her purse down on the coffee table, and flopped down on the couch. “One head injury went to Saint John, but the rest are being handled here. The surgeons will be busy in the OR all night, I
think.”
“Tired?”
“Exhausted. Well, physically. Mentally, I’m bouncing.”
“I figured you’d want either a cup of hot tea or a glass of cold white wine,” he said. “I’ve got both.”
“Wine, please. I’ll do tea after we’ve eaten.”
“Coming right up.”
“I should be helping.” She pushed to the front of the couch and paused, gathering the energy to get up.
“No, sit and relax,” he ordered. “You earned it. Working a shift from hell when you should have had the day off.”
She subsided back against the couch cushions. “Did you get my text this morning?”
“I did.” He pulled a bottle of sauvignon blanc out of the minifridge and poured two glasses for them. He brought the glasses over, set them on the coffee table, and sat down beside her. “Sorry to drop that on you in the middle of the night. I was wide-awake and thinking about Josh, and I just decided you should know.”
She picked up the glass of wine and met his gaze. “Thank you for telling me.”
He looked away. “I’ve been back and forth about what was the right thing to do. I’d made up my mind that you didn’t need to be burdened with that information. But last night, I—”
“Burdened?” She put the wineglass down again. “God, Boyd, I’m not a child. And besides, if you hadn’t told me, I’d never have known what a gift Josh gave me.” Though she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry, her eyes filled with tears. She looked up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly to stop them from falling.
“Jesus, you’re right.” His voice was almost a whisper. “It was a gift. All I could think was how it could do nothing but grieve you more.”
She dropped her gaze to his face. His eyes were shimmering too.
“It’s made me look at our conversations—Josh’s and mine—through a different lens,” she admitted. “And I can see I probably hurt him sometimes. But I’m so glad you told me.”
