Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
To Do:
- Future fundraisers for shelter?
- New meditation mantra
- Track down ESA
Claire slid her keys out of the ignition and rested her forehead on her steering wheel. It had been a very long couple of days while the police and FBI had swept the house. A headache brewed behind her temples, fueled by the sleepless nights spent combing through Professor Taylor’s online history. The man had spent a shocking amount of time playing Farmville in the 2010s. Beyond his penchant for flash games and annoying habit of checking in at Whole Foods, they had gleaned little from his discarded social media. He could be anywhere.
The ESA chapter hunt had also been a bit of a bust. While there were still cached links sprinkled across the internet, there were no rosters, no social media pages, no way to contact the organization. Everything had seemingly gone underground. All they had was a list of colleges that once had chapters. What were they going to do, stake them all out and wait for a brother to sneak back in and grab his hastily discarded PlayStation?
Eventually, the three of them had run out of steam and devolved into lying in bed eating ice cream and watching rom-coms. They had a brainstorming session for the gala this morning, so the weekend hadn’t been a complete loss. She hadn’t had a chance to write all the ideas down before she left, so she had dictated into her phone the entire drive home. There were spreadsheets and presentations to make, but she was desperately ready to give Luke a hug and be stampeded by four-legged fur babies.
She pulled her suitcase out of the trunk and trudged to the front door. Her hand was raised to tap a code into the keypad on the door when she froze. Luke, Rosie, and Winston were all cuddled together on the couch in the living room.
Her heart lurched. They had forgotten all about her. The dogs were bonding with Daddy Luke, but Winston probably barely even remembered her. She added “bond with dogs” to her ever-growing To Do list and tapped her code into the deadbolt. It beeped angrily at her.
That was strange. She must have entered it wrong. She typed it again, more slowly this time. 1-2-2-3. Rosie’s birthday. Her little almost Christmas miracle. The pad beeped at her again and flashed red. Maybe she had messed up the sequence. It had been a long weekend.
She entered the code one more time, and the pin pad flashed solid red. An alarm wailed inside like a banshee on Red Bull. Rosie and Winston jerked awake. Rosie immediately barked and sprinted from one side of the house to the other and then ran back down the hallway. Winston tumbled to the floor and Claire waved. Oh, wait. He was blind.
Winston took several steps away from the couch, shuddered, and heaved his tiny body. A puddle of vomit appeared on the floor.
Luke, who appeared to have been in a deep sleep, jumped up like he had been plunged into icy water. He pulled a baseball bat from underneath the couch and stomped toward the front door.
Claire waved at him from the porch, and his expression changed from panic to sleepy, tousled joy. At that moment, his right foot landed in the fresh puddle of dog vomit, and he slid like a figure skater for two whole feet. The hem of his sweatpants tripped him up, and he crashed ass-over-elbow to the floor. Luckily, Winston had vacated the premises after panic-barfing.
Claire gasped and pulled on the door handle. “Are you okay?” she called through the glass.
Luke lay on the floor and groaned. Great, she had only been home for thirty seconds and already she had broken her boyfriend. What else could go wrong today? Would Rachel bring a caravan full of ESA groupies for a late Easter dinner? Would her bank burn down? Maybe Alice would decide to move back to Pennsylvania permanently.
After a minute, Luke crawled to his feet and disengaged the alarm. He opened the door. “Welcome home,” he said, a streak of dog vomit on his sweatpants and hair sticking straight up.
She rushed into his arms. “I missed you.”
“Missed you too,” he muttered into her hair. “I changed the codes. Sorry.”
“I figured. What’s my new one?”
“Winston’s homecoming day. 0-4-1-0.”
“0-4-1-0,” she repeated into his impressively defined pecs. She pulled back. “You love him.”
He crossed his arms. “He’s grown on me. But do not mistake that as permission to bring a dog home every time you feel bad.”
She smiled. “Then you really shouldn’t go look in the car. There’s an entire family of chihuahua in the back seat, and they all have different skin allergies. Is the pool…”
“Dealt with. Everything’s fine.” One calloused thumb stroked her arm. Warmth crept into her cheeks. “How was your hotel stay?”
