Chapter Fourteen
Monday morning light slanted through the blinds, brighter because of the snow, as Rawley pushed open the door to the office.
The soft hum of fluorescent lights and the muted click of keyboards greeted him.
He strode across the floor to his desk, shrugged off his sheepskin coat, hung it neatly on the rack behind him, then removed his hat and hung it up.
He gathered the evidence bags and headed to Dave’s office and handed them off.
“I’ll run them for you. I hope we get prints since the knife and earring didn’t amount to anything.”
“Probably because they’d been stuck in mud.”
“Yep, no doubt. I’ll let you know on these.” Dave nodded.
Rawley returned to his desk and reentered the tags he’d gotten from Declan.
He knew the deputy was diligent in his work, but maybe he could find something using fresh eyes.
He preferred these photos to the ones on his phone, which he’d snapped in off-duty moments.
If things ever went south, arrests, trials, he didn’t want any question about chain of custody.
“Morning, Rawley.”
He looked up to see Reece Maddox leaning against the edge of the desk across from him.
“Hey, Reece. How are you?”
“Great. You?” Reece’s gaze flicked to the files on Rawley’s desk.
“Same. How’s that beautiful wife of yours?” Rawley grinned, leaning back in his chair.
Reece’s expression went mock-stern, his eyes narrowing. “You stay the hell away from my wife.” Then he cracked a smile when Rawley laughed.
“Like she’d leave you for anyone.” Rawley waved a hand, still chuckling.
“I know,” Reece said. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Actually, yes,” Rawley replied, folding his arms. “And that’s all you’re going to hear about it.”
Reece grinned. “Fair enough.”
Rawley shook his head as Reece wandered back to his own desk.
He glanced around the open-plan office, files stacked in neat towers, the soft whoosh of the ceiling fans.
He thought about the team, good people, all of them, except that one time they’d had to arrest Agent Sanchez for leaking intel and informing men rustling about a stakeout.
Sanchez’s betrayal had led to an ambush and the death of an agent.
Everyone had felt the loss. Rawley shook off the memory and turned back to the computer screen.
His mind drifted to the weekend with Skylar.
An amazing woman. He picked up his phone and thumbed out a text.
Good morning.
Good morning!
How do I know what cat litter box to get?
He watched the three little dots pulse on the screen.
I’ll get it.
No. I want to do it. I’m sure The Feed Store has them. I can pick it up at lunch.
Okay.
He waited until a photo arrived; a sturdy plastic box in muted gray, its smooth edges and built-in hood clearly marked. Then another popped up, a close-up of scented litter she favored.
Thanks.
Of course. Have a good day, Agent Bowman.
He grinned, thumbed another reply.
You too, Ms. McCoy.
Before he could set the phone down, Dave’s voice boomed from the enclosed office at the end of the row. “Rawley!”
He looked up, eyebrows raised. “What the hell did I do now?” he muttered, sliding out of his chair, he made his way to the office.
He rapped on Dave’s door. “What’s up, Dave?”
Dave motioned him inside. His desk was strewn with maps, sticky notes, and two steaming mugs of black coffee. “Declan told Sam about those men who were supposed to go in today to show real IDs.”
“They won’t show,” Rawley said, leaning against the edge of the desk.
“Yeah, I don’t think so either. I want you to see if their truck is still parked at the motel. If it’s gone, check around the town, any back alleys and side streets.”
“Understood.” Rawley squared his shoulders.
“We’re going to nail them.” Dave’s gaze was fierce.
“I hope so.” Rawley sank into the visitor’s chair and recounted his Friday evening tail on the suspects.
“They know you’re onto them,” Dave said when he finished.
“I wanted them to know,” Rawley replied.
Dave shook his head. “They could skip town.”
Rawley shrugged. “For some reason, I don’t think they will. They’re too damn cocky.”
“Alright.” Dave leaned back, clasping his hands. “Have you talked to the woman the license plate was registered to?”
“Not yet, but I can do that today.” Rawley ran a hand through his hair.
“We have to make sure she’s not involved,” Dave said.
“Will do. I have her address.”
Dave exhaled. “Okay.”
“I’ll head out, then.” Rawley rose.
“Be careful.”
