“Okay. That’s hot.”
I narrowed my eyes at Miranda. We were sitting in the kitchen the following afternoon. She was on her lunch break and had about ten minutes before she had to get back to the school, which was within walking distance. She looked glorious, as usual, wearing a deep purple sweater dress that was a perfect match for her dark skin. If I wore something like that I’d look like a purple people eater. Now she was scarfing down a salad that smelled like it had overdosed on Italian dressing. “He wouldn’t leave,” I reminded her.
She pointed her leafy-green-speared fork at me. “He wanted to make sure you were safe.”
“From what?”
Leaning forward, Miranda whispered, “From crazy people who would leave roadkill in your mother’s truck.”
I glared at her and then sighed, dropping my chin. “You have a point there.” I’d told Miranda everything. Well, I didn’t tell her about the hard nipples, because seriously, I doubted she wanted to hear about that. Needless to say, she was freaked out about the deer thing. Who wouldn’t be? When it came to everything else, she was of the mind that everything Cole did and said was utterly hot.
“What did you tell your mother?” she asked as she glanced at the open kitchen door.
“I told her I drank too much wine last night and Cole drove me home.” I fiddled with the cap on my Diet Coke bottle. “She didn’t question it. She was just happy to assume I had a great time, and I’m pretty sure she’s already thinking of grandbaby names.”
Miranda laughed—she threw her head back and cackled like a hyena.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh yes, yes it is,” she replied with a grin. “None of the other stuff is funny, but that is. I can see your mom doing it too. She’s probably already knitting a genderless onesie.”
I groaned, because I could totally picture my mom doing that.
“So what’s happening with the truck?” she asked, stopping in front of the trashcan.
I leaned back in my chair. “Cole texted about an hour ago.” For some dumb reason, my heart flipped. It did it every time I said his name, and I’d been ignoring the stupid little motion in my chest. Well, I’d been failing at ignoring it, obviously. “He said the car will be ready this afternoon.”
Miranda dropped her plastic fork into what was left of her salad. “Does she know he stayed the night?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. If she does, she hasn’t said anything.”
Grabbing her take-out container, she closed the lid and rose. “I want to talk all about everything Cole said to you last night, but the whole deer thing . . .”
“I know.” I watched her dump the container in the trash. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Have you thought about what Cole asked?” She picked up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder. “A list of people who could be upset with you?”
Pushing up, I stretched my arms to work out the stiffness in my upper back. After the nightmare and everything Cole had said, I hadn’t fallen back to sleep. He’d left the bedroom and returned to the couch to sleep, I guess, while I stayed awake, my body unnaturally stiff. I’d used that time wisely, thinking of possibly anyone who could be upset with me. I normally didn’t sleep well anyway, but spending the wee hours of the night thinking about people who could potentially be angry with you wasn’t exactly the best bedtime thing to obsess over.
Lowering my arms, I rocked back on the heels of my flip-flops. “I have thought about it. I just . . .” I trailed off as I heard footsteps.
Mom drifted in, frowning as she glanced around the kitchen. “Have you seen Angela?”
I raised a brow. “I haven’t.” Folding my arms, I said, “I figured she was upstairs cleaning.”
“She hasn’t showed up or called,” Mom said, the skin tightening around her pursed lips. “That is very unlike her.”
“She might be sick,” Miranda said, heading toward the dining room. We followed. “There’s a nasty bug going around. Mrs. Chase, the tenth-grade history teacher, got it last week and was up all night, and barely was able to call in sick in time for the school to bring in a sub.”
“Oh no. Maybe I should bring her a bowl of soup,” Mom was saying as we crossed the sitting area.
I glanced at the phone on the registration desk to see if there was a message that I might’ve missed earlier. There wasn’t. Luckily, we only had one room booked, with two more coming in tomorrow. “I’ll head upstairs and take care of the Mattersons’ room. Tidy up the rest.”
“And then you’ll call me,” Miranda added as she opened the front door. “Because we still have a lot to—whoa. Oh my God.” She laughed, stepping back to the side. “I almost ran you over.”
Turning, I saw an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. He was middle-aged, hair a light brown. He wore a dark brown button-down sweater and his tan khakis were pressed to the point I doubted they ever wrinkled.
The man smiled at Miranda as his gaze flickered over to me. “Miss Keeton?”
Unease blossomed in the pit of my stomach. “Yes?”
