Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
ENZO
There are a lot of things I should be focusing on, but my mind keeps coming back to one.
Not one thing, but one person, really.
I should be at the store right now, cleaning up the mess the burglar left behind. I should be doing an inventory and putting together an order to replace the stock that was stolen.
I should call around to the other outdoor goods stores in the area, asking them to keep an eye out for any suspicious returns—one of the Garmin satellite communicators or Leatherman multi-tools that were taken.
I should be watching Alec’s crew as they install a complete security system at the store. A perk of knowing the owner of the company, he bumped my job to the top of the list and had his guys out there before daylight this morning.
If I were really on top of things, I’d be checking back in with the insurance company, making sure they’re expediting my claim.
What am I doing instead?
I’m standing out on my porch, staring out at the woods, but not really seeing them.
Winter’s face keeps coming back to me—scared, crying, in pain, but so determined to keep me safe. To keep the store safe. To do the right thing.
I can’t forget her panicked expression when she thought I was still in danger. She wasn’t worried about herself at that moment. Her only concern was for me.
Me . We’ve only met twice, and while I really liked her, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around how she risked her life for me.
Even if I don’t know the entire story, I caught enough to know she’s terrified of the man who was in the store with her. Even if they were partners, which I sincerely doubt, he hurt her. Badly. Left her behind to take the rap.
But I don’t believe she was involved. Not like that. It just doesn’t make sense. Why would she call 911 if she was intending to rob me?
Unless she didn’t know about the arson part of it until later. It’s possible; she could have been fine helping with the robbery, but drew the line at setting the store on fire. She could have argued with the man who hit her—Thomas, she said—and called the police in a last-ditch attempt to stop him.
She could be a criminal instead of the innocent my gut keeps telling me she is.
If I hadn’t relied on my gut so many times in the past, I’d be less likely to believe it. But my gut has saved me more times than I can count.
Like when we were in Iraq and I just had a feeling about the building we were supposed to infiltrate, like somehow the intel we got was wrong even though there was no reason to doubt it. When I told my team to hold, they didn’t hesitate. And I was right. The building was rigged to explode the second anyone entered it.
And when we were searching for the piece of garbage who betrayed Cole’s split team, I just had a gut feeling about where he was hiding. We’d eliminated the location initially as being too obvious, but once we got close, I just knew.
I’ve never been more thankful to have trained as a sniper than that day; when I took down the monster who hurt my friends so badly.
I relied on my gut then, and I don’t think it’s wrong now, which is why I’m out here thinking about Winter instead of doing any of the practical things that will help get the store reopened as soon as possible.
Questions I have no real right to have answered keep spinning through my head.
Is she okay? Was it a concussion, as I suspected, or something more serious? Have the police spoken to her yet? Do they believe her story? Is the man she was so scared of in custody, too?
Is she alone? Frightened?
Is anyone holding her hand?
Shit. I’m not going to get anything done until I find out some more information.
I head back into the house and snag my phone off the coffee table, then make my way into the kitchen. As I debate who to call first, I pop a coffee pod into the Keurig, definitely needing the extra jolt of caffeine after only getting a few hours of sleep last night. Back in my twenties, it wouldn’t have fazed me. But as I close in on forty, my body can’t recover from the lack of sleep like it used to.
If I’m honest with myself, even if Uncle Caleb hadn’t given me the store, my time with the Green Berets was running out. Another couple of years and I’d have to transition to training or manning a desk instead.
That wasn’t why I joined the Army. I wanted to be out there, defending my country, protecting the innocent, relying on a team to have my back and doing everything in my power to have theirs.
So it was probably time I left. But I still miss all those things. Maybe that’s partially why I’m so intent on finding out if Winter is okay—that innate need to protect those I perceive to be in danger.
Yes. That’s all it is.
It has nothing to do with her emerald-green eyes and those cute freckles and the way she smiled at me when we were talking about hiking the last time she came into the store. It has nothing to do with her enthusiasm for exploring the Green Mountains and how close I came to asking if she wanted me to take her out on the Long Trail one day.
I’d be this worried if it was anyone.
Anyway. I’m just trying to get some information about the investigation, like any concerned business owner would.
My coffee finishes brewing with a little sputter, and I grab the mug and take a seat at the long butcher block counter. I take a sip of the steaming hot liquid—the hotter the better, in my mind, none of that creamer to cool it down—and scroll through the contact list on my phone until I find the person I think will give me the most information.
Patrick, or Quill, as we called him in high school, isn’t just an officer with the Bliss Police Department, but he was one of the responding officers last night. And I’ve known him since high school—we played baseball together all four years. While we didn’t talk regularly after graduation, when I’d come back to visit my uncle, we’d try to meet up for a beer at Blissful Brews if he wasn’t working.
