"White-water canoeing actually. But it comes with the risk of hypothermia at this time of year."
"That's a no?"
"It would be a yes, if I thought you meant it. I'm well versed in your opinion of my extreme sports, Jack. Seriously, what do you want to do?"
"What I said. Take me out. Show me how it's done."
It was exactly what I needed right now, as crazy as that sounded. A distraction that would consume all my attention.
"Really?" I said.
He gave me a look. "You want it in writing?"
"I might. Okay, then, let's hit the rapids."
"F-f-fuck!" Jack said as he stumbled from the canoe, soaked and shivering uncontrollably.
"Did I mention the risk of hypothermia?" I climbed out and tied the canoe to the dock.
"Thought you m-m-meant if we fell in."
"When you run the rapids, the water comes to you."
"No fucking shit."
I bustled him into the gazebo. "Which is why I turned on the heater in here before we left. And brought hot cocoa and these." I lifted a pile of towels onto the table. "And even these." A second pile of dry clothing joined it. "You can change in the boathouse if you like, but I'm only going to turn my back. Scout will warn us if anyone comes."
He turned his back. We'd stayed in the same motel room--this wasn't any closer changing quarters.
I was in a weird mood--that almost giddy, stubbornly defiant, willfully oblivious one that comes with saying "screw you" to everything else. The nonstop adrenaline had drowned the confusion and the hurt and the guilt. Jack had been a trooper. Clearly, running rapids was not going to become his go-to entertainment anytime soon, but he'd stuck to it for my sake. And maybe that was the most important part of all. For those few minutes, he was just as determined to make me happy as I was to let myself be happy. While there are people in my life who care for me, there's no one who'd do this for me, with such a complete absence of expectation.
When we'd changed into dry clothing, I poured him a cup of steaming cocoa. Then I set out a container and pulled off the lid, revealing a wedge of fresh-baked pie.
He settled at the table and looked around. "You got a plate? Or another fork?"
"Neither. It's all yours."
He hesitated then seemed to realize I wasn't quite up to stomaching food yet. He leaned over to dig in, then brushed back his wet hair and dried his fingers on his jeans.
"I should put up one of those signs," I said. "You will get wet on this ride."
He arched his brows.
"You know, like at amusement parks? The signs at the log and flume rides?"
"Last time I was at an amusement park?" He finished chewing a mouthful. "Fuck. You were probably in training pants."
I smiled. "So you've never pulled a hit in one? Shot a guy in the house of horrors? I saw that in a movie once. The audience loved it. All I could think of was the kids in line, about to be permanently scarred when a guy rolls out with his head blown off."
"Shotgun? In public?" Jack shook his head. "Can't hide that. Not the gun. Not the noise. Fucking Hollywood."
"Which was the second thing I thought. You'd want a small-caliber gun with a suppressor. A CNS shot from behind, so he dies quickly, with a minimum of mess. If he's wearing a jacket and you aim it through the collar right, it might not even be obvious he was dead when he rolled out."
"Or you could pull a switch. Wait on the ride. Shoot. Pull him out. Leave him there. Take his spot. No one would notice until he started to smell. They'd just figure he was a prop."
"That could work. Now I've just got to find a situation where I can pull a hit in an amusement park."
"I'll put feelers out. See what I can do." He stretched his legs. "Did have an odd one last year. Wanna hear?"
I eased back with my cocoa. "I do."
When it was dark enough, we moved to the fire pit. No one joined us except Scout, who lay between my chair and Jack's, head on her outstretched paws, watching the fire.
When Jack's cell phone blipped, he pulled it out and frowned down at a text message.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"Just Evelyn." He upended his beer bottle, his gaze distant, as if contemplating something. "So how'd it go with Quinn?"
"All right. He was annoyed I hadn't called about Aldrich, but backed off when I reminded him he's been ignoring my calls."
Jack snorted. "Licking his wounds."
"That would be a great excuse, if he was the one who got dumped."
Jack looked over sharply. "What?"
"He . . ." I took a deep breath. "I'm not going to bore you with that."