Something awakened in her downstairs department, but she didn’t have time for romance. Not while a thousand ideas were buzzing around in her head.
“Listen, I?—”
He smiled. “I know. Go get some work done. I’ll bring you a plate for lunch.”
Claire leaned in for another hug. “I love you.” The words still sent a tingle through her spine when she said them. She had opened herself to him, petal by petal, over the last year. Despite her best efforts at maintaining a strict sex embargo after her ex-fiancé, Jason, had broken her heart, Luke had blown up her defensive walls with his dynamite smile and bossy attitude.
It was impossible not to love him, as grumpy and infuriating as he could be. He was like no one she had ever met. Ruthless in his pursuit of a story, a hurricane in the bedroom, stubbornly opinionated on everything regarding Claire’s career. And yet, he was an adorable, squishy marshmallow on the inside once she got to know him. He bought new dog beds by the dozen and insisted on changing her dressings every time she was stabbed, shot, or otherwise injured. He took her to Paris and made her an office.
He was everything she had ever wanted, and his intense gaze still brought heat to her cheeks. In spite of everything the universe had thrown at her, she was lucky.
“Love you too,” Luke said, pressing a kiss beneath her right ear. Her body exploded into static. Maybe she had time for a brief romantic detour.
At that moment, something furry banged into her shin. Claire shrieked and jumped into Luke’s arms. Was it a dog, or had she accidentally let in one of the monstrous, pot-bellied squirrels from the backyard?
She glanced down. Luckily, it was just Winston. His milky white eyes stared in her vague direction, and her stomach lurched. This was why she needed to get to work. Winston was one of a dozen. If she didn’t pull off this charity gala and grow her business, all the special needs dogs in West Haven would be doomed.
“Hello, sweet baby,” she cooed as she unwound her legs from Luke’s waist and dropped to her knees. His fur was soft beneath her fingers. He put both his front paws on her knee and licked the air near her face. Something black was strapped over his torso. Did they make sports bras for dogs now?
“Poor guy. Let’s get you strapped in.” Luke walked into the kitchen and pulled a boxy apparatus from the island. Had he been playing with tinker toys while she was making murder spreadsheets?
“Luke,” she said slowly.
“Hmm?” He bent down onto one knee and clipped the rig into Winston’s harness.
“What’s that?”
“It’s to keep him safe,” he said. There was a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “So he doesn’t bang into things.”
When Luke finished attaching it, a small halo surrounded Winston’s head. He trotted off into the kitchen and promptly banged his shield into the island. The halo gently repelled him.
Butterflies fluttered in her belly. “You’re amazing.” She pressed herself against him for another sensual kiss. His hand fisted in her hair, and her hand slid down his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants. Then Winston knocked over the umbrella stand.
“Go.” Luke righted the stand and put Claire’s polka dot umbrella back. “We’ll have dinner together at six. And I do mean six, not six fifteen,” he growled.
“Thank you.” She squeezed his arm and walked over to the kitchen sink. Ducking down, she rifled through the cleaning products. There was still dog vomit in the living room to deal with.
His hand closed over hers. “Leave it. I got it.”
“It’s my fault,” she said, grabbing a roll of paper towels.
“No, it’s not.” He snatched the paper towels from her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Go save some animals.”
She was clearly dismissed. Speaking of animals, where the hell had Rosie gone? A legendary scaredy-cat, she had clearly hidden after the alarm went off.
Claire’s footsteps thudded in the hallway as she walked toward the back of the house, opening and closing doorways as she went. It wasn’t likely that Rosie had learned to open doors since she had left two days ago, but stranger things had happened. Finally, the only door left was the ballroom. A knot of apprehension grew in her stomach. The pool waited just beyond the windows of the ballroom. The latest physical reminder that ESA was still very much around and had a score to settle with her.
She swiveled away from the doors. Rosie couldn’t have gone inside the ballroom anyway. One of the wooden stairs creaked as she crept upstairs. Her suitcase stood by the vanity in the master bedroom, already brought up by Luke. And there, on the floor beneath the king-sized bed, was Rosie. She was curled tight into a cinnamon bun, back end shaking.
