by Jane Godman
Before Hester could reply, Sarah suddenly sat up straighter. “Esmée, remember what I said? Jack brought some of his things here when he was preparing to move in. I wonder if his notebooks might be among them?”
“We can always hope,” Esmée said. “Can I take a look?”
Sarah led her outside to the garage while Hester watched Rhys. After she had unlocked the garage, Sarah took hold of Esmée’s hand. “You will be careful, won’t you? We haven’t known each other very long, but I couldn’t bear to lose you as well. And Rhys needs his mommy.”
“I’ve already promised Brayden I won’t take any chances. And I won’t,” Esmée said. “This is the first time my job has ever felt dangerous. I’m not an adrenaline junkie. Being frightened isn’t a feeling I enjoy.”
Sarah seemed content with that answer. Jack’s boxes were stacked neatly at the rear of the garage. “Do you mind if I leave you to look through them alone? I don’t think I’m ready to, you know...”
“Of course. I’ll come back inside when I’m done here.”
Esmée watched as she walked away, sadness tugging at her. Sarah and Jack would have been so perfect together. Her feelings were stretched tight today. Possibly it was the shock of the fire, but she felt like it went deeper. It was as if, just lately, she was walking an emotional tightrope and she didn’t understand why. Temperamentally, she was usually steady as a rock. Since her arrival in Red Ridge she had been shaken out of her calm. She supposed that could be down to everything that had happened lately. Jack had been killed. She had been shot at. Rhys had been in danger up on the ridge. Just a few hours ago, she had been in a fire that was started deliberately.
Yet good things had happened here as well. Despite the threats and the feuds, she felt comfortable in Red Ridge. For a long time, Jack had been Esmée’s only real friend. Although the pain of his loss would always be with her, she had made other friends here. She already felt close to Sarah and Hester. But if she was being honest with herself, the person who had become most important to her, and in a dizzyingly short space of time, was Brayden.
Just thinking about him brought an unexpected glow of warmth. Did he feel the same way when he thought of her? The question made her smile. Why would he be thinking of her except as part of the case on which he was working? That could hardly be expected to provoke pleasant feelings. Nevertheless, it seemed impossible that she felt such a strong pull between them while Brayden remained oblivious to it. All she knew was, when she was with him, she felt at home, as though she had known him all her life. When she tried to recall their conversations, the details often eluded her. Even so, they could comfortably talk for hours on any subject.
It’s called friendship.
Even as she told herself that, she lifted her fingertips to her mouth. It must be her imagination. Her lips couldn’t still be tingling from that half kiss. And it had been a joke. One she herself had initiated. Brayden had probably forgotten all about it by now. No matter how much she wished he hadn’t.
She should forget it as well and get to work. It was with no real expectation of finding anything that she opened the first of five boxes. It soon became clear that Jack had moved his important belongings first. The boxes were filled with photographs, books and family mementos, including an old pocket watch, a locket containing a lock of hair and a bundle of yellowing letters tied with a faded red ribbon. And there, in the final box, she discovered Jack’s notebooks, each one filled with his familiar, tight, neat writing. She hugged one to her chest briefly before going back into the house to let Sarah know what she had found. Perhaps Jack had come to her aid one last time.
* * *
Brayden arrived home that evening to find the kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of cooking. For some curious reason, the table and chairs were covered by a bedsheet. As he studied this new development with bemusement, Esmée called out to him. “We’re under the table.”
A few seconds later, Rhys popped his head out from under the sheet. “Bray. In the cave.” It was the voice of authority.
Brayden shrugged. Getting under his kitchen table hadn’t been uppermost in his mind when he’d pictured how he’d spend his evening, but he was becoming more flexible these days. And there was a first time for everything.
“Hi.” It was a bit cramped, so he copied Esmée and tucked his knees up under his chin. He could guess what was coming next. Clicking his fingers, he invited Echo to join them. The dog didn’t appear to find anything strange in the arrangement and wagged his tail while Brayden removed his vest. “Uh, do we have to do anything while we’re here?”
Esmée gave him a look of mock pity. “Don’t you know how play caves work?”
“Clearly my childhood was missing some of the essentials. I know nothing of the cave code of conduct.” His neck was bent at an awkward angle. “Will we be in here for long?”
“Only until Rhys gets bored or hungry.” She shuffled closer to him so they could talk while Rhys stroked Echo. “I found Jack’s notebooks in Sarah’s garage. I’ll start going through them tonight when Rhys is in bed. Did you get any information from Andy?”
Just the thought of Andy Coulson fired Brayden’s temper all over again. He got it under control while he told Esmée what he’d discovered about Andy’s connection to the shooter, Richie Lyman and their attempt to kill Jack.
“The plan was all in place, they just switched targets. Instead of Jack, they had you.”
“I don’t get it.” She had been listening to his explanation with an expression of growing confusion. “Even if he wanted to kill Jack, how can I be this guy’s new target? I don’t know anything. And I’ve never met Richie Lyman.”
“I don’t understand it, either, but there’s no question about what Andy told me, or about what I saw on the security-camera footage. The shooter arrived at Andy’s store at the same time as you because he knew you would be there.”
