Chapter 15
I dropped Tessa off at the prosecuting attorney’s office since Donna had been the one to bring her to the bar.
Tessa said she’d catch a ride home with Nick, so I drove out of Timber City toward Tamarack Lake, the wipers beating time against the windshield while rain pummeled the glass in steady, relentless sheets.
By the time I reached Aiden’s cabin, night had swallowed the trees. His truck sat under a haze of dripping pine needles. I ducked my head against the downpour and sprinted up the porch steps, rain and wind beating at me.
Inside the cabin, a wonderful warmth hit me like a solid wall. A fire was already crackling in the stone fireplace, and the place smelled like cedar, damp wool, and something buttery from the kitchen.
A furball bounded my way. “Brickhouse,” I cried happily, dropping my purse.
My dog charged me with pure joy, tail wagging like a propeller. For a dog who had washed out of official search-and-rescue work, he had enthusiasm in spades. He bowled into me, and I dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around him. He licked my face while I tried to fend him off, laughing.
“You need to train with him sometime tomorrow,” Aiden said from the kitchen, voice low and rough with humor. “He’s too smart to forget all his commands.”
“I know,” I said, still wrestling fur and teeth and tongue. “He missed me.”
“He’s not the only one.”
That earned him a quick glance. His mouth quirked, unreadable in the firelight.
I sat back on my heels, running a hand down Brick’s thick coat. “How’s it going?”
“Good. I talked to Saber. He was just arriving at the Penguin to meet some friends shortly after we left.”
Excitement caught me. “Did anything happen?”
“Nope. No catfight.” Aiden’s mouth curved slightly. “Though if you’d stayed, I’m sure there would’ve been.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said, frowning.
His eyes gleamed. “It doesn’t have to. It’s you.”
The rain deepened outside, drumming against the roof. I stood and lifted my nose, catching that rich scent again. “Did you cook?”
“I did. You trust me with explosives,” he said, turning back to the stove. “You can trust me with pasta.”
The cabin lights glowed against the storm, the kitchen warm and golden. Steam curled from a pot on the range.
“I never said I trusted you with explosives,” I teased. “Just that you’re good with them.”
“Noted.” He twirled a fork through the pot. “You want wine?”
“Absolutely.” I brushed dog hair off my jeans, walked toward the rear sliding glass door, and looked out at the silver surface of the lake. The darkness pressed close to the cabin, thick and watchful. Rain on the roof sounded like steady static, almost soothing.
I heard the cork pop and then the clink of glasses. When I turned, Aiden was leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, pouring two glasses of red wine. The firelight picked up lighter strands in his hair and painted his skin in amber tones.
He’d been upgrading the cabin. The counters gleamed in dark marble now, the wood floors newly polished. Still rough around the edges, but warmer. The place felt more lived-in but not quite. It needed some softer touches.
“What?” he asked, catching me looking.
“Oh, nothing.”
His blue eyes softened. “You can plant whatever you want in here. Decorate however you like.”
I blinked. “We haven’t really talked about that.”
“I don’t care,” he said simply. “Just no lacy pillows on the couch. It’s leather. Otherwise, knock yourself out.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He passed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine. “Of course.” Heat shot up my arm, quick and unsettling. “Do you need money?” he asked.
I met his eyes over the rim of my glass, always needing money. “No.”
He studied me for a beat, the way he did when he wanted to ask more but didn’t. The fire popped behind us, throwing shadows across the room. Outside, the storm raged, but in the cabin it was steady warmth and quiet.
We weren’t to the point where we shared funds.
Money didn’t seem to matter much to Aiden, and it wasn’t like he’d grown up with any of it.
Still, he’d bought this cabin outright, so I knew he’d saved far better than I ever had.
I’d never been much of a saver. Keeping the law firm afloat sometimes took everything I had and then some.
“What are we eating?” I asked, steering the conversation away from finances.
“Baked rigatoni with spicy sausage.” He moved toward the stove, flicked off the flame, and drained the pasta in one smooth motion.
Steam rose up, carrying the scent of tomato, basil, and heat.
He tossed everything together in a big wooden bowl my Nana had given him as a housewarming gift, finishing with a generous snowfall of shaved Parmesan.
“Sometimes I forget you can cook,” I said.
He lifted one powerful shoulder in a shrug. “I can follow directions.”
“Show-off.”
“Sit.”