“Come here, darling,” Claire called, lying flat on her belly with her hand outstretched toward her beloved dog. “It’s okay. Mommy’s home now.”
Rosie tentatively stretched her neck out and licked Claire’s hand. Claire rubbed her snoot for a minute until the shaking stopped.
“Much better. Come with me,” she ordered, shimmying away from the bed. Rosie crawled out and jumped at her, planting her feet on Claire’s knees until she bent down for a proper hug. Warmth flooded Claire’s body. Rosie hadn’t forgotten her. She was home.
Five hours later, Claire’s half-eaten sandwich was limp on its plate as she typed fervently. The smell of garlic wound its way seductively into the room, but she didn’t have time to worry about food. Her calendar was filling up with meetings. A PowerPoint presentation with their newest applicants sat in her sent box. And then there were thirteen separate emails from Brad.
Her phone dinged, and she glanced at it. A picture appeared. Nicole stood in front of a wall, one hand on her belly. A sticker in the corner read eight weeks.
Claire sent a whole row of heart emojis and leaned back in her chair. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. Alice had been dropping hints about fertility teas and rituals for months. She already had one grandchild in California, but she seemed determined to surround herself with them. Maybe, one day, Claire would be taking baby bump updates of her own. Of course, she would prefer to convince Luke to marry her first, but that was about as likely as Winston learning to surf. Not impossible, but statistically speaking, unlikely.
Next, she needed to tackle the latest accounting work for Brad’s proposal. She scrolled to the bottom of the spreadsheet. The number of zeros at the bottom sent her heart into palpitations. She closed the spreadsheet and went back to the compatibility test Brad had filled out.
They were in love, weren’t they? Like really, truly in love? Surely he wouldn’t go to such great lengths to propose if they weren’t. Was the magic of that one question getting bogged down in this insanely elaborate event? Ordinarily, she wouldn’t think twice about the client wanting something huge. Big proposals were the reason she had a job. But this was next level, and the geographic discrepancy was preventing her from doing her in-person screening.
Part of her process was spying on her couples on dates, seeing how they communicated. But she hadn’t had the opportunity to witness Brad and Karen on a date. Sure, they had been together for eight years and lived together for six of those, but were they really ready to get married again? And changing the Hollywood sign? Was this really all for Karen, or was it just so Brad could get on some morning shows?
Claire leaned back in her chair and pressed her palms over her eyes. Why had she agreed to do this? The entire future of their company now hinged on this proposal. News coverage from changing the Hollywood sign was inevitable. Every part of this project would be up to public scrutiny. If it went perfectly, maybe it would wipe the public memory of Claire as a proposal planner for serial killers. They could hire a West Coast staff member and take the first steps in growing Happily Ever Afters. If they succeeded, supporting the shelter was a much more attainable goal.
But if it failed, her reputation would be tarnished forever. Her entire plan to have a West Coast branch established so that she could work and spend time with her sisters and Luke would be destroyed. She would be all but shackled to clients who neglected to google her name.
The door to her office banged open, startling her out of her introspection, and Rosie and Winston flipped to their feet and barked.
“I said six.” Luke put both hands on the back of her chair and wheeled her into the hallway. The clattering of dog nails on hardwood followed them.
“I didn’t get to save my document—” She twisted in the seat and tried to stand, but Luke forced her back down.
“I’ve seen you type. You save your documents every fifteen seconds. Now it’s time for dinner.”
Claire crossed her arms as he pushed her to the kitchen. Didn’t he understand what was at stake? Not everyone could make a living by exploiting the tawdry mystery of a serial killer for an audience of millions. Some people preferred to orchestrate beautiful moments for couples instead of celebrating the macabre.
Okay, that wasn’t fair. Luke’s entire documentary revolved around honoring Barney’s victims and telling their stories. He had begrudgingly allowed Claire to watch the first episode when he was apologizing for asking her to be in it. She had refused to watch her episode, where she had finally consented to speak about her experience on camera, but she knew it existed.
He deposited her in the kitchen, and her stomach growled. Loudly.
