by Mia Sheridan
Mark nodded, reaching into his pocket and bringing out the small notebook. Inside, he’d placed a printout of a still frame of Lucas as he’d waited in the holding cell a couple of days before. He unfolded the printout and handed it to Dr. Swift. “Do you recognize this man?”
Dr. Swift regarded the picture for several moments before shaking his head. “No. Who is he?”
“A man currently living on Driscoll’s property. He says Driscoll allowed him to stay there after his parents abandoned him.”
Dr. Swift sighed again. “That sounds like Isaac.”
“How do you mean?”
“Isaac did a lot of volunteer work for social services programs. We did many studies on the foster care system—still do—and it was one of the areas of research that particularly bothered Isaac.”
Mark nodded. “Understandable.” The worse cases he’d worked on had involved kids. He could never desensitize himself to the idea of a child suffering in any way. And as far as Mark was concerned, if he ever did, that was the moment he’d know it was time to turn in his badge.
“What’s interesting is that he allowed this man”—he pointed to the photo of Lucas still on the table—“to stay on his property when he was only a child, but never alerted any authorities that he’d been abandoned.”
Dr. Swift stared down at the photo of Lucas for a moment before meeting Mark’s eyes. “Maybe to Isaac, the foster care system was a fate worse than living alone in the wilderness.”
“Do you think it’s possible he was really that far gone?”
Dr. Swift shrugged. “I’m only speculating.”
Mark nodded, pulling another picture out of his notebook. “What about this woman? Have you seen her before?”
Dr. Swift looked at the photo of the woman who’d been found dead in the bed and breakfast, and his brow furrowed. Finally, he shook his head. “Not that I can recall.”
Mark took the pictures from him, re-folding them and returning both to his notebook before reaching across the table to shake Dr. Swift’s hand. “Thank you for your time. Please, if you think of anything else that might shed light on this crime, give me a call. And my email address is on that card too if you’d be so kind as to forward me the results of the last study Driscoll was working on.”
“Absolutely.”
Mark turned to leave when he spotted a picture hung on the wall to the left of the door. He moved closer, studying it.
“The Battle of Thermopylae,” Dr. Swift said, coming up beside him and looking at the picture.
Mark glanced at him. “This same picture is hung in Isaac Driscoll’s house.”
Dr. Swift looked at him, a small smile on his lips. “In fact, Isaac is the one who hung this here so many years ago.” His smile grew. “Government buildings rarely invest in decorating, I’m afraid.” He looked back at the picture as Mark removed his notebook and jotted down the name of the battle the doctor had just named, spelling it to the best of his ability. He’d google it later. “Talk about a study in courage against overwhelming odds. And teamwork. The Spartans took the cake.”
“Is that what Driscoll liked so much about them?” He must have admired that to hang the same picture at work and in his home. A rendering of what he wished society was, despite what he considered daily proof that it was not? That it was worth the fight even if the odds were against you?
“Probably. They were a fascinating culture.”
Mark gave the picture one last glance. “Thank you again, doctor.”
“You’re welcome,” Dr. Swift said, his eyes remaining on the battle in front of him.
He didn’t look away as Mark turned and left the room.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Harper let go of the locket, and it dropped onto Lucas’s shirt. Her heart was racing. Her skin felt prickly, and she was having trouble swallowing as shock waves rolled through her. “How?” she croaked. “Where?” She shook her head, attempting to clear the ringing that had started sounding in her ears the moment she’d seen the picture inside. It was her mother’s locket, the one she’d been wearing when she died.
Dizziness rolled through her, and her teeth began chattering. Lucas turned and opened the door to his house, stepping inside and then looking back at her questioningly. She noticed his feet were still bare and despite her own state of shock, she grimaced. They must be freezing. She followed him inside and closed the door, but didn’t move into the room. She leaned her rifle on the wall next to where she stood. “Please tell me,” she said, and this time her voice sounded steadier, though her heart was beating wildly.
“I found this necklace in a car at the bottom of a canyon. It had a different chain then but it broke.” Her eyes roved over his face, his expression so intensely serious, she couldn’t move her eyes away. He glanced downward to where the locket lay on his chest. “Do you . . . know these people?” He seemed to be holding his breath as he stared at her, his fingers finding the locket and rubbing it between them as if he’d made the same movement a hundred times before and did it now out of habit.
“Yes. They’re my family,” she whispered. “The baby, it’s me.”
His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally said, “You.” He stared at her again, his fingers grasping the locket as he looked at it, then at her as though trying to merge the tiny picture of the baby inside with the grown woman standing before him.
“We were in a car wreck when I was very young. I somehow wandered away from the crash and was found, but they never were.”
His eyes roamed her face for a moment, something softening in his gaze. Understanding. “I can take you to them if you want.”
Harper reached back, holding on to the doorframe so she wouldn’t fall over. God, she couldn’t believe it. The car. The car. He found the car. Her parents final resting place, the thing she’d been searching relentlessly for since she was old enough to go out in this wilderness alone. She nodded, tears burning at the backs of her eyes. But she refused to let them fall, didn’t want to share her grief with this man, this stranger. Truth be told, she didn’t want to share her grief with anyone. She wondered if she even knew how.
