TOMMY
living room, tying a thick, fuzzy bathrobe. She crept to my chair and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Is Wade outside?”
I nodded.
She folded her arms, as if warding off a chill, and huffed a sigh, staring at the door. She shuffled to a nearby ottoman and sat down, still holding herself tight, bouncing her foot. The job of being a cop’s wife wasn’t an easy one—never knowing just where your husband was, how much danger he was in, or if he’d even make it home that night. Nancy bore the stress with grace and poise. This was as visibly anxious as I’d ever seen her.
A cordless phone weighed down the pocket of her robe, as if she were ready to dial the station at a moment’s notice. The thought flitted across my mind—hadn’t Wade alerted the station already? Was he out there with no backup? Or was I just overthinking this? Had I only imagined a man outside the door?
Lightning flickered and thunder rolled in the distance. There were no voices. No commands to put hands in the air. No fleeing footsteps. Nothing.
Still, I envisioned what it would be like if the man who shot me was put behind bars tonight. And I suddenly realized how vast was the sea of mental energy he had claimed. Below the surface, I was drowning in fear and vigilance. Even here at Nancy and Wade’s house—even with Wade actively searching the yard—it felt as if I were alone; as if there was no one else to take the watch.
I closed my eyes, clenching my teeth. There was nothing to worry about… There was nothing to worry about…
The door latch clicked. My eyes flew open. Wade stepped into the foyer, a splash of moonlight illuminating his shoulders and the back of his head. He secured the door behind him, then turned to look up at us. Even though his face was hidden in shadow, I thought I could read his disappointment.
He shook his head.
My heart crashed. The watch wasn’t over…
“Nothing?” Nancy asked.
“Nothing.” Wade climbed the steps, one hand on the railing, the other behind his back. I assumed he was keeping his gun out of sight again. “Just a squirrel trying to make a nest. It chewed a hole in the siding.”
“A squirrel?” Nancy’s voice actually squeaked in surprise.
Wade stepped into the living room and looked down at me. “Sorry it woke you.”
I searched the shadows of his face. Did I believe him? Was he trying to withhold information from me again in a misguided effort to protect me from the facts?
Nancy reached over and flicked on a lamp. When she looked at her husband again, she shouted. “You’re bleeding!” A trickle of blood ran from his temple to his chin. “Oh, look at your face.”
“My face?” Wade lifted his hand to his head—and then we saw where the blood actually came from. It welled from a cut in the skin between his first finger and thumb. He pulled his hand away and stared, as if seeing the cut for the first time.
Nancy rose and put a firm hand on her husband’s chest. “Sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit.”
Wade caught her wrist with his bleeding hand and stopped her. Under his breath, he whispered, “I need a paper bag.”
Nancy frowned. “A paper—?” Her eyes dropped to his other hand, which he’d taken from behind his back, but still concealed from me with his body and Nancy’s. Her face illuminated. “Oh! Um… Here. I’ve got it.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought she used a fold of her bathrobe to take something from Wade’s hand. I strained to see. It looked like a piece of plastic cut from a disposable water bottle. I knew as well as Nancy why Wade wanted a paper bag—it was one of the best ways to store evidence without destroying delicate indicators like fingerprints. Still, I couldn’t envision what was so vital about a square of plastic.
Wade sat down and elevated his injured hand, applying pressure. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. He looked pale. I couldn’t imagine it was from blood loss; the cut really didn’t look that bad.
“How’d you cut your hand?” I asked.
He took an extra second to respond. “Trying to flush out the squirrel. I must have cut it on the siding.”
Why had he paused? To think up a lie? If I looked at that squirrel hole, would I find blood on the edge? Would I even find a squirrel hole? What was he trying to hide from me? Why did he insist on coddling me? What did a piece of plastic mean? I couldn’t take this cloak and dagger anymore. I screwed up my nerve.
“You’re lying.”
Wade’s eyes lifted. Met mine. His were dead inside. Exhausted. Angry.
I didn’t care. “Wade. Quit acting like I’m made of glass.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Fine. Okay. You’re right. There was someone in the yard. I found a piece of plastic by the side door. It was dark, and I cut my hand on it.”
