Chapter 10
It was nearly seven when Max punched in the security code and watched Noelle’s black iron gate slowly glide to one side, disappearing behind the brick wall. He wondered how much the huge gate weighed. It was a solid slab of iron; there were no elaborate designs with iron bars to see through.
He’d been to her house at least a dozen times and still wasn’t used to some of the—
He searched for the right word.
Not grandeur. Not ostentatiousness.
Gravity sounds accurate.
The home and grounds had quality and strength, but not in a flashy way.
It wasn’t in your face; it was understated like the gate.
The entire property was stately and minimalist at the same time.
The acreage had two guest homes, an empty stable and covered arena, and a swimming pool. With a pool house, of course.
He drove up the long drive and parked in front of the garage. Garages. Noelle had two oversize two-car garages and a double RV garage. She’d laughed as his jaw dropped when she showed him the inside. The giant space was completely empty except for her Toyota 4Runner.
“Maybe I could put in a small running track,” she’d joked.
Max had envisioned a personal showroom of motorcycles.
But kept that thought to himself.
When he was based at the Sacramento FBI office, Max and another agent had spent weeks digging into the more-than-a-decade-old murder of Noelle’s husband.
The cold case of the California assemblyman’s death had landed on Max’s desk for review, needing fresh sets of eyes.
Part of that review was reinterviewing all involved parties.
The spouse always drew heavy scrutiny.
Noelle Marshall had impressed him on the first day, when she’d walked into the Bend FBI conference room and found a surprise FBI interview and their camera pointing her way.
She’d raised her chin and coolly answered their questions in an all-day marathon interview.
As Max had prepared his research, he’d followed Noelle’s journey from Sacramento bartender to assemblyman’s wife and socialite to police officer and then Deschutes County detective.
As he’d worked, in the back of his mind he’d constantly wondered if Noelle had murdered her husband.
She’d been present when it happened and become very rich after his death.
Then Max met her during that interview last January.
Now he passed under the portico to Noelle’s front door.
Another giant work of black iron, elegant and simple.
Noelle had told him several times in the past to just walk in, but he wasn’t ready for that and rang the doorbell.
Three seconds later he heard her voice over the speaker.
“I said you don’t need to ring the bell. And the door’s unlocked.”
“I know. Just feels weird to stroll on in. Plus I know better than to surprise armed law enforcement.” She snorted at that, and he opened the door.
The scent of Italian spices enveloped him, and he was instantly hungry. He headed toward the large kitchen, but she came around a corner first, a glass of red wine in her hand. And he got lost in her dark-blue eyes.
She takes my breath away.
Noelle had spent her morning at a murder scene, but the woman in front of him looked relaxed and happy. She wore soft yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee along with thick slippers, her platinum hair in a messy bun. She gave him a quick kiss and long hug.
“Did I ever tell you how I felt when I first saw you at that espresso bar?” he asked as he followed her to the kitchen, his hand in hers. Before the FBI’s surprise interview in January, the two of them had bought coffee at the same espresso place.
She poured him a glass of wine, and her brows came together as she thought. “At the interview you said you didn’t realize I was in line behind you when you paid for my latte. You were just continuing the pay-it-forward chain.”
“That’s true,” Max said, taking a sip. “But when I turned away from the cash register, we made eye contact ever so briefly as I passed.”
“I remember.”
“During my next ten steps, all I could see was your eyes.” He studied her face, enjoying the disbelief and then acceptance in her gaze. “It’s true. It wasn’t until I was in my car that I matched your face with the file I’d been studying for weeks.”
“You didn’t recognize me.”
“I did.” He slipped an arm around her waist, set down his glass, and pulled her close. “But it was a delayed response. Your photos didn’t do you justice.” He gave her a long kiss and then looked up at a faint sound. “Your sauce is about to boil over.”
She pulled away and turned down the gas as she gave the red sauce a stir. Then she checked the pasta, and then she opened the oven and frowned at a loaf of warming bread.
This feels homey.
He craved homeyness. While he’d been in town for Noelle’s interview, he’d realized how much he missed family time with his grandmother and his sister Keira, who was married to his college friend TJ Siddell.
Deep in his soul, he wanted something, and he’d felt it as he’d joked with his sister and her husband.
That camaraderie. The shared history.
That acceptance that comes with family.
Most of the time.
He set down his wineglass. One of his goals in moving back to Oregon had been to make peace with his mother and his other two sisters.
