When Connell confessed to injuring both Bob and Bogey, he also answered the mystery of just how Randy Smeltzer was involved—or not. It turned out that Smeltzer had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been out for a morning stroll in his robe, slippers, and socks and happened to see Connell leaving the barn moments after he’d killed Brad. According to Connell, he’d had no choice but to kill Smeltzer, who had run and tried to hide from Connell by climbing the tree. Connell had collected the robe and slippers that had fallen off when Smeltzer had run, leaving him in nothing but his red socks.
There had been a lot of surprises and revelations in the past few months, but none more important than Dash.
Matty smiled now as she looked up into her husband’s face and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Have I told you just how good you look in that suit?” she asked.
Dash’s eyebrow went up at her intentionally suggestive tone. “I’m pretty sure you’ll like me better out of it,” he said with his own smile, making her laugh.
“I like you just fine in whatever you are, or are not, wearing.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He followed her lips down, dipping his head, as she returned her heels to the ground.
“That’s nice,” he said, his voice gruff against her lips. “Because, as much as I love you all the time, I have to say, I’m partial to when you’re not wearing anything except me and a smile.”
Matty laughed again against his lips. “I’m so glad to hear that, Dr. Kent,” she said, lacing her fingers with his and gently pulling him in the direction of the dance floor that was full of couples slow dancing. “Because that aligns perfectly with my plans for the evening.”
He let out a low groan as they stepped onto the floor and she slipped into his arms. “You’re going to make me wait, aren’t you?”
She laughed at his grumpy tone and then slid her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, nudging his head down so her mouth was beside his ear. “Since when have I ever made you wait for anything,” she whispered. She took his hand and led him back off the dance floor and to the room she had secretly booked at the inn for the night.
No longer showing any signs of grumpiness, Dash followed Matty into the room and closed the door behind them. She took both his hands and backed toward the bed, pulling him with her as she went, watching him. His eyes darkened in anticipation with every step.
She stopped in front of the bed and he closed the distance, his arms wrapping around her.
“Now, about that smile thing,” she said.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel like a broken record now that I am lucky enough to be writing my third acknowledgements page. On the other hand, it’s good to be repetitive, since to me it means I have good people and good relationships in my life, the kind that will stick. Booktrope and the Booktrope team, including Sophie Weeks, are fabulous, and I thank them for their trust and belief in me as well as all their efforts to get my stories out there. And Julie Molinari, my editor, who is the book world equivalent of that borderline-sadistic personal trainer we all know—the one that smiles and then somehow gets you to workout until you want to barf. Or shove a pencil in your eye. But in the end I get a book that's in much better shape than before; it's toned, put together, and works the way it’s supposed to. You should thank her, too.
Thanks also always goes to my ladies, Sarah A, Jere, Lisa, Megs, and Sian (my friend and designer!) and to my mountain movers, Sarah C and Angeli—we may see each other less these days, but distance is inconsequential (and we tend to make up for it when we do see each other).
And last, special thanks to the family—all of it. I’m glad we’re back in California.
ALSO BY
TAMSEN SCHULTZ
WHAT ECHOES RENDER
Betrayal was something Jesse Baker thought she already knew too much about. But when her dead husband’s past comes back to haunt her, both the life she’s built for herself and her sons and the story she’s told herself to make it through threaten to crumble into ashes.
Fire and ashes are David Hathaway’s life. Since sending his daughter to college, his time is his own and the arson investigator intends to make the most of having no one to look after but himself. That is, until he meets Jesse and an explosion nearly takes her life, changing his forever.
Echoes from their pasts follow them both. And they know those memories, like fire, can give life just as easily as they can destroy it. But before Jesse and David can decide for themselves how their histories will influence their future, they must first stop a killer intent on making Jesse burn for the sins of others.
Keep reading for a sneak peek of What Echoes Render.
Preview of
What Echoes Render
By Tamsen Schultz
CHAPTER 1
ALERTED BY THE CLICK OF HER HEELS on the industrial floor, several heads raised from behind nurses’ stations as Jesse Baker walked down the hall of Riverside Hospital’s intensive care unit. Housing the sickest of the sick, this floor was, naturally, one of the quietest in the hospital. But even so, as Jesse made her way from the sixth floor elevators toward the east wing, the silence seemed to have seeped into everything around her, dampening movements and slowing time; the people, the lights, the machines, all seemed to be moving in their own worlds.
But then again, it had been a somewhat surreal day altogether.
Rounding the corner to her destination, a man stood with his back to her. Wearing cargo pants, work boots, and a navy-blue t-shirt emblazoned with the firefighters’ emblem and “AFD,” he stood with his hands in his pockets, as still, as contained, as everything else around him. From the back, he looked youngish. And fit, judging by his shape. He wasn’t what Jesse had been expecting. But her surprise was only of the curious kind that happens when one isn’t actually aware of one’s expectations until presented with something that doesn’t meet them.
