2. Beckett
2
beckett
The dark Lexus SUV straddles the edge of the road, the front passenger bumper lodged into a tree. It’s iffy if it’s drivable, but with tonight’s conditions and the way the driver sounded panicked on the phone, the best course of action is a tow to the shop so I can assess it in the garage in the daytime.
I drive past the car, turn the truck around, and point it back toward the car, backing it up into position to lower the flatbed when needed. Pulling on my hat and gloves, I exit the vehicle, bracing against the frosty elements. I don’t bother with the driver’s side, instead knocking on the passenger side window. When it lowers, a pair of terrified eyes glares at me. Though the overhead light is still on, I can’t make out the color beyond dark.
“Beckett Nicholas.” I point at the undamaged door. “Mind if I sit a minute while we discuss what happens next?” It’s too cold to do both—make the plan and then execute it.
“Uh, yeah.”
She’s bundled in a zippered evergreen coat. Her round face is devoid of makeup, but a natural beauty radiates from her. Her chestnut hair is loosely secured in a messy bun, a few strands fallen in her haste to secure it or the stress of the current situation. A rosy glow stains the apples of her cheeks .
I jiggle the handle, but it’s locked. “You might want to unlock it.” I keep my tone level, steady. She’s frightened enough. No need to make it worse. However, the longer the window is open, the more snow drifts in.
“Oh, right.” Trembling fingers work the button. First, locking it again before she tsks and moves it the other way. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and her fingers rub the lobe of her right ear.
Once it’s unlocked, I open the door, sliding onto the seat, pushing a bag of snacks out of the way. I close the window and remove my gloves, blowing into my hands to give them a little more heat.
“I can’t assess all the damage until I have it on the lift, so I’ll put it on the flatbed and deliver it to the garage. Can probably work it into the schedule tomorrow afternoon. Slow week with the holiday and all.”
I’m trying to set her at ease, but her expression pains more.
“Okay.” She tugs on the ends of her chestnut locks, entwining her finger and twisting the hair around it.
“Where did you say you were headed?”
She starts to answer, but her mouth clamps shut. Her head shakes and she articulates, “I’d rather not say.”
So much for polite chitchat while I brace the elements before I load up her car. Too bad for her I remember it from the earlier phone call.
“You’ll have to stay here for the night.”
“ Here ?” she squeaks, worry lacing the one word.
“There’s an inn in town. Happy to drop you off on the way.”
“That’s kind of you.” She tucks her top teeth into her mouth, the action adorable. “Guess I was wrong.”
“About what?” My curiosity piqued, the question pops out.
“You being a serial killer.” Her shoulders rise in a shrug, as if she didn’t just peg me as a murderer.
“Dramatic much?” My teenage niece’s voice rings in my ears.
“I don’t know where I am. I’m supposed to just trust you are who you say you are?” She pauses, her eyes widen with whatever else she must be thinking. “Even then, it’s not like serial killers announce themselves as serial killers.”
And I’ve got a crazy one on my hands.
She angles her body away from me, putting more space in between us.
“I guess you’ll have to trust me when I say I’m not a serial killer.”
“Which is what a serial killer would say!” Exasperated, she throws her hands in the air.
“So you’d rather not take a chance on me? What will you do? Stay here until someone you know can come rescue you rather than me loading up the car onto my truck and dropping you off at the inn that’s about ten minutes up the road?” I cross my arms over my chest, not missing the way her eyes home in on the action. Her tongue peeks out the left corner of her mouth before she snaps it closed.
“Where are we exactly?”
“Winterberry Junction,” I rattle off.
“That’s . . . an interesting name for a town. Did you say Winterberry?”
“Yep. Named for the season”—I wave my hand in front of me toward the windshield—“and the berries that grow here, specifically winterberries.” I repeat words I’ve heard all my life. Don’t have much use for the berries, but the town? I love it.
Her eyes narrow. “It sounds made up. Winterberry.” Her nose scrunches when she emphasizes the word.