“What is it?” She sniffed the air. Notes of garlic and lemon clung seductively to the air.
“Shrimp scampi.” He steered her to a bar stool and dropped a bowl of pasta in front of her. A vase full of stargazer lilies stood on the island. Her favorite. “And after this, we’re going to spend some quality time together and there will be no talk of work. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Claire grumbled, twining some strands of pasta around her fork. The first bite nearly sent her into a full-blown mouthgasm. Of course he was amazing at cooking. With the exception of sorting laundry and practicing open and honest communication, there was nothing that Luke wasn’t immediately awesome at. It was incredibly irritating.
“Now tell me about your hotel stay.” He settled beside her. “I know Nicole and Mindy joined you.”
She nodded. “We made a list of all the ESA chapters and snooped on Professor Taylor’s online presence.”
Luke sighed. “I wish you’d leave things to your dad. You already did your part. You got Barney put away for ten years.”
Claire raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think he’s going to stay in prison for ten years? I’m sure he’s already started on his appeal. He’ll find someone he can pay off, and then he’ll be right back to murdering.”
Mindy had helpfully pointed this very real possibility out during their long weekend. Appeals often took a while, but there was no guarantee that Barney was going to remain in prison. Claire’s stomach twisted despite the delicious food. She set her fork down.
Luke stared off into space, eyebrows drawn together. For the first time in recorded history, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue.
She took a deep breath and picked her fork up again. “That’s why I also decided I’m going to figure out the William Hickory thing.” It was a puzzle to solve, something she could control. Unlike Barney.
Luke put a hand over his eyes. His shoulders slumped. “You know the FBI has code breakers, right?”
“Yes, and they’re doing a shitty job.” She thrust one hand into the air.
His hand wrapped around her thigh. “Hey. It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry, wasn’t your pool quite literally just full of blood?”
“It was food dye.”
“Right. That makes it way less scary that people stormed onto your land and tampered with your property.”
He stood up and headed down the hallway.
“Where are you going? You barely touched your dinner. I can’t be held accountable for what happens to it if you leave.” She craned her neck, but he had disappeared. With any luck, he was setting up a sexy surprise as a distraction.
Rosie followed him back and sat outside her office. She sniffed the door and whined. What was he doing in there?
The door swung open, and he stepped out. “Come on.”
“What?” Claire said, mouth full of shrimp.
Luke swore under his breath and came back to the kitchen, then picked her up like she was a rag doll. He deposited her in her office chair and wheeled her down the hallway to her desk. Her webcam was on, and someone was onscreen.
“Hello, Claire.” Dr. Goulding’s voice came through the speakers.
Claire jumped. This was not the sexy surprise she had hoped for. “What is this, a therapy ambush?”
The doctor leaned forward and pressed the tips of her fingers together. She was wearing the gold earrings Claire and Mindy had helped Sawyer pick out for Christmas.
“Luke told me he thinks you’re having trouble processing what happened at the trial. He thought you could use a chat.”
Luke ushered Rosie out and shut the door behind them. Traitor. Some work and a glass of wine were all the therapy she needed.
Claire frowned. “I’m not having trouble processing. We won. He’s in prison. The end.”
“Luke also told me about what happened after the trial. With the pool.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. Why couldn’t anyone just let her be? She didn’t want to feel all her feelings all the time. It was exhausting. She just wanted to tamp them down into a nice little box and focus on something else.
“What do you want to hear? That I don’t feel safe, even with him in prison?”
Dr. Goulding leaned back and hooked an arm over the back of her chair. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I don’t feel safe. Am I relieved he’s behind bars and not walking the streets looking for more victims? Yes. But one good thing happened and immediately I faced retaliation from his idiot friends. There’s no end to this, Dr. Goulding. I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. One man in prison means nothing. There are probably a hundred more killers to take his place.”
Dr. Goulding was quiet.
Claire drew her legs up in front of her and clutched them. “I just want to plan proposals, you know? Happily ever afters. I don’t want to bring down serial killer rings and solve riddles and confront murderers in prison. I just want to do my job and live my life without being afraid.”