When I handed him a second beer, he said, "None of my business. But I'd like to know."
I took a sip of my beer, then said, "He invited me to a family wedding."
"What?"
I gave a small laugh. "The nerve, huh? I mean, it's not like we were dating or anything . . . Oh, wait. We were."
"Doesn't matter. Under the circumstances? Had no right to ask."
"Yes, Jack. He did. He just . . . He didn't take my answer well, and it became obvious that the problem wasn't just the wedding. He was heading in a direction I wasn't ready to follow."
"Moved too fast."
I fingered my beer bottle. "It's not that I wasn't ready to follow; it's that I had no intention of following. I wanted a relationship. A solid, exclusive relationship. He was heading down the track that ends with wedding rings and babies."
"You don't want that?"
I gave him a look. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously. You're thirty-three. No reason you can't."
"Except that I don't want to. I thought I'd made that clear to Quinn. Hell, I thought he wanted the same thing. He's been married--it didn't work and it never seemed as if he wanted that again. He loves being an uncle, but he told me once that he didn't want kids of his own. So I don't think-- Fuck it, I know I didn't mislead him."
"He changed his mind. You two got together. Started thinking it might work."
"But it did work--as exactly what I signed up for--a relationship." I lowered my voice as my temper flared. "I thought it was going great, and I thought he was happy. Then this happens. One invitation to one wedding, and the next thing I know, he's telling me he wants this to end in our own wedding."
"Asshole."
I sputtered a laugh, "No kidding, huh? And that's why I feel like shit--because Quinn's not an asshole, and he was telling me something wonderful. He gave me a gift, and I threw it back in his face."
"Gave you something you didn't want. He didn't care. He wanted it. Makes him an asshole in my books." He paused. "Nothing new."
"You can say that, but you know he's not a bad guy. You just don't like him very much."
Jack shrugged. "Don't like him personally. Still, was good to you. Made you happy. Now?" He glanced over. "Think you could lure him into a fun house?"
I laughed.
CHAPTER 17
When we reached the porch, Jack said, "Got a room with two beds, right? Vacant?"
"Sure."
"Gonna suggest we take it. Just for tonight."
I glanced over before opening the door. "So I don't wake up screaming? Or sleepwalking into the lake?"
I said it lightly, but he just looked at me.
I nodded. "You're right. Both are a distinct possibility, as much as I hate to admit it. We'll both sleep better if someone can shut me down before I terrify the guests."
"Not worried about the guests."
"I am." I waved him inside.
None of the rooms at the lodge are as big as most modern tourists expect. I'm very clear about the size on the website and in the brochures, both giving square footage and using adjectives like cozy, but I still field complaints.
The rooms with two beds have just enough room to walk around those beds--and nothing more. Close quarters, especially when you add a big dog. This time, we had to get changed in the bathroom, if only for logistics' sake. I went first. Then I climbed
into bed.
Jack came out a moment later. He was dressed in sweatpants--the same pair he's worn since our first case, which still look new enough that I suspect he only brings them on "visit Nadia" trips.
As he got into his bed, I turned off the light and said, "I've kept you up talking long enough, but I want you to know I really apprec--"
"Don't."
"I just want--"
"You want to thank me, Nadia? Remove two words from your vocabulary. Sorry and appreciate. All right?"
I went quiet.
"Fuck. Came out wrong." He propped his head on his arm, his face shadowed in the dim light. "Nadia?"
"It's okay."
More silence. Another soft exhale. "No, it's not. Came out pissy. Wasn't supposed to. I just mean . . ."
"That you're tired of me apologizing, and you're tired of me thanking you. But I don't know what else to do, Jack. You came for me in Michigan. You got me through that. You gave me Aldrich. You got me through that. Now you're here to help me through . . . the rest, with the journal, and I know it's not enough to just say thank you, but I don't know what else to do."
"You don't need to do anything. I don't expect it. Don't want it. I'm not keeping a tab, Nadia."
