Chapter Four
Brooke had slept, and when she woke up blinking at a bright sunny morning outside the window, with that gorgeous view right there, she didn’t quite know how to get her bearings.
She sat up, scratched her hands through her tangled hair and blew out a breath.
It was perfectly normal to sleep well when you knew you were safe, and she hadn’t felt safe in quite some time.
And it wasn’t silly or foolish to feel safe in Zeke’s house. He was a former soldier, a former North Star agent, and while things hadn’t exactly ended well between them, it wasn’t because he’d been a bad guy. He’d been, and was, in fact, incredibly honorable. And he’d been upfront and honest about all he couldn’t give her.
She could be hurt about that and still know that she was in perfectly good hands when it came to him helping to keep her safe from a potential threat.
So, no reason to sit here in this nice bed, brooding over the fact her ex-boyfriend made her feel safe and how much she liked his house.
She sucked in another slow breath. Let it out. She went through the rest of her slow-breathing morning ritual. She even managed a few yoga poses in the small room while the sun gilded the mountains outside.
Sunrise, Wyoming, and the surrounding Bent County was a pretty place to be even if the work that had brought her here was gruesome. It was a grounding kind of pretty and awe-inspiring, really. Man’s capacity for evil could be soul-crushing. The world’s capacity for beauty and miracles was the only antidote she’d ever found for that.
She hadn’t brought anything to Zeke’s house besides her work bag, so she had to get dressed in her clothes from yesterday. She used her fingers as a comb and tried to tame her wild bedhead back into the clip that had luckily been in her bag.
Once satisfied, she left her room, only to be greeted by the dog from yesterday, lying there in the hall.
“Good morning,”
she murmured to Viola, who thumped her tail and looked up at Brooke adoringly. As much as she dreaded facing Zeke, the dog’s greeting made her smile. “Come on then,”
she said, gesturing for the dog to follow her downstairs.
She could hear the faint noise of movement in the kitchen, and the smell of coffee hit her once she made it to the bottom of the stairs. She paused a second, did a little more deep breathing while Viola waited at her feet with a seemingly quizzical look on her doggie face.
Brooke put on a polite smile, aimed it at the dog, and was determined she’d aim it at Zeke too. But when she stepped to the threshold of the kitchen, he stood at the stove, cooking eggs in a skillet.
He wore a T-shirt that was old, faded. And perfectly outlined the impressive structure of his very muscular body that had not lost any of its strength even though his operative days were over. Almost as bad, he wore loose sweats low on his hips and his feet were bare.
Like every ridiculous domestic fantasy she’d ever had about him all those years ago. Futures and forevers and family, when she’d always known those things were not in the cards for her. It was hardly his fault she’d fooled herself into thinking they could be.
Had she made a noise? An embarrassing kind of hum or sigh, or both? Probably.
He glanced over to her and he didn’t quite smirk, but there was a knowing kind of glint to his eyes that just . . .
She could not do this. She had to go back to her rental tonight. No matter what he said, no matter what happened. She would not survive being in his orbit without embarrassing herself all over again. He was just too much. And it didn’t matter if that was unfair, because it just was.
She’d stood on her own two feet for most of her life. She’d learned, time and time again, it was the only thing to do. Keep to herself. Rely on herself. And only herself.
“Made some breakfast,”
he offered. He nodded toward the table. “Have a seat.”
She might have argued that she didn’t need to be fed and that she didn’t have any plans to listen to his orders, but in this moment of jittery heart and some very unwanted lust, she decided it best not to speak and to just do as she was told.
So Brooke sat at the table as Viola arranged herself at her feet and Zeke put a plate and mug in front of her. She stared at the contents and did not pay any mind that it was filled with things she liked. Everyone liked toast with butter. Everyone liked scrambled eggs with cheese. And it was hardly any great leap to put the exact right amount of cream in her coffee when she knew he took it the same way. He hadn’t remembered what she liked.
This was all a coincidence.
But then he slid into the other seat at the table, and his eggs didn’t have cheese and his toast had jelly on it.
Her inhale was shaky at best, but she studied her eggs rather than look to see if he was looking at her. The bottom line was, it didn’t matter what he thought or felt about her. What he might remember or not. She knew it wasn’t that he’d hated her or been disgusted by her or anything. They’d had a very serious relationship for a handful of wonderful months four years ago. It had come to an end because they hadn’t wanted the same things out of life.
Maybe it had crushed her, but it wasn’t . . . horrible. He wasn’t horrible and she wasn’t horrible and . . .
She really had to get off this roller coaster she’d created. She shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Uncomfortable silence to her, but she’d learned that what she felt didn’t always translate to Zeke.
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
she asked, frustrated she had to clear her throat to speak.
“I’ll take you to your car after you eat. From there, you can go about your day however you like. I’ll be keeping an eye out and doing some investigating of my own.”
She finished her toast, pondered how much she was going to allow. Because she should allow someone to watch out for her. Better safe than sorry, she kept telling herself.
The problem was, Zeke was a different kind of danger. Maybe she should tell the detectives everything and then she wouldn’t have to worry about her reaction to him.
But she thought about being taken off this case. Thought about how many times she’d let things beyond her control rule her life.
She had to be stronger than her feelings.
“And how will you be doing that?”
she asked, trying to focus on the task at hand, which was not her reaction to Zeke.
“Chasing down this silver sedan, for starters. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your hair. Then we’ll meet for dinner at the diner. Compare stories, go from there.”
This would not be the first time they’d done that. Him watching out for her. Them comparing stories. That’s what had led to their relationship in the first place. She’d been his North Star assignment when one of her investigations into some remains had led to threats against her.