Not that I’m going to push him on it, but I think he may be more open to sharing the details of the investigation than if I just go into the station and talk to whoever’s on duty. Hopefully.
His phone rings once before he picks up, not sounding at all surprised to hear from me. “Enzo. How’s it going? Got everything at the store settled?”
“Sort of. Alec Rivers has his crew doing a full install and they should be done by the end of the day. So that should deter anyone from trying to break in again.”
“That’s good.” Voices rise and fall in the background, quickly diminishing as a door clicks shut. “Sorry. Just needed to get somewhere quiet.”
“No worries. Is this a bad time?” I take another sip of my coffee as I wait for him to reply.
“Nah, it’s fine.” There’s a faint sound of leather creaking. “I was headed to my office anyway; Margo caught me at the coffeemaker, trying to get me to join some kind of potluck lunch thing. You remember Margo, three years below us—” He stops and lets out a short laugh. “Nevermind. That’s not why you’re calling, obviously.”
“Well.” I have to chuckle. “I’m not sure what a potluck is. But no. I was hoping you might have some new information. I thought about coming in to the station, but?—”
“But you figured I’d be more forthcoming.”
Busted. “Not exactly…”
“Enzo, it’s fine. I get it. If I were in your situation, I’d want to talk to someone I know, too.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly feeling restless, I get up and head back toward the front porch. “I just have a lot of questions right now.”
“Absolutely.” Patrick’s voice shifts to a more serious tone. “I was planning on stopping by to see you later, but anything I can answer, I will.”
Still antsy, I pace the length of the porch, distractedly noticing a wobbly plank I need to fix. “The guy she was talking about. Thomas? Is he in custody?”
There’s a brief pause, then a heavy sigh. “His name is Thomas Lowe, and unfortunately not. By the time we got to his house last night, it was empty and his truck was sitting in the driveway. We followed up with some of the guys he works with—he runs a small home repair business and apparently hires some of his buddies for part-time help—but they’re all claiming they haven’t seen him in days.”
My jaw clenches. “And do you believe them?”
“Unofficially, no. Sage and I—Sage Nelson, she’s my partner—are going to follow up with them, though. Try to emphasize the trouble Thomas is in and how they could be charged as an accessory.”
“So, are you charging him with the robbery?”
Patrick hesitates before answering. “At this point, he’s a person of interest. We’re definitely going to question him about it as soon as we bring him in. But there are other charges…” Another pause. “Based on what we heard from Winter, it sounds like there could be some other serious charges.”
I think back to last night again. The goose egg on her forehead. How scared she looked. Not like she was afraid of getting in trouble, but of the man who hurt her.
“Assault,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And other things,” he replies grimly. “I can’t say. You understand. But if she’s telling the truth, Thomas is in a lot of trouble.”
“Do you believe her?”
Patrick sighs again. “Enzo. It was your store that was broken into. It wouldn’t be right for me to say anything that could create bias. Friends or not. Right now, Winter is our main suspect, and we have to investigate that.”
“I’m not pressing charges.” It just comes out unexpectedly. But now that I’ve said it, it feels right.
There are a few seconds of silence before Patrick asks, “Are you sure? There’s damage. Someone should be held responsible for that. Don’t?—”
But I’m having that gut feeling again. “If what Winter said is true, Thomas will go to jail. Right? I’m not asking what the charges will be. Just yes or no.”
“Yes. If her story is true, he’ll be in jail for a long time.”
I look up at the sky, a clear, brilliant blue brushed with a few clouds that remind me of the cotton candy I’d buy at the town fair when I was a kid. The air is warm, and it has a freshness I haven’t found anyplace else I’ve lived. Two squirrels dart across the lawn, chittering at each other. A cardinal bursts from a maple tree, a bright splash of red amid the blue and green.
And I remember Winter’s smile when she told me how she’d been wanting to move back to Vermont for years. How she used to come through Bliss with her parents, and she always thought it looked like the perfect place to live.
Maybe I’m wrong and I’m letting myself be swayed by a sweet smile and beautiful eyes and a phenomenal acting job. But I really don’t think so.
“I don’t want to press charges,” I repeat, feeling even more sure about it. “Not against her.”
Before Patrick can respond, I ask, “But what about Winter? If Thomas is still out there, she could be in danger.”
“We’re taking care of that.”
“Is she still in the hospital?”
“Enzo.” From his tone, I can practically hear him shaking his head at me. “I can’t give out medical information. You know that.”
“I know. But—” I stop to sort through my thoughts. “If I wanted to go see her. Would I be able to?”
After a beat, he replies carefully, “If you went this morning, I think you might be able to.”
The things he’s not saying are as good as answers.
She’s well enough to have visitors, and she’s probably being discharged later today, which means I’m not spending the morning at the store or on the phone with the insurance company.
I’m going to the hospital instead.