“When?” she asked. “How long ago did you find it?”
“Five winters ago.” He flinched very subtly and cleared his throat. “Five years ago,” he amended as though he realized he’d answered incorrectly the second it’d rolled off his tongue. Only . . . God, if I lived out here, I’d probably calculate time by how many winters I survived too. But, she couldn’t think about that right then, not with the knowledge that her parents’ car was so close and this man could take her to it. To them.
“Can you take me there now?”
Lucas glanced out the window. “No, it’s too late. I can take you there in the morning. It’s dark and icy now, and we’ll have to climb down.”
Climb down?
She started to argue, to beg him to reconsider, but she knew he was right. Night had fallen, the temperature had dropped, and going out now would be foolish when simply waiting until daybreak lowered any risks significantly. She’d waited this long. She could wait one more night.
“Can I ask you why you wear it?”
He glanced at the necklace on his dark shirt and then reached up and untied it, walking to where she stood, stopping when he was several feet away. He extended his hand and held it out to her and she took it from him, clasping it in her fist. “It’s yours,” he said. He hadn’t answered her question, but there was a lump in her throat now, so instead of repeating it, she simply nodded and tied it around her own neck. As his gaze lingered on it, there was such unmistakable sadness in his eyes. He’d just given up something of great value to him, she realized. Handing it over to her had cost him. Not a monetary cost, but something more important to him. Emotional connection? Whatever the answer to that question, he’d given it to her anyway.
“Thank you,” she whispered, laying her hand over it. The small piece of metal was still warm from his body. “How’
d you find it? What were you doing?”
Something skated over his expression, but he quickly schooled it. “Just saw it one day. The sun shined on the metal and it called to me.” He looked briefly confused like maybe he hadn’t said what he wanted to say. She understood him though. The glinting metal had caught his attention.
“I see,” she said, to reassure him she did. She sighed. “Well, I’m glad. I mean, it’s very fortunate that I met you and . . . well . . .” He’d been wearing a picture of her around his neck for the past five years. It made her feel . . . she didn’t know how it made her feel, but the feeling wasn’t negative. It was as though he’d been protecting her family for her. Always together, never apart.
He regarded her for another moment and then turned, walking to the wood stove and feeding it a few logs. It was then that she finally took in the room. There were four metal beds lined up on the wall to her right, though three of the beds were barren of mattresses or blankets. The fourth was obviously the one Lucas slept on, a dark gray wool blanket pulled to the top of the mattress and a single pillow. They reminded Harper of beds she’d seen in prison movies, and she frowned.
“Do other people live here?” she asked, nodding to the beds.
He looked at the empty cots from where he was squatting in front of the fire, poking the logs inside with a long stick. “This was going to be a summer camp cabin but . . . someone ran out of money. Or something like that. It was empty when Driscoll came to this land.” He paused. “That’s what he told me anyway. It’s all I know.”
Harper tilted her head. He’d phrased it strangely. “Do you think he was lying?”
Lucas came to his full height, the door of the stove swinging shut with a dull click. “I don’t know.”
Harper opened her mouth to ask him another question, but she wasn’t sure what. It was just . . . the way he’d said that’s what he told me anyway, and the tone in his voice when he’d said it, made her think he questioned Driscoll’s truthfulness in general. And it made her curious. You’re not an investigator, Harper. Stop acting like one.
“Okay, well, I’ll just”—she pulled the door open, the arctic air causing an immediate shiver—“be back in the morning. How early?”
“First sunlight.”
First sunlight. “Okay.” She grabbed her rifle and turned back once more before pulling the door to close it behind her. “I’ll bring coffee.”
His brows lowered and she suddenly felt stupid. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Sure.”
She paused. “All right.” She stepped onto the porch and shut the door, closing her eyes momentarily, feeling like an idiot. But he was going to take her to the place where her parents still rested, the site of that long-ago crash that had stolen the life she was supposed to live. Nerves tingled underneath her skin and she inhaled a big breath of cold air as she climbed into her truck and turned the ignition. Nothing. She tried again, and still, nothing. “Shit,” she groaned, looking up and realizing that in her haste to confront Lucas, she’d not only almost killed a litter of foxes, but she also must have left her truck door very slightly ajar, and therefore, the interior light had been left on. Her battery was old and needed to be replaced, but she’d been putting it off because she couldn’t really afford a new one. And now it was dead. Nice work, Harper.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She sat there for a minute, considering her options. She needed a jump-start. But it was too late and the weather too bad to call anyone now. She had planned on being back at Lucas’s place at first light anyway, so . . . she’d just sleep in her truck. She was familiar with “roughing it.” It was practically in her job description.
She’d need a blanket though, something other than only her coat to ward off the worst of the night chill. She sighed, resigning herself to knocking on Lucas’s door again.