"I know, but--"
"Me being here? Me finding Aldrich? Think that's an inconvenience? Taking me from something else? Fuck, no. Schedule's clear. Wasn't here? Be waiting for work I don't need. Coming here? Finding Aldrich?" He looked over. "Happy to do it."
"Okay. I'm--" I sucked in air. "I--" I stopped myself again with a laugh. "First, I almost apologized. Then I almost apologized for almost apologizing. It's a sickness, you know."
A short laugh. "Yeah."
Silence. I waited a moment, then lowered my head back to the pillow and tugged the blankets up.
"I care about you, Nadia. You know that, right?"
I felt my cheeks heat and was glad for the darkness. "I--"
"Just making sure you know. I don't come around because I have to. Don't help out because I have to. I want to. You need to thank me? Repay me? Let me help. Don't make a big deal. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now go to sleep. You can't? Want to talk? Wake me up."
"Thanks." I paused. "Am I allowed to say that?"
"For now. Just don't overdo it."
I smiled and curled up under the covers.
I slept so soundly that if I hadn't been in possession of the beer all night, I'd have thought Jack dosed my bottle. Maybe part of my bad dreams had been my brain poking me to remember what happened, and now that I did, it could rest. It wouldn't last. It wasn't as if I'd just remembered where I left my wallet. This was huge, with major ramifications that eventually would pound louder than those forgotten memories. For now, though, I slept.
When the sun seeping through the curtains woke me, I slipped out of bed and dressed quietly, with Scout waiting at the door. I was padding toward her when Jack's sleep-thick voice said, "Heading out?"
He was propped up in bed, covers around his waist. He was bare-chested, lean, with muscled arms. Wavy, silver-threaded black hair tumbled over his forehead. His free hand scratched his stubbled cheeks as he struggled to wake. It was not a bad sight to start my day.
"I'm going jogging," I said. "Not fleeing into the night."
"I know." He stretched. "Hold up a sec."
He swung his legs out and stretched some more. Then he walked to the window and opened the drapes, blinking.
"Fuck. That's bright."
"Yes, we call it dawn. Also? Cold."
He shivered. "Yeah." He glanced over. "How far you going?"
"About five miles. Why? Are you thinking of coming with me?"
There was a moment where it almost seemed as if he was going to say yes. Then he glanced at the frost-laced window and shivered again.
"Fuck, no."
I laughed. "Go back to bed, Jack. When you smell cinnamon rolls, you know it's time to get up."
I reached for the door.
"Got your gun?" he said.
"I'll be grabbing it before I leave. I'll have my gun and I'll have my guard dog, so I'll be perfectly safe in the crime-infested streets of White Rock."
He grunted.
Before I could leave, he stopped me again. "I'll make the beds. Tidy up."
"Emma will still notice, so I wouldn't bother hiding the fact we slept in here unless it bothers you. She's not going to say anything--she'll be too busy trying to figure out why we used two beds."
A short laugh. "Yeah. I'll leave it then. Go on. Enjoy."
I grinned back. "I will."
Jack didn't know what he was missing. The cold air and bright sun that sent him back under the covers were exactly what made it perfect jogging weather, the sunlight dappling the road as the chill air woke me up and kept me comfortable. I stuck to the back roads, empty and clear and silent.
As I ran, I thought about the journal. Not about what Aldrich did to me. Not now. This was morning, time for moving on--or at least for faking it. What I thought of instead was the rest of the journal.
I'd ask Jack to remove the page detailing my rape. Yes, the cop in me balked at tampering with evidence like that and maybe the rest of me balked, too, as if I should read all the details and tough it out. But there was no point, nothing to be gained. I accepted that I'd been raped; I didn't need to read an account from my rapist's point of view. Here I'd draw the line. Take the page out so I could read the rest.
Scout stayed at my side, happily panting, not even distracted by the squirrels that sped across the road or birds that shot up from the shoulders. Then I noticed her glancing into the forest.
At first it was just a couple of quizzical looks, as if to say, "Huh? What's that?" On a run, it took more than a bunny or a raccoon to snag her interest. We don't get a lot of coyotes and black bears, but they are out there, and I really didn't want her tangling with them. Whatever was in those woods, though, clearly she considered it a potential threat, because every time I moved between her and the woods, she'd scoot back over, shielding me.
