When Fall Fades (The Girl Next Door Series Book 1)

by Simpson, Amy Leigh

  Sadie finally broke the silence, a hint of a shiver in her voice, “Any new developments on the case?”

  “Yeah, but I really shouldn’t talk about it here. If you wanna grab a coffee or a bite after this I could run a few things by you—see if you remember anything new?” Whoops. He couldn’t decipher the look on her face, so he rolled back the conversation to make sure he hadn’t offered to take a bite out of her. His professionalism was already hanging by a thread. He didn’t need to make it worse with blatant innuendo.

  “Okay.” Her coy reply caught him by surprise.

  The rising sound of chatter signaled the service had ended. “I need to get back in there. Are you gonna stick around?” Her eyes were on anything but his. “There’s a dinner downstairs in a few minutes, I’m sure there will be plenty.”

  “Yeah, I need to stay and ask around a bit. I shouldn’t eat though, that wouldn’t be right. I’ll get something later.”

  “All right, well, I need to get things started downstairs but we can go shortly after that.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She hesitated, her teeth dragging at the corner of her bottom lip before she turned and headed back, leaving him with no other choice but to admire her as she walked away.

  And that’s when reality struck. He had just asked Sadie out on a date. Panic hit him like the rule book dropped on his head. Too bad it hadn’t knocked any sense into him before he tossed it out the window.

  Questioning at a wake was tricky. Most often you got nostalgia and blubbering over anything useful. Charlie’s service was no exception. All of the attendees had moved to a banquet area for the meal. Archer had no intention of intruding any further, so he wandered into the empty sanctuary, perused the pictures displaying a life well lived.

  His attention lingered on a recent shot of Charlie and Sadie during a service. Leaning in closer, he absorbed every detail, intrigued by the candid emotion. Sadie and Charlie stood next to each other amid a mass of people, their eyes closed, completely immersed and abandoned at the same time.

  Archer had seen something similar on Sadie’s face during her song. It was more than just a peaceful reflection of a moment, it was pure joy in its rarest form displayed so plainly and perfectly that Archer wanted to weep. The last time he’d seen that look was on Jimmy’s face as he held him in his arms and Jimmy’s soul left his body.

  Some measure of understanding clicked in his brain, and his magnetic draw to her made a bit more sense. Like he was reaching for something he’d lost. But as much as he ached for that feeling, that joy, he wasn’t sure if anything could fix the devastated remains of his shattered faith. Or if he was even worthy of a second chance.

  Wrapped up in thought, he didn’t hear Sadie until she appeared next to him, taking in all the memories displayed. They stood there for several minutes, and when he looked over his heart sank.

  She was crying—a shimmering trail of tears wetting her cheeks. He’d been so obsessed with his own guilt, trying to find an answer that freed him from any responsibility, that he hadn’t given a second thought to the fact that this wasn’t just a case to Sadie—Charlie had been a friend. It had been so long since he’d been there for anyone else he was at a loss for how to be a comfort to someone in need.

  “Are you all right?” The words tasted inadequate and stale.

  She nodded, swiping her curled knuckle under her eye before she turned and started to walk away.

  Archer stood by the pulpit, watching her retreat, wondering if he’d done that all wrong. He took great pride in being the best, and dealing with grieving people was a huge part of his job. So how was it that he was just now seeing how lousy he was at it?

  Sadie was about halfway down the aisle when she turned back to face him. The setting sun cast a beam of golden light through the stained-glass window and illuminated her where she stood. She looked radiant in her short cream-colored dress cinched at her waist with a black ribbon, her hair swept back in a loose bun.

  All the oxygen ripped from Archer’s lungs. His heart tripped over itself, thumping in his ears when he realized where they were standing and what it suddenly felt like.

  “Do you still wanna go?” She beckoned softly.

  He tried to reorient himself to reality, but he was trapped in her tender gaze and the surreal feeling of the moment. His heart treading dangerously close to a place it had no business entering, he found his voice, a coarse whisper, as he walked down the aisle to meet her and said, “I do.”

  By the time they finished appeasing a few appreciative guests and made it to the doors the sun had tucked away and a storm had whipped in. Lightning flashed in the distance but the pressurized deluge of rain was right on top of them. They stood under the awning of the church entrance, ready to get pummeled on the way to their cars.

  “It’s times like these I wish the Camaro had a remote lock.” She took the black cardigan draped over her arm and held it over her head. “Where am I meeting you?”

  “What do you feel like?” The conversation felt oddly commonplace.

  “Pizza, almost always. You?”

  “Sounds perfect. I think I saw a place right down the street.” Archer pointed.

  “Okay, I’ll race ya.”

  Before he could react she had removed her kitten heels and sprinted out into the rain to her car. He laughed to himself, excitement overriding his caution as he rushed to meet her there.

  When he walked into the pizza parlor a few minutes later, the place was deserted. An old John Denver tune crooned low and depressing from a neon juke-box against the far wall. There were no scents of baking crust or hot cheese wafting from the kitchen, but the bartender slung a sloppy rag over the long mahogany bar and said she’d be with them in a minute.

