Before getting in, he checked the porch. Melvin still stood there, holding his stomach.
In the helicopter, they put their headphones on and the pilot lifted off.
“Is that how you usually solve cases?” Drury asked.
“I hope it’s enough to make him leave her alone.”
“It won’t be.”
How could she say that?
“Men like that are like angry drivers. Once they’re enclosed in their own environment, they do what they want. He might take out his humiliation on her. He might not. The best we can do is try to get her to leave. In the end, it’s her decision. If she chooses to stay in that violent place, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
“I just couldn’t stand knowing he hurt her.”
“Yeah. I saw the bruise, too. I also think she was too scared to press charges.”
“She lied when I asked her if she knew anything. I could tell.”
Drury sat straighter. “She knows something? Is her husband involved?”
Maybe, that was what his gut told him. But how? Melvin had a point about motive. Why would he kill the cop who answered his wife’s call when she didn’t press charges? And especially, why would he wait to gun him down? Anonymity? If he shot him on his property chances were he’d have been caught.
“Noah must have seen something.” Melvin slapping his wife around? It didn’t seem like enough.
“You want to help everyone,” Drury said, pulling him out of his analysis. “Evette, and also Cora. You’re going to catch her attacker, too, aren’t you?”
Yes. He was. He couldn’t stand men who felt they needed to dominate women with violence. Those had always been the most difficult cases for him.
“Why do you have such a passion for that?”
Again, Drury jarred him. The headphones sank into her thick hair, and her blue eyes pinned him.
“It’s my job.”
“No. It’s almost...personal to you. It’s like you have to... I don’t know...make everything right. Like you can’t leave anything alone until you do.”
That began to dig into too much personal baggage. Oh yeah, he had a reason to crusade the way he did, a reason that it gave him immense satisfaction.
“It’s my job,” he repeated.
A half smile inched up her soft face, a knowing one. She sat back and faced forward. “I wonder if Melvin is the one who threw the rock.”
And left a dead cat on her porch? “He’s a long way from Anchorage.” Had he recognized Brycen and Drury today? If so, he’d covered it well.
“He’s got a nice boat,” Drury said. “He’s a commercial fisherman. Told me business was slow right now, but that’s how he makes a living.”
He had a nice rifle, too, but his home needed lots of repairs. Maybe he didn’t care about its condition. He cared about his fishing and expensive weapons and—most of all—controlling his wife with his fists.
Yeah, Brycen wanted to put a stop to that, all right. He just needed to find a way. And a reason.
*
At the end of a long, winding, one-lane road, a modest two-story red cedar cabin with a wraparound porch sat nestled in a clearing. Thick forest surrounded the structure, white-framed windows dark under an overcast sky. Snowflakes had begun to fall. Drury stepped up to the front door with a shiver, Junior beside her, awkwardly carrying his small luggage. He’d put up a fuss over going and sulked all the way here. Drury wondered if he’d hoped to spend more time with Brycen and disappointment had thrown him back into withdrawal. That had been his standard protective measure since Noah’s death. Withdraw into a shell, a protective shell where he didn’t have to face what he had to know, at least on some level. No child should ever have to lose a parent. A boy lost his father. And Junior still struggled with accepting his father would never come home.
She’d welcome any method of bringing him out of this phase. If Brycen could do that, how much was she willing to let him get to know her son? Would the time they spent with Brycen help her son? Junior’s curiosity made her think yes. And as for Brycen’s no-marriage, no-kids policy, he was about to test his resolve.
Inside, Drury found the interior warm and welcoming, with a real cabin feel. Big fireplace with big rocks stacked to the roof. Exposed beams crossing the ceiling. Leather furniture. A bit masculine, but a tinge of hominess in the rugs and throw pillows. It smelled dusty and she ran a finger through a layer of neglect on the entry cabinet, lifting her finger to show Brycen, teasing.