The man’s smile became a big one, displaying all his ultra-bright, ultra-straight white teeth. “Hi, I’m David Striker, but most call me Striker. I’m a freelance journalist working with the—”
“Oh hell no.” Miranda cocked her head to the side as my stomach sunk all the way to my toes. “Whatever you want, she’s not interested.”
Striker’s smile started to fade. “But you don’t even know what I want.”
I stiffened.
“Like I said, whatever you want, she’s not interested.” Miranda glared at the man. “Do I need to spell that out for you?”
The smile was completely gone now. “No.” His dark brown eyes narrowed. “Miss Keeton, I only need a few minutes of your time.”
Miranda opened her mouth, but I stepped forward. “You need to get back to work,” I told her. “I can handle this.”
“And by handling this, she means that no matter what your questions are, she’s not going to answer them.” Mom used her Mom voice—the voice laced with authority. “Now, if you would—” She’d stepped forward as she spoke and had caught the open door and started to close it.
Striker’s hand flew out, blocking her. “You know the body of the woman who disappeared out of Frederick was found in the exact same location that the Groom left his victims. You know that, right?”
The dread exploded like buckshot, spreading throughout my system. Mom tried to close the door again, but Striker wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was Miranda, and while my stomach was churning and a huge part of me wanted to dash upstairs, I didn’t want her to get into trouble. This was my problem. Not hers. Not my mother’s.
“Miranda, please go. I’ve got this,” I said, meeting her angry gaze. I smiled at her reassuringly. “It’s okay. This was bound to happen. Go.”
The press of her lips told me only an act of God was keeping her mouth shut, but she nodded curtly and then stepped around Striker, sizing him up with a dismissive curl of her lips.
I watched her cross the porch and then disappear around the corner before I focused on Striker.
He went on like we hadn’t given him an indication that we weren’t happy to answer his questions. “Mayor Hughes gave a press conference this morning on the discovery of the body and he’s saying—”
“I know you’re just doing your job and that is the only reason why I’m going to kindly tell you that I have nothing to say.”
“So, you need to leave and I need to close the door, because we’re letting all the warm air out,” my mom added, moving to close the door again. “And I’m asking that kindly.”
Striker’s foot jutted out, joining the battle along with his hand. “I know this is a sensitive topic for you and I understand that you’d be reluctant, but it is entirely too convenient that the same place was used to leave the body.”
I curled my hands into fists. “It is convenient and it also has nothing to do with me.”
“But doesn’t it concern you at all?”
I almost answered the question. My nails were digging into my palms. “Why would it concern me? This has nothing to do with—with what happened?”
He bit down on his lip. “Look, I just want—”
“I don’t care what you want,” I shot back as the welling irritation gave way to anger. “What happened to me isn’t some story to run in the Sunday paper to entertain people. It’s my life. It has nothing to do with what happened to this poor woman and it’s disgusting to even attempt to sensationalize what happened to her.”
Striker widened his stance, and I knew then he wasn’t planning to go anywhere; I knew by the change in his expression, the sudden hard jut of his jaw, he was going for it. “Is it true that the Groom was planning to kill you when you escaped—that you escaped during the attempt itself?”
Oh my God.
Blood rushed so fast from my head I felt dizzy. I stepped back, bumping into the desk. He knew. How did he know that? Were those kind of records available? There hadn’t been a trial. There hadn’t been a need for one. The Groom had died, and even though a lot of info had leaked to the press, that hadn’t.
I gasped. “How . . . did you know that?”
“I’m a reporter, Miss Keeton. It’s my job to know things.”
“That’s enough,” Mom snapped before Striker could answer. She pushed on the door again. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get off my property before I call the police.”
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep, rough voice said, and my heart did that unsteady flip again. Over Striker’s shoulder, I saw Cole stalk through the entryway, and he looked furious. He clapped a hand down on Striker’s shoulder and spun him around, away from the door. “He’s leaving now.”
Striker stumbled to the side, his eyes widening when he came face-to-face with Cole. Surprise flickered over his face. “I know who you are.”
Cole smirked. “Then you should know that you better be getting the hell off this property.”
“I’m not breaking a law,” he challenged. “Surely not a federal one.”
“Actually, you will be breaking a law. This is a private property, and they’ve asked you to leave.” Cole stalked toward Striker, forcing him back. “You don’t leave, that’s a law you’re breaking.”