  They slid into a booth, the saturation of their clothes smearing across the brown vinyl seat.

  “Well I win, but maybe this isn’t the best idea. We’re both soaked, and strange as it seems, I’m freezing.” Sadie’s teeth chattered, the force of which shook droplets of water from the dripping strands of hair around her face.

  “I know, but I’m starving. And I’d offer you my jacket, but I doubt it would help. I could wring it out it’s so wet.” He looked up from his menu, water from his hair slipping down his temples. “So what do we do?”

  She breathed a small sigh. “What are our options?”

  “Well, we can be miserable here, eat as quickly as possible, and call it a night. Or … my place is literally five minutes away. We can get a pizza delivered and sit in some baggy sweats while I throw all our stuff in the dryer.” As soon as he said it, he questioned his sanity. Was this wise? He had boundaries for a reason … right?

  Right! What are you thinking?

  It was a colossally bad idea to bring Sadie back to his place. An even worse idea to have her out of her hot little dress and in his clothes on his couch, though the image in his mind was much too appealing. Homey. Domestic. Not him.

  She glanced around the deserted restaurant, likely weighing the option of being alone with him—without the lone bartender.

  He should revoke his offer. Right now.

  “Hmm … Cold and wet or warm and dry?”

  Her words painted another picture he promptly banished from his mind. “Listen, if you’re not comfortable, I under—”

  “Warm and dry it is.” She nodded with finality and stood. “I’ll follow you.”

  She really shouldn’t, because they were not headed in the right direction.

  Why didn’t that seem to matter?

  Chapter 15

  Sadie Carson

  What did I get myself into?

  Archer was right. His apartment had only been five minutes from the pizza place, and that wasn’t nearly enough time for the self-medicating pep talk she needed.


  She’d agreed to come over, caught up in the way those eyes of his cut through her shell, unfurling a tiny tendril of hope in her deepest brokenness. How it made her feel to imagine something, anything that might persuade her to break free of her prison.

  In a way, tonight was a test. A clinical trial. She and Archer would fail, and then she could put this ridiculous infatuation behind her. Yes, this would be her cure.

  Her fingers stuttered against the keys as she cut the ignition, warning that the confidence she had just riled might be as flimsy as her wilting, discount dress. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, letting the calming sound console her nerves as she stepped out of the Camaro.

  She was fine until the elevator doors closed—the close quarters wreaking havoc on her senses. The rain had stirred up the fresh scent of his skin, a trace of moisture still touching the crest above his lip.

  She averted her eyes, counteracted his come-and-get-me aura with completely uninteresting small talk about how much she loved these old buildings in downtown Clayton.

  He opened the door and gestured her inside. It was about what she expected of a bachelor pad, minimal and masculine. Tall ceilings with open ductwork, exposed brick walls, reclaimed hardwood floors, and a sparse modern kitchen gave the place an efficient, slightly industrial vibe.

  “Nice place.”

  Archer inspected his surroundings, looking ill at ease having his home on display. He scratched the back of his neck, wincing as if he was regretting this as much as she was. “I know it’s kind of cold, but I’m really never here.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was referring to the ambiance or the temperature but decided to let it pass.

  The sole of her retro black pumps splashed in the small puddle collecting around her feet from her dripping dress. “Oh, let me grab you some sweats.” Returning a moment later, he extended a tidy stack of clothes consisting of a navy FBI T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and a towel. “Sorry, they’re the smallest ones I have.”

  “They’ll be fine.” She grabbed them and hurried off to peel away the dress that had become a soggy doily.

  When she finished adding her clothes to the dryer, she found Archer in the kitchen flipping through takeout menus in a similar FBI T-shirt, which she couldn’t help notice fit snug, showing the impressive size of his chest and thick muscular arms tapering down to low slung sweatpants and bare feet.

  The mirror in the bathroom had confirmed that she looked frumpy in the oversized get up. She held out her arms in mock presentment. “Well?”

  His eyes sparked then smoldered. “You’ve never looked better.” She saw his Adam’s apple bob.

  Oh my. She fought the urge to press her cool palms to her superheated cheeks. “Well, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.” Instead she propped her hands on the rolled waistband barely clinging to her hips just in time to save the sweats from slipping south of the border.

  “Trust me, most women couldn’t pull that off the way you do.”

  And then her mind went there, swatting away disturbing images of other girls before her wearing his sweats, or not wearing them. When his face twisted she knew she needed to work on her poker face.

  “—Not that I’m … uhh … nevermind.” Now he seemed nervous. The warm touch of his gaze made a hasty retreat as he cleared his throat. “What do you like on your pizza?”

  Sadie shrugged. “Everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Well, maybe hold the anchovies, but other than that load it up.”

  “Huh. That’s how I like it too. Everything.”