“Everything you’re feeling is valid. You did an incredibly brave and difficult thing,” Dr. Goulding observed. “A killer met justice because of you. Why do you think you feel a responsibility to bring down the rest of them?”
“Am I supposed to just shut my eyes and pretend like innocent women everywhere aren’t being ritualistically abducted and murdered? Just because they have the audacity to be successful?” Her arms swept out to her sides.
“It’s not your responsibility, Claire. I know it feels like it is, but it’s not.”
Claire leaned back in her chair and heaved a sigh. Dr. Goulding was right about a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. ESA was not going to go away. Her life would never be normal again until they were brought down. She couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
She wouldn’t.
“I know it’s hard for you when there’s something you can’t control.” Dr. Goulding spoke low and slow, like she was soothing a child. “But you can’t control this. The only thing you can control is how you react.”
Claire harrumphed and crossed her arms. Several seconds passed in silence.
“Have you given any more thought to starting the medication I mentioned?” The doctor’s eyebrows raised.
Not the meds again. “The meditation and cardio routine are working just fine.” Endorphins were better than drugs.
Dr. Goulding opened her mouth, then shut it, took a deep breath, and started again. Oh boy, now she was pissing off her therapist.
“Okay,” the doctor said. “For now, let’s keep working on our breathing exercises and meditations. You had a hard couple of days. Please make sure you do the exercises before bed, and maybe take some extra precautions.”
That was fair. “Okay,” Claire said. “I’m sorry. For being difficult. I just don’t want to resort to medication if I don’t have to.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” Dr. Goulding had a ghost of a smile. “It’s always your choice. I’m just here to point you in the right direction. Have a good night, Claire.”
The screen went black. Claire closed her eyes and banished all thoughts of ESA. She emptied her mind and took long, slow breaths. Her heart rate settled. Her shoulders fell away from her ears. See? She didn’t need medication.
She rose from her desk and stepped out into the hallway. Both dogs greeted her before sprinting to the kitchen. Luke stood at the sink with his back to her, kitchen towel slung over one broad shoulder.
“Hey,” she said.
He turned around. There was definitely a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. “For the record, I didn’t call her because I didn’t want to listen to you. I thought she would be more help.”
“It’s fine. But no more therapy ambushes, okay?”
Luke nodded. He slid a glass of red wine across the bar.
“Want to talk about it?” His sea green eyes were laser-fixed on her.
She sipped from the glass and rolled her neck. “I really don’t.” Dedicating more mental space to the team of homicidal incels was not happening. She picked up the spatula from the drying rack and tucked it in its designated drawer. “Did I tell you Brianna invited us to the premiere of her movie? It’s the weekend after we’re supposed to leave LA, but we could come home in between.”
“Nice,” he said. He seemed to be relieved that she wasn’t shouting at him. “Put it in our calendar. I’ll have to see my tailor when we get to the city.”
“That got me thinking. And this is not work related, I’m just curious. When will the premiere for your documentary be?”
Rosie came over and licked Luke’s ankle as if to encourage him.
“Docs don’t have premieres. Streaming parties, maybe. But probably not.”
Claire stopped and turned to face him. “Nothing? They didn’t do anything for your last doc?”
He shrugged. “It’s not cinema.”
She pounded a hand on the island. “Absolutely not. You are an Emmy-nominated film maker. We won’t stand for that.” She reached for her phone.
“You’re about to plan a premiere for me, aren’t you? Here in West Haven?”
She froze with her phone half pulled out of her pocket. “No.”
“Is there anything I can say to stop you?”
Claire laughed. “I would love to see you try.”
He frowned and stored the frying pan in the cabinet. “You shouldn’t be adding another event to your plate. You already have too much going on.”
She bumped her hip against him. “For you, nothing is too much trouble.”
A hint of a smile appeared. “I still say don’t do it. But because I know you won’t listen, here’s some ground rules. No Jet Skis or parades. Reserved seats for the victims right in the front row.”
“Take all the fun out of it, why don’t you? I notice you didn’t say anything about fireworks, skywriting, or thrones made out of melted pieces of camera equipment.”
Luke glared at her. She kissed him on the cheek and he drew her in for a hug.