She shook her head. “It’s just so hard to believe. Where is Andy now?”
“In a cell. And he’s mighty glad to be there,” Brayden said. “He realizes his new friend might not be very happy with him, but he’s indicated that he’s willing to talk in exchange for police protection. Andy’s less scared of the cops than he is of the guy who set fire to his store.”
“I still can’t get this clear in my mind. I was so sure my encounter with the shooter on the ridge was random. I thought he shot at me because I’d found his knife.” Esmée shook her head. “You don’t think he’s threatening me now because I saw his face?”
“That would only make sense if you could link him to something. If you’d witnessed him committing a crime, or you’d heard his description in relation to a suspicious activity. And don’t forget that I saw his face as well,” Brayden reminded her. “No, there’s only one thing I’m sure of.”
“What’s that?”
“This has to be the craziest place in which I have ever tried to have a conversation.”
Esmée laughed. “You have to admit it—there is something to be said for doing the serious stuff in a ridiculous situation. It takes the sting away.”
She bumped her shoulder companionably against his and he felt the action shoot along his nerve endings like static electricity. Ever since that not-quite-a-kiss outside Good Eats earlier in the day his senses had been on high alert, with part of his mind fixed on Esmée. Now the switch was dramatic. Every part of him was hyperaware of her. It wasn’t only because of her physical proximity. It was as if they were connected by an invisible thread that was getting pulled tighter by the second. Even when she moved away from him, that connection was already so strong Brayden was helpless to fight its lure.
“How about dinner?” Esmée’s voice wasn’t quite steady as she crawled out from under the sheet.
“Dinner.” Rhys clapped his hands in agreement.
Brayden dismantled the cave. “It smells delicious. What is it?”
&nb
sp; “My dad was from Ecuador.” Esmée was busy taking plates out of cupboards and a large pot out of the oven. “He died when I was seven, so I don’t really remember him, but this beef stew was one of his favorite dishes.”
This was other people’s normality. Setting the table for dinner. Chasing the two-year-old when he ran away with the dog’s bowl. Stopping that same dog from stealing the bread from the table. Talking about everyday things while eating. Saving the conversation about how to deal with the scary guy who was targeting Esmée for later.
“Hester has a theory, but I’m not sure you’ll like it.” There was a roguish smile in Esmée’s eyes. “If you follow her line of thinking, you should get married simply because you are the only person in Red Ridge who will be safe from the Groom Killer.”
Brayden stared at her. “She said that?”
“Not in so many words, but that was the direction she was taking. Just think about it, Brayden. You could help out the town’s ailing economy by giving the wedding business a boost.” Esmée laughed at his thunderstruck expression. “Haven’t you ever been tempted to try married life?”
“I considered it once and decided it wasn’t for me.” He reached across the table and helped himself to bread. “How did Sarah seem today?”
Although she answered his question, he was aware of her gaze lingering on his face as she spoke. Esmée was just a little too perceptive for his liking. He supposed it was what made her good at her job. It also meant she had the ability to recognize a change in conversation for what it really was. An emotional-avoidance tactic. By mentioning it at all he had already said too much. He hoped she wouldn’t ask him any more about it. He was an expert at shutting people out, but he didn’t want to do that with Esmée.
“Who wants ice cream?” The suggestion received an enthusiastic response from Rhys.
Esmée rose and went to fetch dessert. The moment was lost, but for the first time ever, Brayden regretted his inability to open up and talk about his feelings. It was a tiny shift in his psyche, but was a huge change in his life. In that moment, he didn’t know what he was feeling. He was definitely confused. Probably scared. At the same time, there was a ton of excitement buzzing around in his veins.
When Esmée turned and smiled at him, he recognized his chief emotion. It had taken him so long to acknowledge it because it came his way so rarely. No matter what craziness was going on around them, he was happy. That was what Esmée did to him. If he had to stop overthinking and pick a feeling, then happiness was the one he would go with.
* * *
“I thought bathing dogs was hard work.” Brayden pulled the front of his wet shirt away from his body with a grimace. “How can one small boy splash so much?”
“You encourage him.” Esmée gave him a stern look. “It’s a conspiracy in which Mommy ends up being the bad guy for actually trying to wash him.”
He grinned. “Sorry. He was just enjoying the submarine game so much.”
She placed her hands on her hips, keeping up the stern pose. “Well, you get the job of cleaning up the mess in the bathroom while I put the submariner to bed.”
“No.” Rhys managed a protest even though he was smothering a yawn. “Want Mommy and Bray.” The words were followed by the inevitable. “And Ko.”
“Let’s all put him to bed, then I’ll clean up in the bathroom.” Brayden wrapped Rhys in a towel and hoisted him into his arms. The little boy settled his head onto his shoulder.
As Esmée watched them, her throat tightened with something close to tears. That was what her son should always have had. A big, strong man who played games with him, but who lifted him up when he needed support. Although she carried a lot of guilt inside her for what Rhys had seen in Wales, she knew she’d always done her best for him. She’d been his mom and dad, and she’d played both roles well. Being a single mother was hard, but she would always make sure he never missed having two parents. Seeing him with Brayden hurt simply because it reminded her of the hopes and dreams that had never come to fruition.