“I assure you, it’s a real place. Even have our own zip code.”
Outside the warmth of the car, the snow continues to fall, picking up speed as the wind gusts whip around. The longer this takes, the more time it will be before I can retire for the night. After today’s grueling workout, a steam shower is screaming my name.
“I’m googling it.” Her phone is out before I can make another comment. One along the lines of let’s get a move on. But sometimes there’s no arguing with crazy . . .
While she looks up the town, I send a text to the Snowy Peaks Inn to inquire about their availability. Christmas is a popular time in Winterberry, and visitors flock from near and far. As it gets closer to the holiday, tourists outnumber locals. The Snowy Peaks Inn is less popular, as many guests like the appeal and ambience of the two local bed-and-breakfasts.
“Wait. What’s your name?” I question as realization sets in. Why I didn’t get it earlier evades me.
“Willa,” she states, almost on autopilot. Then she slaps her forehead and peers over at me.
“It’s not much to go on, Willa .” I stress her name, trying to further set her at ease. “It’s not like I have a last name to go with it, and Willa is more common than other names.” I’m not sure that’s true. I wrack my brain if I’ve ever known a Willa before. Is it a nickname? Hopefully not pushing my luck, I guess, “Short for Wilhelmina?”
Her nose scrunches again, the action more adorable than the first time. “Ew. No. That’s an old person’s name.”
“Don’t let my sister-in-law hear you say that. It tops her list of baby names.” Where the notion comes from, I don’t know. Setting Willa “at ease” apparently involves riling her up with false information my brain conjures up.
A horrified expression jumps on her face. It takes all my willpower not to laugh or give myself away. “Seriously?”
I break easily. “Yeah, no. I don’t have a pregnant sister-in-law.”
Willa’s arm reaches across the space, but I dart out of reach. “That wasn’t nice. And also, now you’ve just lied to me, so I’m back to believing you could be a serial killer.”
Much as I want to, I refrain from rolling my eyes, but I poke the bear a little more. “Come to think of it, there are a lot of spots around Winterberry to hide bodies. Probably wouldn’t even have to kill you first. Just leave you outside in a remote location and let the elements take care of the rest.”
Never predicted I’d be thinking of hiding bodies when my day started.
Never crossed my mind to ever consider it.
Neither did I imagine coming in contact with this beautiful woman beside me.
Must be my lucky day.
I wait patiently for Willa’s reaction to my comments, but all I get is her mouth opening and closing several times. What a disappointment.
“Come on. Not even a snarky comeback? Did you not hear my plan to?—”
She cuts me off. “I heard you. I’ve decided you’re most likely not a murderer. And if you are, it wouldn’t be wise to give up your plan to your victims.” Her comments expressed, she shrugs and reverts back to her phone.
Letdown, I go back to my unsent text.
Got a wayward traveler. You got any rooms for the night?
Snowy Peaks Inn
Wish I could say yes, but we’re slammed. Between the snow and Christmas, we’re booked up.
“Oh, shit.”
That gets Willa’s attention.
“I’m sensing there’s a problem.”
I look up to find her wary countenance aimed my way. “No rooms at the inn.”
She flashes her phone. “How about one of the bed-and-breakfasts?”
“I’ll check, but they usually book up faster than the inn.”
I shoot a text to my brother-in-law, but his response is as I feared .
“Sold out.”
“Both of them?” Her voice elevates in frequency, anxiety settling back in.
“Yep. Unfortunately.” I scratch my head, pondering her options.
The next town over is a good fifteen miles. Any night it wasn’t snowing, I’d offer to bring her there, but that’s not happening tonight.
“Okay, but what am I going to do? Where am I going to stay?” Near hysteria grips every syllable, and concern blankets her expression.
Nervous energy palpitates the car, and her panic stirs something within me. It’s the only explanation for the words spewing from my mouth.
“You’ll come home with me.”