They knew he was back in the state because he’d texted each of them with the news.
But all he’d received back was a “that’s nice” from his mother, a thumbs-up from Amber, and silence from Brittany.
Essentially that was silence from all three.
I have to get through to them.
I had to do it.
“Had to do what?” asked Noelle as she dumped the pasta into a strainer over the sink and leaned away from the hot steam.
“Talking to myself,” said Max, surprised to learn he’d spoken out loud.
Noelle glanced at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “A case?”
“Yeah. The ones from the past pop up occasionally,” he hedged.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not at the moment.”
But he did. He’d stopped himself from bringing the incident up with Noelle several times. They weren’t at the point in their relationship to talk about ghosts from the past. They were at the willing-to-drive-each-other-to-the-airport stage.
Max wanted to move forward to the other stage.
But Noelle had emphasized that she wanted things to go slowly, and he’d agreed to her pace.
Even though she’d been single for about thirteen years, she’d been married twice before that, and both marriages had ended roughly.
She’d admitted she kept people at arm’s length, so he held back, afraid to scare her off.
As if she’d scare.
She was one of the most confident and bravest people he’d ever met.
He’d watched her walk into a house where she knew an armed murderer was holding hostages.
He’d seen her hold it together after her best friend had been shot in her home.
And he’d seen how hard she worked to combat sporadic memory loss and head pain, lingering effects of the attack when her husband was murdered, determined not to let them affect her job.
But relationships were the place where she moved tentatively.
Except when it came to family. She was tight with her sisters, Eve and Lucia, who lived nearby.
Max knew Noelle would walk into fire for either of them.
Both women had been through hell the past year.
Lucia had recently finished an inpatient drug addiction program and was trying to get back on her feet.
Eve was mourning the betrayal and loss of her husband.
Noelle’s great-aunt Daisy—who lived in the same complex as his grandmother Paulette—was another she would battle to the death to protect.
Noelle sliced into the bread, and the scent made his mouth water.
“Ready?” She pointed at the end of her huge island, where she’d set two places.
They always ate in her kitchen. The formal dining room had a huge table for twelve and the oddest light fixture he’d ever seen.
It looked like a manifestation of a child’s scribble.
The kitchen was warm and welcoming, and sitting next to her made him happy.
“It’s been a rough day,” she said, dipping her bread in olive oil.
“Leads?”
“Some things to follow up on. Dr. Lockhart had to push the autopsy to tomorrow, and I haven’t spoken with anyone who saw anything helpful near the crime scene.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I plan on it,” she said with a tired smile. “I feel for the teenager who found him. She was collecting cans and bottles. Finding a murder victim was not on her list for the day.”
“That’s a hard way to make money. Poor kid,” said Max between bites. The pasta was excellent.
“She is poor,” said Noelle. “Broke my heart when I saw where she lives with her dad, but he wasn’t around today to give her any support.
I hope he did so this evening. Truman Daly is aware of her situation and said he’d send someone out to check on her.
” She poured more wine but hadn’t touched her pasta.
Work can be hard on the appetite.
“How was your day?” she asked, clearly done talking about her own.
“Good. Took a ride with Mercy to a home out near Prineville, where we met one of her CIs and the CI’s sister.
” He shook his head, remembering how assertively Rachel had flirted.
“Interesting women.” He told Noelle what he’d learned about the past implosion of America’s Preserve and Mercy’s role there.
Noelle nodded emphatically. “Evan told me about that. His girlfriend Rowan’s search and rescue dog is the one who tracked Mercy. She’d gone missing for like a week after the compound was raided.” She slowly spun the stem of her glass, her gaze on the wine. “It was a bad situation.”
“Sounded like it,” said Max. “We went to see her informant today because there is chatter about a possible domestic terrorism event around here. Have you heard anything?”
Noelle thought. “I saw a memo from the FBI about that; basically it said nothing specific but told us to keep ears and eyes open. So business as usual. It’s hard to not encounter someone who’s angry with law enforcement or another government entity.
Threats are pretty common but usually amount to nothing. ”
“Are you going to eat?” Max asked, reaching for a second piece of bread.
“Yes.” Noelle focused on her food, taking several bites. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.” She took a sip of wine, holding his gaze across the rim of her glass. “Maybe I need something else.”
Heat ripped through Max’s body.
I can provide that.
He set down his bread and took her hand, pulling her from her seat. “Dinner can wait.”
Damn, I’m a lucky man.