The center of Striker’s cheeks flushed red. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something but then snapped his jaw closed. He glanced over at me and then pivoted around, hurrying off the porch. Cole closed the door.
“Thank you, Cole,” Mom gushed while I was still standing practically petrified in front of the desk. “I was seconds away from picking up that floor lamp and beating him over the head with it until he left.”
Cole’s lips did that twitch thing that said he was fighting a smile. I slowly looked over at my mom. “That would’ve been a damn shame too. I purchased that lamp from Wayfair after searching for months for the perfect one,” she added.
My gaze darted to the floor lamp in question and I frowned. There was nothing special about it. It was a white lampshade on a gray pole.
“Well, I’m glad I saved the floor lamp.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a set of keys. “Your truck is parked outside.”
Remembering the truck and everything else, I snapped out of it. “Thank you for bringing it back. You didn’t have to do that.”
His cool gaze drifted over to me. “But I did.”
Those three words again. They were haunting me. So were those eyes. Cole had left this morning before I stepped out of my bedroom, but not before turning on my coffeemaker and letting it brew so it would be ready for me.
So damn thoughtful.
Our gazes met in an instant, and I drew in a shaky breath. He was several feet away from me, but it felt like he was standing right against me. I swore I could feel the warmth of his body. Though there were a ton of things that I needed to be focused on, all I could think about in that moment was what Cole had said to me last night about second chances and breaking down walls.
And I so needed to get a grip.
Focusing on my mom, I said, “I’m sorry about that.”
Her brows knitted together. “Why are you apologizing, honey? That’s not your fault.”
“I know, but what if one of the guests were here to hear that?” I crossed my arms. “That’s not exactly something that will help us book rooms.”
“Still isn’t your fault, babe,” Cole said.
Babe?
“Is that the first time he’s been here?” Cole asked.
“Yes,” Mom answered, smoothing a hand over the hem of her loose sweater. “Back after everything happened, it was a very frequent occurrence, but that was the first time he showed.”
“If he does again, you let me know,” Cole offered, folding his arms. He was wearing a black henley, and this time I noticed the gun holstered at his hip, tucked under the hem of the shirt. “I’ll make sure he gets the message.”
“Hopefully we won’t continue to have that problem.” Mom plastered on a smile I wasn’t sure was real. “I think he just caught us off guard.”
As I listened to Mom and Cole, something the reporter said started to nag at me. I pressed my lips together as I replayed what Striker said. Then it hit me.
“The mayor,” I whispered.
Mom turned toward me. “What, honey?”
I blinked as Cole’s gaze sharpened. “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”
Cole did the hand thing with a head tilt this time, reaching back and clasping the back of his neck as he eyed me.
Mom glanced back and forth between us. There was a pause. “I’ll take care of the Mattersons’ room.”
I turned at the waist. “I said I would do it.”
“It’s okay.” She was already at the stairs. “You go ahead and chat with Cole.” She beamed at him like he’d invented flying cars. “Thank you again for making sure my daughter was responsible last night,” she said, and I barely was able to resist rolling my eyes. “And thank you for getting my truck back to me.”
“No problem, Mrs. Keeton.” One side of his lips kicked up. “I will always make sure your daughter is responsible.”
I snorted under my breath. Totally ladylike, but I couldn’t help myself.
“Did you say something, babe?” Cole asked.
I looked up, arching a brow. “Nothing.” I paused. “And don’t call me babe.”
“Cute,” Mom said, with one hand on the railing. “So cute.”
My eyes narrowed as I watched her climb the stairs. Her steps were a little slow, and I wasn’t sure if something was paining her or if she was just taking her sweet old time, hoping to overhear Cole and me.
Probably the latter.
I waited until Mom was out of sight and then turned to Cole. Before I could say a word, he crossed the short distance between us, and I leaned against the desk, angling his body toward mine. I had to tip my chin up to meet his eyes.
“I was being serious earlier. If that jackass shows up again, you let me know,” he said, voice low. “I’ll make sure he fully understands.”
I started to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but then I realized I’d told Cole that about a dozen or so times since he walked through these doors. It struck me then, as I stood beside him, close enough to touch him, that I didn’t want to tell him that.
What he offered was necessary.