His head turned at the sound of her approach and she caught a glimpse of his profile. His brown hair, streaked with gold, touched the top of his ears. His nose was straight and his skin the color of a man who spent time outdoors. When he turned toward her, she noted the emblem over his pectoral, a miniature of that on the back of his shirt.
“You must be the investigator from the state,” Jesse said, striding toward him with her hand outstretched, her voice sure.
She didn’t miss the way his eyes took her in—taking stock, not judging—as his hand closed around hers. His fingers and palm were rough, the hand of a man who did more than just type on a keyboard.
“I’m Jesse Baker,” she said. “The Hospital Administrator.”
“David Hathaway, Arson Investigator.”
“And Albany Firefighter, if your shirt is anything to go by?” she asked. The official who had called her to alert her about the visit had only mentioned the investigator’s arson credentials.
He nodded. “The state called, I assume?” he asked.
She confirmed with a nod then glanced around the hallway, wondering if maybe they should go somewhere else to talk. She’d never been in this kind of situation before. But he resolved her indecision by taking control of the conversation.
“You run the show then, Ms. Baker?” he asked with a vague gesture of his hand meant to encompass the facility.
She inclined her head, going along. “Such as it is. And please, call me Jesse,” she added.
“It’s a nice place,” he responded, his eyes sweeping the area. He looked about her age, mid- to late-thirties. And though his attempts to put her at ease weren’t subtle, she appreciated them nonetheless.
“Have you been here long?” he asked, returning his gaze to her.
Despite everything, she let herself smile a bit at that. She looked young, always had. She wasn’t young, in any sense of the word, but people always thought she was a good ten years younger than she was. Including, apparently, David Hathaway.
“I’ve been the administrator
for seven years, but I’ve been at Riverside Hospital for over twelve,” she answered.
His brows shot up in surprise and then he seemed to catch himself. “Then I can’t imagine much surprises you these days,” he said, his voice indicating his mind had returned to the reason for his visit.
Again, she dipped her head. “Generally, that’s true. But this, well, this situation is new to me, Mr. Hathaway.”
“Please, call me David.”
She nodded then looked down the empty hallway again. What she’d gleaned from the first responders and the news was that the house that had gone up in flames earlier in the day was so rural that, while the neighbors eventually saw the smoke, no one had heard anything. And based on what the state official had told her, the cause of the fire that had brought Aaron Greene to her hospital was still, officially, undetermined. But he had also told her, confidentially, that there had been an explosion. What kind, she assumed, was the investigator’s, David’s, job to figure out, but the man from the state had intimated that it might not have been accidental and may not have been meant for the house. Which left her thinking what he’d no doubt intended her to think—Aaron had been involved, somehow, with a bomb.
The thought made her sick, and knowing what it might do to the community, if in fact Aaron had been planning to detonate a bomb somewhere in the area, she had every intention of keeping it quiet until the state made an official ruling. So, even though she and David weren’t talking about anything confidential—yet—she didn’t particularly want prying eyes and ears nearby. Especially since it was still possible that the explosion wasn’t anything intentional.
“I’ve never met an arson investigator investigating this kind of thing,” she continued as she stepped to the side of the hall, toward an empty room. He followed and seemed to sense her desire to keep things quiet as he moved close enough for her to lower her voice as she spoke. “And while we have our fair share of kids doing stupid things, I can safely say, Aaron Greene and his father are our first . . .” She let her voice trail off, not wanting to say “bomb victims.”
A frown touched his lips and she knew that he heard the concern in her voice. Concern about the explosive that had ripped through the Greenes’ rural farmhouse, to be sure, but also concern for those involved and what it all might mean. But he didn’t know the community the way she did, didn’t know how its people would react or respond, and wisely, she thought, he held his tongue, handing her a folded piece of paper instead.
“The warrant for Aaron’s medical records?” she asked. He nodded and she gave it a cursory glance before refolding it.
“How is he?” David asked.
“He’s in serious condition,” she answered. “It was a toss-up as to whether we should transport him to Albany or not. But he seemed to stabilize here so we’ve kept him. They have a better burn unit there, but he’ll get more individualized care here since we’re a bit smaller.”
“And he’s part of the community,” David suggested but didn’t seem to be judging.
“There is that part of it, yes,” Jesse answered then gestured for him to follow her. “Aaron and my son Matt are in the same class,” she explained as they began to walk toward Aaron’s room. “As is Danielle Martinez, the daughter of the doctor that worked on him.” They turned the corner and headed toward the end of another hall. “But believe me,” she added, “if we thought he’d have had a better chance up there, we would have sent him.”
And they would have, but it had been a judgment call, like so many decisions in hospitals were. And thankfully, it looked like it was a decision that was going to work out okay. Aaron was in serious condition, but he was stable.