I sat at the small table we’d recently bought for the nook overlooking what would someday be the back deck. The windows glowed faintly from the reflection of the fire, and the rain outside had turned into a steady whisper against the glass.
He placed two steaming bowls down on the bare table, and I reminded myself, again, that we really needed placemats.
“I didn’t make a salad or anything,” he said.
“Nah, this looks great. No salad needed.” I took another sip of the wine he’d poured earlier. “This is good. What is it?”
He sat. “It’s a red blend from Walla Walla.”
“Yum.” I took a long swallow. Warmth slid into my stomach, meeting the heat from the fire and spreading all the way to my toes. I took a bite of the pasta and let out a small, involuntary hum.
He smirked. “Is it good?”
“It’s amazing. Is there anything you can’t do?”
He rolled his eyes and reached for his fork. “Keep you out of trouble.”
I laughed, because yeah, that was true.
When the laughter faded, I set my fork down and studied him across the table.
The firelight threw a copper edge across his cheekbones, softening the hard lines of his jaw.
His hair was getting a little long at the back, and his five o’clock shadow had drifted well past midnight.
He looked dangerous. Irish dangerous. Like one of those old-time bandits.
“Could you do a deep dive on somebody for me?” I asked.
He looked up, brow lifting. “A deep dive? You’ve been watching too much television,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“There’s no such thing as too much television. But could you?”
He sat back, the chair creaking softly. “I suppose I could. I usually need a reason, though.”
“Yeah,” I said, twisting my fork through the noodles. “I’ve been thinking about that.”
He took another bite, slow and deliberate. “Go on.”
“This guy, Cormac Coretti, keeps popping up everywhere. He showed up in Silverville right after the theft at Nana’s shop, has been asking around town, and is trying to find the silver boxes. Seems suspicious and way too familiar. I’m wondering if that’s enough to start looking into him.”
Aiden’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “He says he’s looking for the boxes?”
“Yeah. But I don’t know.” I sighed. “He called us the Albertini trio when he was in the bar earlier.”
Aiden’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened. “He was at the Penguin?”
“Yeah,” I said, my pulse ticking faster. “He was.”
Aiden took another slow swallow of wine. “That’s an old nickname,” he said blandly.
“Right.” I tried to sound casual, but my skin prickled in the silence that followed. The fire popped behind us, and Brickhouse snored from his spot on the rug.
Aiden stared into the fire for a long moment, the glow shifting across his face, throwing sharp edges and soft shadows by turns. Then he reached for the serving spoon and added another scoop of pasta to both our bowls.
“If he’s been asking around Silverville,” he said finally, “somebody would’ve mentioned it. I’ll look into him.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
He nodded, still thoughtful.
“He asked Donna to dance,” I added.
One of Aiden’s dark eyebrows lifted. “There’s no music at the Penguin.”
“There was,” I said, smiling a little. “The melody was just hard to hear over the crowd.”
“Did she dance with him?”
I shook my head, grinning. “No. I kind of wanted her to, though. But he could be bad news, so her instincts were probably right.”
“I’ll check him out,” Aiden said, his tone shifting into something steadier, more serious.
“I appreciate that,” I murmured. The fire popped, sending a small spark drifting up the chimney.
“How’s the wedding planning coming?”
I blinked. Hearing him say the word wedding jolted me right out of my head. “Pretty good. We’re going dress shopping soon. Nick doesn’t really care about the flowers.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Aiden’s mouth curved faintly. “I take it you and Donna are bridesmaids?”
“Yeah. Nick’s two brothers are groomsmen.
It worked out perfectly.” That got me thinking.
Aiden didn’t have brothers. Didn’t really have any family at all.
If we ever got married, I’d want my sisters and cousin, Lacey, standing with me.
But who would stand beside him? Probably James Saber, definitely. After that, I wasn’t sure.
“What?” Aiden asked, studying me across the table.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, taking another sip of wine. It burned just enough on the way down to remind me I was still sane. I might not be the most experienced woman on Earth, but even I knew not to start mentally planning wedding parties with a man who hadn’t proposed.
Not that I was ready, but still.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve been getting some pressure from higher-ups to move the team back to one of the main hubs.”
I winced. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve got enough pull to keep us here for now, but there’s been some turnover upstairs, and they don’t love the plan we came up with.”
I chewed my lip. “Where would you go?”
“Probably L.A.” He said it evenly, but the words still landed heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, rain hit the windows in long streaks, a steady rhythm against the glass.