“It’s just a piece of trash,” I said. “The storm could have blown it into the yard.”
“You can also slip it into a door jamb to pop open a lock.”
Lightning chose that moment to illuminate the room in eerie blue. Wade’s gaze on me was unwavering.
“Does that make you feel better to know someone was trying to get in?” he asked.
The thought turned my stomach, so I opted not to dwell on it. Instead, I let my simmering temper build to a boil. “Being kept in the dark doesn’t contribute to my sense of safety.” Finding a soap box, I climbed right on up. “Wade, I’m aware someone shot me. I’m aware he’s still out there somewhere.” I waved vaguely toward the windows. “Let’s quit pretending everything’s fine. I need more information, not less.”
Wade bowed his head and studied his hand. He let the blood soak into the cuff of his shirt, sacrificing that rather than Nancy’s beige carpet. Part of me felt awful for chewing him out while he sat there bleeding.
At last he spoke. “I’m sorry. It’s not always easy to know what to do.” He tilted his head, as if studying a curiosity instead of his own hand. “Did you know that after I killed Bobby Markham, I had nightmares every night for three years?”
I had no words for that. I hadn’t known. But his vulnerability, after all these years, deserved a response. I shook my head.
“You’d think I would have mentioned it. Maybe I thought talking about the nightmares would make them more real. Every night, I saw a kid I knew looking at me with absolute hatred in his eyes. And then he aims the gun at me. And then I pull the trigger and kill the only son of a man I grew up with. That night never really ended. Just went on and on…”
At Wade’s words, my own frustrations crept away, ashamed. I’d been so absorbed in my own feelings, I hadn’t stopped to ponder why Wade might be handling me with kid gloves. There had been a time when the shoe had been on the other foot—when Wade had faced down a gun and someone reckless enough to use it on another human being.
“I became a cop so everyday people like you would never have to endure something that horrific. I signed up to serve and protect. And I failed.” He looked at me. “I failed my best friend. I’m failing my entire town. People are dying. I lost one of my own men. And I can’t stop it.”
I sighed, and then I found that I had been turning the wedding band that Laina had given me. I forced my hands to be still. I guess I’d never been good at heart-to-hearts. Wade was far better at them than I had ever been. Somehow he’d managed to change my fury to guilt that I’d ever brought the topic up.
“You’re doing fine, Wade,” I managed to croak out while staring at a set of curtains. “Whatever madman’s on the loose, you’ll catch him. You always do.”
Wade nodded his appreciation. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’ll try to be more open.”
I just nodded. This conversation could be done now. I was sorry I’d brought it up.
Nancy swept into the room, arms laden with bandages and bottles of antiseptic. “Now, show me that hand.” She settled onto the ottoman again, took her husband’s hand and slapped a sterile pad over the cut. “It’s barely bleeding now. Good. Oh, your poor shirt. That’ll never come out. I can’t believe all this over a squirrel—”
Wade stopped her in the middle of wrapping his hand with gauze. “I told him.”
She blinked. “Oh.” She looked for a moment like she was shifting gears. A second later, she had adjusted as if we’d been talking about a criminal the entire time and not a rodent. “Well, anyway, they never got in, whoever they were. The alarm would have gone off.” She finished off Wade’s bandage with tape. “Is that too tight?”
Wade flexed his fingers. “It’s perfect.”
“Should you call your detectives?” I asked.
Wade nodded and rose. “Guess I’ll roust Lehman out of bed.” He motioned with his bandaged hand. “Thank you, Nancy.”
She smiled and nodded. Wade passed into his office, closing the door behind him. A moment later, we heard his muffled voice through the wall.
Nancy clasped her hands, as if to calm her own tremors. If I wondered whether I was still welcome company, she settled the question with her next words. “Well. How about a cup of tea? Once the cavalry gets here, it’ll be impossible to get any sleep.”
I nodded absently. I didn’t want the tea. I wanted space to think. Nancy left, and I was grateful.
Roland’s words swirled in my mind. “Tommy, have you ever considered that Wade could be the fourth member of the ring?”
No. And I never would. If Wade was behind the murders, why would his home be the target of a break-in?
The only scenario in which that made any sense was if the hunter was being hunted.