I touched the butt of the gun holstered under my jacket. If a bear lumbered out, I'd happily send it off with a warning shot. The forest remained quiet, though, so I kept the gun holstered and stayed alert.
The thing about predators up here? None of them are really a match for a human and a dog. And they know it. They'll watch you pass and breathe a sigh of relief when you do. They will not attempt to follow.
Yet as we continued along, Scout kept glancing into the forest; whatever was in there was tracking us. That could only mean one thing: this predator walked on two legs.
Jack might be in full protective mode, but he'd never stalk me. The chance it was a stranger was almost as low. Random assault and random murder, like stranger rape, are practically unheard of out here. We have our crime problems but they don't include guys lurking in the forest.
It had to be Quinn. He wanted to talk to me, and he'd been to the lodge twice before for that. He wouldn't stalk me, but he might follow me, gauging my mood.
To be safe, I waited until I reached an open portion of the road, near a house I knew was occupied year-round. Then I tugged the water bottle from my waistband and took a long drink from it. When a twig crackled underfoot, Scout stiffened and growled, her gaze swinging to the forest. No one hailed me. Meaning it wasn't Quinn.
I snapped on Scout's lead as I tracked the noises in the woods. A twig crackle here, a dead-leaf scuffle there; my stalker was moving to the edge of the forest. I turned my gaze enough that I could see the forest but still seemed focused on the dog.
Finally, a figure appeared, dark against the sunlit trees. I turned and the figure seemed ready to duck back into the forest, but it was obvious he'd been spotted, so he stepped out.
"Hullo there," he called.
"Morning."
I sized him up. Late thirties. Average height. Stocky. Hard to tell if it was muscle or fat, given his bulky windbreaker, but he had the bulldog face and r
olling, confident gait of a man in good physical condition. Also? He had a gun. I could see the butt taking form against the fabric of his jacket.
"Sorry if I startled you," he said. "I'm, uh . . ." A sheepish look. "I'm kinda hoping you can direct me back to my cabin. I got myself turned around in there."
Scout growled as the man approached.
"Ignore her," I said, patting her head. "She's not keen on strangers, but the worst she'll do is knock me over trying to hide between my legs."
He chuckled. "Beautiful dog."
"Thanks." I flashed him a friendly, small-town-girl smile. "Let's see about getting you back to where you're staying. Are you renting a cottage?"
"Yep. Over near town. Came out with the kids to see the fall colors. I'm out seeing them and they're sleeping in."
I laughed. "Typical."
He was less than five feet away now. Sizing me up. My gun was well hidden, and his gaze passed over it without hesitation.
"Actually," he said. "I've got another problem. I was out with our dog and he took off. Chasing a rabbit or something. If I go back without him, the kids will flip. They're always telling me to keep him on a leash."
"That's a good idea out here."
"I know." A deep sigh. "I hate to ask, but maybe if my dog saw yours, he'd come back. I wasn't far from here when he took off." He turned and pointed into the forest. "It was right over there."
Seriously? He expected me to follow him into the woods? Apparently, my small-town act made me look dumber than I thought.
I flashed another bright smile. "That's a great idea. My girl here loves making friends. I'm sure she'll find him in no time."
As we started into the woods, Scout growled louder.
"She smells your dog," I said. "That's what's making her nervous."
"Well, hopefully, she'll see him soon."
"Oh, I'm sure she will. Just lead the way."
CHAPTER 18
The guy led me ever deeper into the forest, stumbling on the unfamiliar terrain. A city boy.
As we walked, he kept saying, "I last saw him just over here." Then, "Wait, over there." And, "Just a little farther now."
"What does he look like?" I asked.
"He's brown."
"Big? Small?"
"In between." The guy turned. "Why don't you take your dog off-lead? She might find mine that way."
"I don't do that in the forest. Much too dangerous." I paused. "But why don't I go ahead? I know the lay of the land better than you do."
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