Rhys was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. While Brayden set to work restoring the bathroom to respectability, Esmée went to her car and took Jack’s notebooks out of the trunk. Sitting on the floor in the family room, she sorted through them until she had them in order by date.
When Brayden came into the room wearing a clean T-shirt and carrying two cups of coffee, she was already engrossed. She glanced up from her task. “Jack kept meticulous records and searching through them for any mention of Richie Lyman is going to be a long job.”
“Why don’t I help?” He sat next to her, stretching his long legs out on front of him.
“Okay. I started with Jack’s earliest cases. If you take the ones from the end of his career we can meet in the middle.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They read in companionable silence, the only sounds Echo’s heavy breathing and the wind rustling the trees outside. After about an hour, Brayden discarded his second book. “I haven’t found any mention of Richie, but I am developing a healthy respect for Jack’s ability to take down facts. Some of this would make good material for a book.”
Esmée looked up from the ten-year-old notes she was reading. “It’s one of the reasons he and my mom worked so well together. When it came to research, she wouldn’t trust anyone else with the fine details. Except me, of course. Between them, they taught me everything I know.”
“Why did you decide to switch from working for an online news company to working for yourself?” Brayden asked.
“I wanted the freedom to cover the stories my way.” Esmée placed the notebook she had been reading facedown on the rug. “I didn’t like the way we were encouraged to go for the sensational approach. We were dealing with people’s lives and I prefer to do that with sensitivity.”
“You are not what I expected.” His gaze was intense.
“I never am. People think I’m going to come along and thrust a camera in their face at a funeral, or bug their phones.” Esmée stretched her arms above her head, conscious of the way the movement drew Brayden’s eyes to her body. She liked the way he watched her. As if he couldn’t get enough of looking at her. “What Remains was a chance to do it my way, to tell the story of what is left after the police and forensics teams have gone. What happens to a community after the court case is over and the press interest has died down, but the families and friends of the victims and the killer have to pick up the pieces and rebuild their lives.”
“I’m not sure Red Ridge can be rebuilt.” Brayden’s voice was thoughtful. “A town needs a strong foundation to support it after something like this. Too many divisions mean this is a community that is unlikely to come together after the Groom Killer murders are solved.”
“Don’t be so sure. There are a lot of good people in Red Ridge.” She smiled. “People like you.”
He looked surprised. “You hardly know me.”
“I know everything I need to. I know you have a big heart even though you try to hide it. I know you have a schoolboy sense of humor.” Before he could protest, she grinned. “Yeah, just like mine. I know you would do anything to help someone in trouble, even if that person was a stranger. And I know you don’t like yourself very much...even though I can’t understand why.”
He was silent for a moment or two, studying a frayed patch on the seam of his jeans. “I don’t recognize that hero you just described.” His voice was gruff.
“I told you why relationships weren’t for me. Maybe it’s your turn now.” She ducked her head to look at his face. “I’m a good listener, Brayden.”
When he remained silent, she thought he was angry at the suggestion he might want to confide in her. Deciding to let the matter lie, she reached for her notebook again, but Brayden’s hand snaked out and closed over her wrist.
“You want to hear it? The whole sorry story?”
/> “Only if you want to tell me.”
He leaned back, rested his head against the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. “I was twenty-one. She was thirty. Her name was Ava and she was from out of town. I couldn’t believe this beautiful, sophisticated woman was interested in me. Turns out, she wasn’t. Ava was a gold digger. She thought I was from the wealthy side of the Colton family and didn’t bother to check any further. We’d been dating a few months when she told me she was pregnant.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I should have known a woman like Ava wouldn’t leave anything to chance, but like a fool, I fell for it. I went out, bought the best ring I could find on my rookie cop’s salary. Then I took her to meet my dad.”
Although the words were lighthearted, Esmée could hear the pain in his voice. She could see the tension in the tightly clenched fist that rested on his thigh. She wanted to close the distance between them and hold him, to soothe away eight years of hurt inflicted by a cold, callous woman who had ruthlessly destroyed a young man’s dreams.
“When she met Rusty, Ava realized the truth. She couldn’t get out of Red Ridge fast enough. Even then, I hadn’t figured it out. I thought it was something I’d done, or said. I tracked her down to a motel just outside Sioux Falls.” He closed his eyes briefly. “That confrontation wasn’t my finest hour. I pleaded with her to stay with me for the sake of the baby. She laughed in my face as she told me there never had been a baby. As I walked away feeling like my whole world had come to an end, she shouted after me that the only reason she’d been with me was because she’d made a mistake.” He turned his head to look at Esmée, his eyes dark with hurt. “There it is. My only attempt at romance and I was on the receiving end of a mistake.”
Esmée didn’t stop to think. She moved closer to him. Taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. For a moment or two, Brayden appeared stunned. Then his hands came up to grasp her waist and he returned the kiss. It was long, hard and very thorough.
When Esmée raised her head, the bitter look had gone and he was smiling. “More cake crumbs?” She shook her head. “Tell me it wasn’t pity?”