Even though I knew pity and a twisted sense of obligation drove him to be here and to do everything he’d been doing, I wanted to ignore all the many reasons behind it and I wanted him here. The spreading warmth in my chest told me I was glad he was here. “Thank you,” I said, lowering my gaze. “For taking care of my mom’s truck and for running off the reporter.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” His hands folded around my arms and he gently uncrossed them, drawing my gaze to his. He held on to my arms, and a rapid flutter started deep in my chest. “I know that reporter showing up here had to have bothered you.”
There was no point in denying that. “He’s looked into me, Cole. He knew . . .” I cleared my throat. “He knew that the . . . Groom was trying to kill me when I escaped.”
A muscle spasmed along his jaw. “Shit.”
“How did he know that?” I whispered. “Are there records of what happened that people have access to?”
“Not easily.” He slid his hands to my upper arms and then down to my elbows in a soothing slide he repeated. “But he’s a journalist, babe. They make friends with cops and detectives. Favors get called in. Rub my back, I’ll rub yours kind of thing.”
“Jesus,” I muttered. I knew there was a mammoth-sized file on me. I’d had to talk to the police and the federal agents, and I had to tell them everything. I wasn’t even sure how much Cole knew, but I imagined it was enough, since he’d been a deputy back then, but this was different. Knowing that someone, a complete stranger who had no business reading any of that, could get access to the file sickened me.
His hands slid down again, rubbing my arms. “I wish there was something I could say that would change that.”
A weak smile formed on my lips. “This was bound to happen. It’ll probably happen again. I should get used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
My gaze lifted to his and I inhaled softly. His eyes searched mine as his hands continued to move over my arms. It would be so easy to just stand there and forget about everything for a few blissful seconds, but there was something I remembered that I needed to talk to him about.
I bit on my lip and glanced at the stairwell. Mom would be busy for a little bit. “Can you . . . stay for a couple of minutes?”
His eyes warmed. “Of course.”
The next breath I took was shaky, and I stepped away, slipping out of his grasp to lead him to the sitting room. I sat near the fireplace and he took a seat next to me. I kept my voice low as I talked, just in case my mother or the Mattersons roamed into the room.
“You asked me to think of anyone who might be upset about me returning home, and I’ve been trying to think of someone, but I’ve been coming up empty-handed,” I told him, and he shifted toward me, one arm resting on the arm of the chair. “But it was something the reporter—Striker—said that made me think of someone.”
“Okay.” His body was on alert. “That’s good. At least that asshole was useful for something.”
Despite the topic of conversation, I grinned. “Mayor Hughes.”
Cole’s brows flew up. “Come again?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but this whole thing is crazy. Every part of it.” I slid my hands over my knees. “Miranda and I went out to dinner Monday night with Jason. Mayor Hughes was there, and he came up to me. He wasn’t exactly rude, but you could tell he wasn’t thrilled with me being back here. He made some kind of comment about me talking to the press and basically was worried I was going to drag back up everything that had happened.”
“Did he say anything else to you?”
I shook my head. “Nothing except he did know I was coming home. Mom apparently mentioned it at a chamber of commerce meeting.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “That also means anyone at that meeting could’ve overheard your mom telling the mayor you were coming home.”
“True.” My hands stilled. “Or it could mean we’re reading way too much into this, and both things were freaky occurrences.”
Cole dropped his hand. “Do you really believe that, Sasha?”
God, I wanted to, so very badly, but instinct was telling me a different story. “I—”
Cole suddenly held up his hand and then twisted in his seat, toward the front of the inn. I followed his gaze, and a second later, Cole proved he had supersonic hearing.
A young man walked in, his hands twisting the bill of a baseball cap. The flannel he wore was wrinkled and his brown hair disheveled, appearing as if he spent hours shoving his fingers through it. “Excuse me,” he said, his brown eyes darting around the room. “I’m looking for Mrs. Keeton.”
“She’s busy right now.” I rose, realizing Cole had already done the same. “I’m her daughter. Can I help you?”
His fingers stilled, knuckles bleached as white as his complexion. “My name is Ethan—Ethan Reed. My girlfriend works here.”
The name was familiar. “Angela?”
He nodded. “Is she here today?”
I shook my head. “No, she didn’t show up for work. We thought maybe she was sick.”
Ethan’s fingers started moving again, twisting the stiff material of the cap. “She’s not sick. At least I don’t think she is, but she didn’t come home from class last night,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “She hasn’t been home at all. Angela’s missing.”