But North Star didn’t exist anymore. And neither did they.
“This isn’t a North Star mission, Zeke.”
He didn’t say anything for a long, humming moment. A moment in which he looked almost . . . lost. That was ridiculous, of course. She wasn’t sure Zeke Daniels had been lost a second in all his life.
Yet, without North Star . . . She shook away the thought. How he was faring without his favorite coping mechanism was none of her business, and she could not let her mind—or worse, her heart—go back to a place where she believed it was.
“Well, I have to get to the caves,”
she said, pushing back from the table. “We should get going.”
Zeke hadn’t said anything else. He’d simply gotten ready, walked with her and Viola to his truck, and then driven into Sunrise to the diner and her car.
If what she said echoed around in his head like an earworm, it wasn’t the first time. Lots of people had pointed out to him that he wasn’t an operative anymore, that North Star didn’t exist, that everything he’d busted his ass for was just gone.
All because some people had wanted to start “lives.”
Why were spouses and babies the be-all and end-all for people? He much preferred living his life on the edge of danger. Solving problems. Uncovering mysteries and stopping bad people from doing terrible things.
The same speech he’d been giving himself for years was getting old, even in the quiet of his own mind.
He pulled his truck into the tiny parking lot of the diner. The morning crowd was dwindling—old ranchers got out and back home early, he’d learned—but a few cars still remained in the lot besides Brooke’s. Not a silver sedan among them.
He studied the surroundings, brooding over the situation. Too vague, not enough details, just Brooke’s feeling that someone was following her.
But one thing he knew about Brooke was that she didn’t jump to conclusions, particularly when it came to her own safety. She was under the impression she could fade into the background if she wanted, that no one paid her much mind.
He snuck a glance at her. She appeared serene, but he saw the way she clutched her hands together in her lap. How stiff and straight her posture was. How carefully she breathed.
If he thought too much about it, he’d be reminded of how haunted he’d been by not waking up beside her after he’d broken things off. How every morning of not hearing those weird deep breathing things she did had sent him into the strangest kind of pain he’d ever experienced. So confusing and all-encompassing that he’d thrown himself into the most dangerous missions he could a few days later.
Over and over again, until North Star was done. Then he’d thrown himself into finding his mother’s murderer—which had been complicated and dangerous enough that Brooke had been easy to keep—mostly—off his mind.
Four years was a long time. He’d figured it was long enough for all this not to matter.
Well, he’d been wrong before and would likely be wrong again. Didn’t matter. He had to figure out how to deal. And, above all else, keep her safe.
She got out of the truck and Viola hopped out after her. Brooke turned, concern on her face as she held the passenger door open. “Zeke, I can’t take her around with me. Not to work. Not to my rental.”
He wished she could, but understood. Besides, Brooke wasn’t staying in that rental tonight no matter what she thought. And if she insisted on staying there against all reason, he and Viola would just camp out right outside. “It’s okay. I’ll keep her with me.”
Brooke looked at him slightly askance, like he was full of it, but she didn’t mount an argument. She closed the door and he got out on his side. She was already striding for her car, telling the dog in low tones that she’d have to stay behind.
She reached for her driver’s-side door.
“Wait,”
he ordered. Not a North Star mission, remember? He scowled. Maybe it wasn’t, and maybe it shouldn’t be, but he was still going to do what it took to keep her safe.
He inspected her car, ignoring the imperious way she watched him, and when he found it, was rattled at how close he had been to missing it. But at the last second, he felt the ridge of something that shouldn’t be there, right under the back door.
Carefully, without damaging the small disk, he removed the piece. He held it up. Studied it in the light. “Tracker.”
He took a page out of her book and blew out a slow breath, trying to think through the bright, violent haze of fury. Someone was tracking her.
He should have seen that coming. He should have known skeletal remains, even if the supposed perpetrator was behind bars, would bring nothing but trouble.
He’d made the call to bring her in. He’d made the decision to be hands off and let the Bent County Sheriff’s Department handle it from there.
And he’d put her in danger by doing so.
It burned.
He looked at her, hoping the leaping fury didn’t show in his expression. But she didn’t look at him. She stared at the tracker in his hand.
“Oh,”
was all she said. “That’s . . . not good.”
She was going to give him an aneurism. Not good? Christ. Without a word, he walked over to his truck and fastened the tracker to the bed.
“What are you doing?”
Brooke demanded, her voice high-pitched, her expression angry. He didn’t know which part made her angry—the tracker’s existence or him putting it on his truck.
It didn’t matter. One had already happened and she wasn’t about to change his mind on the other.
“They want to track something, they can track me.”
“Zeke,”
she said in that soft way that had fooled him into thinking he could have something soft all those years ago.
He’d learned from that. Besides, after all this time, she wasn’t worried about him. She was just worried in that way she had. She didn’t ever want anyone going through any trouble for her. Even when she should.
“I can take care of myself, Brooke.”
She nodded. “Yes, you always thought so.”
Ouch. He brought a hand to his heart with half a thought to rub the pain there away. But she was watching him intently, so he stood still and motionless.
“Can I go now?”
she asked archly.
He gestured her along. “Have at it.”
But he watched her as she gave Viola a pat and quietly apologized to the dog that she wasn’t allowed to come with her. Once Brooke was in her car, he whistled and Viola reluctantly padded back over to him.
Brooke drove away, and he didn’t bother to hide his scowl. He gave one last scan of the parking lot, the diner, the road. Then got back in his truck, Viola in tow, and set about following her himself.
So no one else did.