He smiled back at her. “I haven’t been here in years and I only pay to have it cleaned and maintained twice a year.”
“Excuses, excuses.” She removed her jacket and hung it on one of the hooks by the door, rubbing her arms against the chill and wishing Brycen would use his arms to warm her.
“Hey, you’re the one who makes kid meals for dinner.” Brycen went to the thermostat, and the furnace kicked on.
Junior dumped his bag and went into the living room in search of a remote. Brycen followed him, picking up the remote from the bookshelf and turning on the television.
“Luckily I restarted the satellite service before leaving Chicago,” he said.
“Bet you didn’t think to get family channels, though.”
“No, but there’s a good variety.”
When her son took the remote from him, he withdrew his hand quickly, as though touching the boy burned him. Junior eyed him a little, still in his decision phase over whether Brycen passed certain criteria. Then he pivoted and went to the TV.
Brycen stood there a few seconds longer than necessary, watching Junior settle in and begin surfing. She wondered if fascination from lack of exposure riveted him or something else, something much darker.
Finally he turned, his brow shadowing troubled eyes. “I’ll show you to your rooms.” He picked up the luggage left by the door and she picked up Junior’s bag.
More interested in him and his history, she followed him up wood-railed stairs that were open to the great room below. Past a small landing, a hall led to three bedrooms and a main bathroom. The heat had yet to drive the chill away.
She put Junior’s bag in the first and smallest room and saw that Brycen had placed her bag in the room across from his. When he emerged back into the hall, she couldn’t stop from staring. Tall and well built, he made an imposing and manly figure in the shadows.
Turning to cut off the building attraction, she went to the stairs. The panel of windows in front had no coverings. Darkness had settled.
Downstairs, she busied herself finding a cloth and began dusting. She’d rather be flying her plane or barbecuing in winter, but she needed something to do.
Brycen came in with a cooler of food and beverages. He’d already brought in the bags of groceries they’d bought before leaving Anchorage.
“You don’t have to do that.” He put the cooler down in the kitchen.
“Not quite camping, but it will do.” She didn’t want to explain her need to keep busy. He didn’t need to know she could stare at him all night and savor the butterflies tickling her insides.
“You like camping?”
She wiped another shelf. No pictures of family here. “Loved it as a kid. My parents took us lots of places. Yellowstone. Yosemite. Glacier National Park. We went to Colorado, too.”
“Where in Colorado?”
“Leadville.” She laughed a little. “My dad thought the name sounded cool. Nobody told us how cold it gets there, though.”
She turned from the shelf and walked to the kitchen, where Brycen put away dry goods into an upper cabinet. His biceps bunched and extended beneath the smooth, light gray Henley as he moved.
“No RV?”
“Heavens no. My parents liked the adventure of tent camping. Until that trip.” She reached into a bag and started helping him put away food. But that brought her next to him and their arms brushed during one transfer.
She stuck to the memory of the Leadville trip. “Did you know that the temperature is at or
below freezing 62 percent of the time? The warmest it gets is seventy-one degrees.”
“Life at ten thousand feet.” He put the last can away and looked at her, his gaze going all over her face before dropping to her chest. She wore a long-sleeved shirt like him, nothing revealing at all, but he made her feel exposed.
They finished emptying the bags and Drury leaned against the counter, hanging on to the memory to interrupt the heat building between them.
“We set up camp at Twin Lakes, but our car broke down on a day trip to Turquoise Lake. It was late in the day and getting cold. My dad said we better hike to a lodge we passed on the way up. The weather rolled in. Nobody else was out. Most people camped in RVs. The lodge was about four miles down the road. We froze. But my parents kept the mood light. My sister and I didn’t know the danger we were in. By the time we made it to the lodge, it was snowing and I couldn’t feel my fingers and toes. I think I was ten minutes from getting frostbite.”
“You camped in winter?”