“Always.” Rawley left the office, his boots clicking on the linoleum.
He returned to his desk, slipped into his coat, as he checked his phone one last time, and pulled his hat down low over his brow.
The morning sun glinted off the snow almost blinding him as he left the department and headed for his truck.
As he pulled out of the lot, he looked across the street and saw Timeless Treasures, the antique store, and remembered that Skylar had some in her home, so maybe he could find something in there for Christmas.
He’d check but for now, he roamed the streets and roads of Clifton.
As he drove along the streets, he saw it was beginning to snow again.
****
Skylar’s fingers flew across her keyboard, the rapid-fire clicking echoed in her office.
Words cascaded through her mind like a waterfall today, demanding to be captured before they evaporated into the air.
Too many brilliant midnight phrases had vanished by morning; perfect sentences that dissolved like sugar in hot coffee.
The memory of those lost words had driven her to place a leather-bound notebook and her pen on her nightstand.
Now, no matter if it was three a.m. with moonlight streaming through her curtains, she’d flip on her bedside lamp and scribble frantically.
She chuckled, remembering this morning’s words, her half-conscious handwriting resembling a doctor’s prescription, loops and lines dancing drunkenly across the page as she squinted, coffee in hand, trying to decipher what brilliant thought had seemed so urgent in the dark.
Once she finished the chapter, she pushed her chair back with a soft scrape against the hardwood floor, got up with stiff limbs, and picked up her coffee cup.
The dregs at the bottom had gone cold hours ago.
She headed to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath her fuzzy slippers.
She’d made the coffee strong this morning, dark as motor oil and twice as bitter, since she’d barely slept, tossing and turning between the sheets.
Those men with their cold eyes would not get out of her head.
She was terrified of what they could do.
Not only to her, but to Rawley with that damn badge that glinted like a target.
Being so deeply in love with him also scared her, a feeling like standing at the edge of a cliff with the wind at her back.
If he didn’t feel the same, she knew her heart would shatter into a thousand jagged pieces, but he had never said those three little words that could anchor her.
She longed to tell him, but as Ryan had stated, it could scare him off.
“Well, if it scares him off, you’d have to deal with it,” she whispered to the empty room.
Entering the kitchen, sunlight streaming through frost-edged windows, she smiled when she spotted Cosmo on his windowsill as he stared out at the snow, tail twitching with predatory interest. She removed a K-cup from the carousel and placed it into the coffee maker, pressed brew and waited, inhaling the rich aroma that filled the air.
As she stood at the window, gazing at the pristine blanket of snow that sparkled like diamond dust, a dark movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She stared out at the spot where the shadow had been, squinting against the glare, but saw only the untouched expanse of white.
“You’re getting paranoid,” she murmured, but the goosebumps rising on her arms told her she had every right to be.
Once her coffee finished brewing, she picked up the cup, stirring in two heaping spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of heavy cream this time, then headed back to her office. As she settled into her creaking desk chair, she swore she heard a noise, a faint scratching against the frost-covered window.
“Come on, Skylar. Who would be out in this blizzard if they didn’t have to be?”
But she knew if those men, those hollow-eyed strangers wanted to scare her, they wouldn’t hesitate. Howling wind and snow wouldn’t stop them.
She took a deep, shuddering breath, walked to her office, pulled out her chair, sat down and tried to focus on the glowing screen before her, but when she heard another sound outside, like boots crunching through ice-crusted snow, she snatched up her phone with trembling fingers and called Rawley.
She hated disturbing him while he was working, but he’d insisted she call anytime, so she found his name in her contacts and pressed the call button.
It rang twice before his deep, reassuring voice came through.
“Good morning,” he said, warmth in his tone.
“Rawley,” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone shifting to alert concern.
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
“Skylar, you’re never bothering me. What is it?” The firmness in his voice steadied her.
“While I was making another cup of coffee, I swore I saw a shadow move past the kitchen window, but when I looked, there was nothing there but swirling snow, and I thought I was just seeing things, but then I heard something scraping against the house, twice—”
“Did you look out to see if there were any footprints?”
She mentally groaned, wondering why she hadn’t thought of that, but she was way too scared to open the door and told him that.
“I’m on my way.” He disconnected.