She trudged through the snow and back up his steps and before she could knock, he was opening the door, obviously having seen her coming from the front window. “Hi.” She attempted a smile but knew it fell flat. She gestured back toward her truck. “Dead battery. No big deal, but do you have an extra blanket I can borrow?”
He glanced to the truck behind her and then to her. “You’re going to sleep out there?”
“In the truck, yes. It’ll be fine. I’m used to sleeping sitting up, anyway . . . ” Her words faded away, she hadn’t meant to say that. She cleared her throat. He regarded her again for a moment in that way that made her feel totally conspicuous, when in actuality, he was the one who was strange.
Right?
He turned, walking slowly to the bed with the mattress on it, grabbing the blanket he obviously used and carrying it back to where she stood. He held it out to her. “Oh . . . no, I couldn’t take your only blanket.”
His brow dipped and he regarded her. “Why?”
“Why? Um, well . . . you’ll be cold.”
“I’m fine. I have a fire.”
She still felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to freeze to death in her truck in the middle of the woods. “Right. Okay, then. Thank you. I’ll see you at sunrise.” She jogged down the steps and back to her truck where she brought the blanket around her shoulders and body. It smelled like him. Like—she leaned her head forward and inhaled the edge of the thick, scratchy material—mountain air and male skin? No, that sounded like a bad deodorant commercial. She inhaled again, more deeply this time. It was . . . nice, and it caused little flutters in her stomach. It wasn’t soapy, or piney or any of those descriptors she’d usually use for the way a man smelled. It was clean, and she was glad, because she’d initially questioned his hygiene—which in hindsight might have been rude, even if it was only in her own mind—but his scent was clean in a natural way. Like he bathed in a stream, and dried his body in the sun and—
Oh God, shut up, Harper. She dropped the blanket from her nose and leaned her head back against the seat. No wonder I don’t sleep. My damn brain will not turn off.
Also, she was freezing. She tightened the blanket around her, her teeth beginning to chatter. The tip of her nose felt like an ice cube. Her mind turned again to the tiny foxes in the den she’d run over, and her heart stuttered as she thought about how cold they must be, their helpless little bodies covered in snow, ice matted in their fur. Had their mother returned?
Harper got out of her truck and trudged back to the den at the base of a massive pine tree. She turned on the light on her phone and angled it away so it wasn’t shining directly in the den, but so she could still see the small creatures inside.
A quiet growl sounded from within and Harper took a step back, but leaned her head farther forward. Inside the den, the mother lay nursing her babies, snarling softly, a warning not to come any closer. “I won’t,” she whispered. “You’re safe.” She took one last moment to gaze at them, dry and cozy, and then switched off the light, moving away.
Harper couldn’t help the tears that began streaming down her face. She wasn’t sure why the emotion had overcome her so swiftly, but it had, and now she stood there, crying softly in the snow, the dark night engulfing her.
She felt so intensely . . . alone.
“You can sleep inside if you want.”
She whirled toward his voice, turning on her light again. He squinted so she lowered it, swiping at the tears on her cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught crying over a fox den. Embarrassed to have been caught crying at all. How had he snuck up on her like that anyway?
“She came back,” Harper said quietly. She inclined her head toward the den. “The mother.”
He paused for a moment. “Good.”
She shivered again, and he nodded toward her truck. “Bring your gun and sleep inside.” And with that, he turned, heading back to his house, but leaving the door open. It looked warm in there—warm and lit by candlelight. Cozy.
She grabbed the blanket from the truck, pressing her lips together as she considered the rifle. It felt rude to take it inside when he was offering her a warm
place to sleep, even though he didn’t have to. But . . . well, he was still a stranger, and a wildcat, and a person of interest in a murder investigation. Not to mention, lots of bad things in this world had happened to girls because they were worried about appearing rude. She grabbed the weapon and walked up his steps and through his door, closing it behind her.
“Thank you. I, um . . . you won’t even know I’m here.”
He looked confused. “I’ll know you’re here.”
“I just mean, I won’t be any bother.” She considered the three empty beds, but none of them had mattresses, and sleeping on bare metal springs didn’t seem comfortable at all, and so she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and laying her gun on the floor next to her. She wrapped herself in the blanket again and let out a pretend yawn so he’d know she was all taken care of. “This is very nice of you,” she said. “If I can repay your kindness in some way, let me know.”
She swore she saw his lips tilt slightly, but then he turned away, lying on his own bed, his back to her. “If you could try not to shoot me in my sleep, that would be good,” he said without turning, and she swore she heard a smile in his voice. Was he joking with her? The idea shocked her, but it also caused a burst of pleasure too.
“I promise I won’t,” she said, and she could hear the smile in her own voice before she realized there was one on her lips.
His shoulder moved slightly but he didn’t answer, and after a moment she closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth enveloping her, her shivering ceasing completely.
She was comfortable, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. Harper had trouble sleeping in general, much less sitting against a stranger’s wall with said stranger sleeping twenty feet from her. Yet, despite the cabin and its lack of refinement, she felt comfortable. Was it the fire? The man? The deep, enfolding silence of the forest surrounding them? Or was it that she felt peace? Always together, never apart.