  “Really? I’d have pegged you a straight pepperoni kinda guy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, I’m boring?” He crossed his arms—highlighting all those muscles—and feigned offense. The little scold did dangerous things to his eyes. And his lips. Shew! The whole package was much too inviting for their lack of a chaperone.

  “I guess it means people can surprise you.” Whoa, that was way too deep for pizza talk. Sadie tried to undo it, tried to slide in a chuckle to lighten the mood, but she got stuck in his hot caramel gaze and couldn’t force another sound past the sand dune in her throat.

  So she turned away. He called in the order while she moseyed over to the only couch and sat on one end. The brick walls in the large open space were devoid of personal artifacts, stating something she knew to be true: Archer Hayes was not an easy man to get to know.

  The quiet moment exposed the blaring siren of her rising doubt. What are you doing here? This man is an FBI agent. As in—life threatening job, hidden agendas—RED FLAG: stay away, stupid! She should leave before things got any more complicated.

  But by then Archer was crossing to a dark, wooden chest. He grabbed a blanket from inside and draped it thoughtfully over Sadie’s legs before settling on the opposite end of the couch.

  “Thanks.” She shivered. “So, what’s going on in Charlie’s case?” If you’re not leaving, you have to stay focused.

  Archer filled her in on the highlights of Al and Roger’s testimonies. Learning about the emotional baggage from the war—the burdens Charlie had shouldered with such resilience—made her admire him even more. “I bet Charlie did clear his name, he just wouldn’t drag anyone else’s through the mud to do it. He was very forgiving that way.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, but we are having trouble getting release of those records from the army. We still don’t know if someone is trying to cover it up. And if all that stuff already came out, then that wasn’t the killer’s motive after all. So what was?” He mused.

  “I must be incredibly naïve, but I just can’t think of any reason someone would wanna kill Charlie. He was the sweetest old man, and even after all those years of being blamed for his own brother’s death, he wasn’t bitter. What an amazing gift to be able to get on with your life and really live. After what he’d been through, most people couldn’t do it.” Sadie didn’t know how she’d gotten on that subject, but was desperate to backpedal before he read anything from her face.

  Thankfully, the pizza arrived in the nick of time to save her. While they ate, they talked more about the case.

  “What I also can’t figure out is why Charlie was rearranging his house? We had just organized all that stuff and stowed it away. Why would he drag it all back out?”

  “There’s something I forgot to tell you …”

  Okay, that sounded ominous. And his lengthening hesitance was unraveling her sanity. “Out with it, you’re gonna give me a stroke.”

  Archer winced. “Charlie was dying. He had stage four liver cancer. And based on what I saw, he might have only lived a few more months, at best.”

  She felt faint. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Why didn’t he tell anyone? He was old and he was dying—why, why would someone kill him?”

  Archer covered her hand with his for just a moment in a show of empathy. Sadie’s eyes fixated on his strong fingers, gentle yet coarse against her skin. His hands were an apt illustration of the contradiction of the man himself. He was all kinds of rough and dangerous, but everything about him made her feel safe. Recklessly so. Even the odd electrical frisson radiating from the innocent contact that should have sent her screaming into the night instead made her want to hold on tight.

  As quickly as it came it was gone. The loss of his touch more unsettling than the sensational reaction it elicited.

  “I wish I knew,” he said, running his hand through the chocolaty strands of his perfectly tousled hair.

  “So, um, did you figure out who wrote the letter? I was thinking it might’ve been Reamus’s son.”

  He straightened. “You know, I didn’t pursue him specifically because I started that search before I learned Reamus’s name. I bet you’re right.” He grinned at her. “You know, you’d make a pretty good investigator—
if you’re ever in the market for a career change.”

  The thought was laughable, so she did. “Oh yes. Sadie Carson, professional gumshoe! I’ve definitely missed my calling.”

  Archer’s full-out laugh, a deep musical sound, blended with hers in a perfectly dissonant sort of harmony. The mood sobered then. An accepting silence that called for shared confidences.

  “I don’t know. I really like what I do. It seemed temporary at first, but it’s taken on a life of its own, becoming this impossible quest to make a difference. Most days I fall short. They all deserve so much more than I can give. But I like being there for people. Loneliness is as much of an affliction as disease.” She scraped her fingertips over her slick palms as Archer appraised her, feeling vulnerable from the naked confession.

  His unblinking eyes bore into hers, measuring and calculating in that FBI way of his. “It suits you. But I think you’re selling yourself short. You definitely seem to have the healing touch. You could’ve been a doctor.”

  Sadie’s throat constricted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Man, you read me like a book, don’t you?”

  He shrugged, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not without skills.” Silence settled around them. His eyes poked and prodded until she caved mere moments later.

  “Ok, fine. I was a med student at Washington University for three years.” Losing her nerve, her eyes fell to her lap. “I dropped out.”

  “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Med school has gotta be tough.”

  “Yeah … med school was tough,” Sadie repeated, lost in thought. She cleared her throat. “What about you? Your childhood?”