David didn’t seem to feel the need to comment, so, with the exception of the click of her heels, they made their way down the hall to Aaron’s room in silence. She stopped in front of the large glass window that separated the hallway from the room where Aaron lay. For a moment, they observed the young man—his body, bandaged and unmoving, hooked to machines that monitored the life still fighting within him.
The smell of burnt clothes and flesh had been awful when he’d first come in over seven hours earlier. Even now, there were still hints of it lingering in the hall, although it had mostly been suppressed by the antiseptics used to clean every surface in the ICU and by the glass wall dividing the patient from the hall, not to mention the additional plastic containment unit Dr. Martinez had ordered constructed around Aaron as an additional layer of protection.
“Did they know him?” David asked, presumably referring to her son Matt and Dr. Martinez’s daughter, Danielle.
“Not well.” She shook her head. “But while Riverside is a small town, Windsor, where we’re from, where Aaron is from, is even smaller. And it’s an even smaller high school.”
“Everyone-knows-everyone kind of place?” he asked.
She nodded. They stood, not speaking for a moment, and she wondered just what an arson investigator would be thinking about what he was seeing in front of him.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, surprising her.
“About?” she responded, not entirely sure what he was asking her.
“About Aaron,” he clarified, keeping his voice low. “Do you think he was the kind of kid to build an explosive device?” he asked, confirming her assumptions about just what he was investigating.
She glanced at David, a little caught off guard by the question, before letting her gaze fall back on the boy. He was eighteen, so not legally a child anymore. But lying there alone, he looked small and helpless.
“I think that, whether he constructed a bomb that killed his father or he was the victim of it, it’s going to be a tragic story,” she said, her voice soft.
She could feel David’s gaze on her as she stared at Aaron for a moment longer. As a mother, her heart broke for the young man. She knew enough about his life to know it hadn’t been easy for him these past few years. Not that she thought that would be an acceptable excuse if he did end up being responsible for building a bomb that ruined his home and killed his father, but she believed what she’d just said. Whichever way things turned out, it was going to be a tragedy.
Not wanting to sink too far into maudlin thoughts, Jesse straightened and turned away from the glass window to face the investigator. “I’ll take you to my office and we can pull the files. I’ll also call Dr. Martinez so that she can come up and answer any of your questions,” she said. “Once you have what you need from us up here, we can head down to the morgue where Dr. DeMarco is finishing up the autopsy of Brent Greene, Aaron’s father.”
David recognized her comment for what it was, more of a plan than a request, and he gestured with his hand for her to precede him. She led him back down to the elevators and to her office located on the first floor. When they arrived outside her office, Kyla, her assistant, looked up from her desk.
“Here is the official warrant for the records for Aaron Greene,” Jesse said, handing the paper to Kyla, who took it from her without a word. Jesse had no doubt Kyla would know exactly what to do with the document. Kyla was one of the brightest, most detail-oriented people Jesse knew, despite the fact that, unlike herself, her assistant actually was young, very young.
Leaving Kyla to her task, they entered Jesse’s office where she offered David a seat. He declined, opting instead to take a slow tour around the room, checking out her pictures and books while she sat down at her desk to make a quick call to Abigail Martinez and bring up the electronic medical records. Hitting the print button she sat back and waited for the documents to spit themselves out.
“Is that your boy, Matt?” David asked, pointing to a picture. It was one of her favorites of her oldest son. Matt was sweaty and his hair was sticking out all over the place, but the grin he wore, along with the medal from the track championships, reminded her of the little boy he’d once been.
“Yes, it was at the all-state track meet last year,” she answered. “He came home with several medals,” she added, n
ot bothering to hide the hint of parental pride. Her printer stopped and she walked to a file cabinet to retrieve a folder from the bottom drawer for David to take the papers in. Straightening away from the cabinet, she turned to find him watching her. She held his gaze for a split second, then he looked away.
“You must be very proud,” he said, turning back to the picture. For just a beat, Jesse felt a touch off balance. That he was an attractive man hadn’t escaped her notice, but she was so used to being heads-down working during her time at the hospital that recognizing a person as anything other than a colleague was a skill she had long ago lost. Or maybe not. Because that look had felt like more than just a collegial exchange.
Deciding she’d imagined things, she turned back to the printer to pick up the documents as she answered. “I’m proud of both my boys. They’re good kids.”
She handed him the file and he looked about to ask another question when a knock sounded at the door.
“Are you ready for me?” Abigail Martinez’s head popped around.
Jesse offered her friend a smile and welcomed her in, thankful for the break in the conversation that was turning a bit too much toward her family. It’s not that she had anything to hide, but no matter how good-looking David Hathaway was, he was still a virtual stranger.
After making the introductions, they agreed that Abigail would bring David back to Jesse’s office when the two had finished going over Aaron’s injuries and medical condition. After that, Jesse would take him down to the morgue where the autopsy on Brent Greene would be finishing up. In the meantime, she had paperwork to finish, reports to review, and a newsletter to write. Good times.
These Sorrows We See Page 39