“September. Everything was an adventure to my parents. They turned everything into fun, a celebration. That night at the lodge, my dad played the guitar in the lodge restaurant. People had nowhere to go. He entertained them and my mom danced all night. My sister and I had macaroni and cheese and stale fries and drank chocolate milk until we got stomachaches. My dad got the car fixed and we went back to camp. Froze for two more nights and then went home.” She smiled and caught her son looking over at her with that same kind of wary suspicion he’d had when he first met Brycen.
“Sounds about like my childhood.” Brycen took out a pan and started frying some hamburger. “My parents took us skiing a lot. Once we went on a yurt tour and got stuck in a blizzard. My dad rescued a couple who got lost. They were newly married.”
He didn’t go into any great detail and began chopping onions and green peppers.
“That’s a nice memory,” she said. “Is that when your parents still loved each other?”
Pausing in his chopping, he turned to see her. “My parents never loved each other. They both liked to ski, but I think they liked the diversion more. As a family, we were always doing something. That way they wouldn’t have to spend time alone at home. Whenever they did that, they fought.”
“Were you close to them?”
He put the onions and peppers in with the browned meat. “I was close to my dad. Still am. My mother wasn’t a typical mother. She didn’t show very much affection. She didn’t hug or talk in great length about things. Unhappiness did that to her. Made her a withdrawn, go-through-the-motions kind of woman.”
That seemed so sad, not only for his mother, but for him, too. He’d learned love from his father, who kept him busy all the time.
“She took a lot of trips to see her sister in California,” he went on. “Maybe her sister saw her when she was happy. Those were the only times I spent at home on weekends. And the best times I had with my dad. We played chess and watched sports. Guy things.”
“He was a good dad.”
He nodded and stirred his meat and vegetables. “Yeah.” His stirring slowed. “I just wish they both could have been happy when we were all together.” He drifted off as he stirred. Then he snapped back to the present and found a package of Sloppy Joe mix. Pouring that into the mixture and adding water, he resumed stirring. “I found out later that my mom wasn’t going to see her sister on all those trips. She went to see a man she had a crush on during high school but she didn’t run in the popular crowd like he did. She was one of those late bloomers. Not very attractive in school but a real beauty as an adult.”
Drury couldn’t tell if that had bothered him. Giving him time, hoping he’d keep talking, she took out some plates and put buns on them.
“My dad wasn’t even upset,” he said.
She stopped and turned to him.
“They didn’t even hire attorneys. They just...split up. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my mother smile. But she did the day she said goodbye to my dad. She even thanked him.”
Wow. That explained his misguided view on marriage.
“Not everyone is unhappily married,” she said.
“I believe most people are.” He turned the burner on low and faced her.
“Okay, fairy-tale marriages are probably rare,” she conceded, “but most marriages are happy. Maybe everyone doesn’t find mind-sweeping, soul-wrenching love, but most people find companionship that is satisfying and good. Most people are happy, Brycen. You shouldn’t base your future on what you saw your parents go through.”
“I don’t, trust me. I won’t be one of those people who marries someone they don’t really like, someone they tolerate.”
“Is your mother happy now?” Drury asked.
“Yes. She is. So is my dad. He remarried a few years ago. He took longer than my mother.”
“Well, there you go. That’s all that matters. Your mom and dad are happy.”
Without responding, his crooked mouth and sardonic look told her enough. She made light of his parents’ nearly three-decade marriage, which he considered a gross waste of time. The clock couldn’t be turned back. All anyone could do in that situation was look forward. He should take lessons in that. From her vantage point, he spent too much time looking back.
Something banged against the side of the cabin, on the outside wall of the kitchen area. Drury jumped and Brycen pulled out his gun. What had made the noise? It was too loud to be the structure settling with nightfall. When Brycen moved toward the back door, she trailed him at a cautious distance. Peering outside, he didn’t seem to see anything.