When he asked if I’d go with him, nothing in me wanted to move out of Idaho. My whole life was here. My family, my practice, the mountains that framed my days. But I also loved Aiden, and he was really good at his job.
Of course, when he went undercover, he was gone for weeks. Which meant I’d be alone in L.A. The thought pressed cold and hollow at the back of my ribs.
“Stop thinking so hard.” He reached across the table to tug lightly on my ear. “Nothing’s been decided.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
He was right. There was no point spinning myself into a panic yet.
The phone chimed from where I’d tossed my purse near the couch. I turned toward it. “I should get that, just in case.”
“Absolutely.” He rose and gathered our empty bowls. “Want more pasta?”
“No, I’m good. That was delicious. Thank you.”
His grin was quick and real, and for a second it hit somewhere a little too deep. “Any time.”
I stood and crossed to my purse, pulling out my phone. The screen lit up with a text from Sheriff Franco. CALL ME.
I hit the button and lifted it to my ear.
“Franco,” came his rough voice.
“Hey, it’s Anna. I got your text.”
“Oh, good. I’m out past Blarney Pass. Wasn’t sure the text would go through. I’m headed back in.”
My stomach tightened. “What’s going on?”
“Backleboff got a judge to sign off on the warrant to arrest your Nana,” he said flatly. “It’s been on my desk for a few hours. I’ve been out chasing a couple of poachers.”
The world seemed to tilt just slightly. The fire snapped again, and the warmth that had been seeping into my skin drained right out. I moved over to the sofa and flopped onto it, my stomach sinking. “You have to arrest Nana? Seriously?”
“You know I don’t have a choice,” Franco said, his voice gravelly but steady. “They got the warrant issued, so I have to execute it.”
I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Um, okay.”
“How about this plan. You bring her in tomorrow morning, around ten. She can voluntarily surrender. I’ll get her to a judge right away and get her released. It’ll be clean, quiet, and fast.”
“That works for me,” I said after a pause.
Franco coughed. “I’m sorry about this, Anna. I think Backleboff wanted to make it happen tonight.”
“Of course he did,” I muttered, my heart aching. “She doesn’t need to go through this, Sheriff.”
“I know. I’ll make it as painless as possible,” Franco promised. His voice softened, the weight of his years sounding even through the staticky line. “I’ve got everyone looking into the pie situation.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only light in the room flickering across the windows where rain still sheeted down. The dog let out a quiet whine from the rug, picking up on my mood.
“I don’t have anything solid yet,” Franco continued, “except the video Aiden gave me. It’s obvious it isn’t your Nana.”
“It is?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
“Well, it is to me,” he said firmly. “I’ll testify to that in court.”
I exhaled, tension draining from my shoulders. “Thank you, Sheriff. That helps.”
“Of course,” he said. “Though Backleboff will probably point out that your grandmother and I have known each other for decades. Still, it can’t hurt.”
Very good point. “I can’t believe this could actually go to trial,” I said quietly.
“We’re a long way from that,” Franco replied. “Just take it one step at a time. If I can figure out who managed to sabotage the pie, we could make this go away. I’m checking all key replicating services throughout Idaho and Montana.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
Static hissed over the line, sharp enough to make me pull the phone from my ear.
“Shit,” Franco muttered.
I froze. “What?” Never in my life had I heard him swear.
There was a rough breath, and then a clatter.
“Sheriff?”
The phone crackled with a strange rhythmic noise, broken and uneven. Gunfire? Somebody was firing at the sheriff.
“Sheriff?” I said again, louder this time.
Aiden walked in from the kitchen, still drying his hands with a towel. My pulse jumped. I hit speaker so he could hear.
“Shots fired,” Franco said, his voice suddenly loud, raw, and panicked. “Shots fired—ah—” He gave a strangled hiss of pain.
“Sheriff,” I yelled. “Where are you?”
“Marker nineteen,” he gasped, the sound ragged, strained. “Close to the bend in the river.”
Gunfire erupted over the line, deafening and close, like the shots were coming from inside the cabin.
“Sheriff,” I shouted again, standing now, my breath catching in my throat.
“I’ve been shot,” he said, each word forced through a grimace of pain. More gunfire. A return shot. “Officer down.” Then silence.
Only the steady rain answered.
The fire popped. Brickhouse whined low in his throat.
Aiden was already reaching for his phone and his coat.