As he opened the door, Drury checked her son. He watched Brycen, but looked at her. She held up her hand to indicate for him to stay put. Then she went to the door and cautiously looked out. All appeared calm.
Brycen inched his way along the back, gun raised, head turned toward the direction of the sound. Cool air breezed in through the open double French doors. She stepped out onto the patio, waiting for something or someone to leap out of the shadows and attack. Her heart slammed. Brycen moved like a stealthy soldier, focused on the corner of the house.
Something moved then. Sliding down from the side of the cabin, a tree crashed the rest of the way to the ground. A scream lodged in her throat—until it registered what had caused the noise. A dead tree had fallen from the edge of the forest.
Brycen lowered his pistol and turned as he tucked it back into the waist holster.
He wore a wry lift to his mouth. Both on high alert, they held an outward appearance of safety, but lurking deep down, the expectance of the unexpected.
She smiled with a breathy laugh.
His wry grin changed to matching humor and he moved toward her.
“The bogeyman isn’t here,” he said.
Rubbing her arms against the chill, she didn’t go back inside. His strong, confident strides and solid thighs held her riveted, and then his eyes when he stopped before her.
“Th-that’s reassuring,” she said, her voice low and revealing her reaction. “Unless you consider a tree a bogeyman.”
He grinned and stepped closer. “I might have as a kid.”
“Were you afraid of things like that when you were a kid?” He didn’t strike her as someone who feared anything, as a kid or an adult.
“Scary movies, but they had to be real movies, not your typical horror film. Thrillers.”
“A born detective.” She shivered but didn’t want to go back inside. Being alone with him did that to her. Made her irrational.
“You’re not the first person who’s said that to me.” He put his hand on her arm and started to say, “Let’s...” but something stopped him from finishing. Would he have said, Let’s go back inside?
The cold faded to the background as she met his eyes and the intensity in them. She moved a step closer, until she could feel his warmth. His head came closer.
And then something hit his biceps.
She saw a remote control tumble to the sto
ne patio and looked inside. Junior stood in the kitchen, chest heaving, lips pressed tight.
Chapter 5
Breaking apart from Brycen, Drury stared in shock at her son. Junior had just thrown something at them. No. At Brycen. He’d seemed so awed by him—a man he likely saw as a hero, a superhero, one of his characters in a game. What had caused him to change so abruptly to this? Losing his father left him struggling with how to cope, but...throwing something after seeing Brycen almost kiss her? His little body stood with feet planted apart and fists clamped at his sides, stormy eyes fiery and pursed lips nearly white.
“Noah Jr....you can’t throw things at people!”
He had never behaved like this.
Junior pivoted and ran through the living room toward the stairs. Drury ran after him. At the first bedroom door, he saw his bag inside and would have slammed the door shut if she hadn’t put her hand on the wood.
“This isn’t our cabin and you don’t throw things at people. Do you hear me? What’s the matter with you?” She stepped inside the room.
Without answering, he went to the bed and plopped down with a bent head, going into his withdrawal mode. That had worked to get him by this past year, but it was time to start pulling him out. Maybe she’d allowed him to cope in his own way too long. She’d been racked with her own heartache and consumed with finding Noah’s killer.
She went to the bed and sat beside him.
“What’s the matter?” She rubbed his back. “Talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”
He bobbed his feet against the mattress.
“Junior?”
At last he lifted his head and his anger burst free. “Daddy’s coming home and you’re acting like he’s not!”
How had seeing her with Brycen made him come to that conclusion? He’d seen her with Noah. Maybe the show of intimacy, however innocent, had reminded him of that. He thought Brycen would take his place. Her heart sank with pity and love. How could she make him understand?
Continuing to rub his back, she said, “I thought you liked Brycen.”
Junior lowered his head again. “I do.”
“What, then?”
He bobbed his feet harder. After thinking it over in his troubled mind, he looked up at her, still fiery with emotion. “He’s not my daddy and I don’t want him to be!”
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