Chapter 19
To Do:
- Move to a new city under an assumed name
- Stretch for Field Day
Claire hit “publish”on her blog post and snapped her laptop shut. How was she supposed to focus on engagement party etiquette when her deadbeat dad had just shown up out of the blue with a wild conspiracy theory?
She glanced at her bookshelf. A picture of her, Charlie, and Alice in matching Christmas sweaters stood in front of a row of romance novels. They would both be pissed if they knew Jack had shown up out of the blue. Her first instinct was to hide it from them, to preserve the peace. But maybe there was something to what her mom had said. Both of them would want to know if he had reappeared in their lives.
Claire picked up her phone and started a group video chat with her mother and sister before she could change her mind.
“Clairebear? Is everything all right? Are you in jail?” Only Alice’s nose and lips were visible. She sounded less upset than she had the previous day, which was something. Maybe the flowers had helped.
“Why do you always assume I’m in jail? I’m not in jail. Back up some, Mom. Oh, there’s Charlie.”
Charlotte, Claire’s older sister by ten years, appeared onscreen. “Hi, bug,” she said to Claire. “Mom. You need to back up, we can barely see you.”
Alice sighed and took a step back from her camera. In the background, Roy was installing new hardware on their kitchen cabinets.
“Hi, Roy,” Charlotte and Claire said together.
“Hola, ni?as.” He waved a drill at them.
“What’s going on?” Charlie was sitting in her home office, twiddling a pencil between her long, slender fingers. Her voluminous hair was twisted back into a bun. A row of abandoned coffee mugs stood behind her. Unlike Claire, she had inherited Alice’s baby blue eyes. Loud music thumped in the background. Her husband, Bill, who was a lawyer by day and drummer by night, must have been practicing again.
“So, I’m trying to be more honest. I just needed to tell you both something.” Claire took a deep breath.
“You’re pregnant!” Charlie screeched.
“God, no.” Claire took her birth control as religiously as many people caught their favorite TV show. A surprise pregnancy would probably be a less painful revelation to make in this moment, though. “Jack is in town. He came to see me.”
There was a ringing silence. Charlie’s mouth fell open. Alice’s eyes bulged.
“Jack? You don’t mean your father?” Alice nearly whispered.
Claire nodded.
“That son of a bitch,” Charlie swore. The pencil in her hand snapped.
Alice collapsed into a kitchen chair. Roy knelt next to her and rubbed her back, muttering comforting words in Spanish.
“What did he want?” Charlie’s mood had shifted on a dime.
If Claire had asked her, Charlie would have caught the very next plane to West Haven to help her strangle their father.
“He wants me to go the prison and talk to Barney. They want body locations of his previous victims.” Was she even allowed to tell them the other part? Jack hadn’t explicitly said, but he had mentioned it was confidential.
Alice cried out as though someone had just stuck her with a white-hot poker. “Absolutely not. How could he expect you to face that despicable man again? Claire, I need you to get me a lock of Jack’s hair. I don’t care how you do it.”
Claire sighed. “Mom, you can’t keep making voodoo dolls every time someone upsets you. It’s not ethical.”
“Isn’t it? Why don’t you ask Rachel how her bowels have been treating her?”
Hell hath no fury like Alice Alejo with a box of pins and a grudge. Maybe she’d make one for Luke too.
“Ah, shit.” Charlie clapped a hand to her forehead.
“Language, darling,” Alice interrupted.
“Sorry. Big Z just got busted for coke again. I have to go. Claire, don’t do anything Jack tells you to do. Love you both.” Charlie signed off.
Big Z was Mindy’s favorite rapper and one of Charlie’s most problematic clients. He was constantly embroiled in media scandals that threatened the sales of his rap albums. Charlie had pulled him out of more binds than Claire could count.
“I don’t care what Jack says, you’re not going to that prison.” Alice looked as scandalized as if Claire had just suggested she was going to go skinny dipping in a baby pool full of pissed-off scorpions.
Claire bit her lip. Something Jack had said had been gnawing at her. “You don’t think it might help the families of the victims get some closure? If I did get Barney to tell me the body locations?”
“Clairebear. That is not your responsibility. You suffered at his hands. They have no right to ask you to do that. Tell him no, okay, sweetheart? And tell him if he bothers you again, he’ll be hearing from me. I love you. And thank you for the flowers. But please don’t hide things from me again.”
“I won’t. Love you too, Mom.” Claire hung up. The conversation hadn’t left her with the peace she was hoping for.
A text from Luke popped up. She ignored it, but her stomach clenched all the same. What would Luke have to say about her bio-dad returning? It was almost as if talking about Jack in Paris had summoned him. But there was no sense in wondering what Luke would think. He was dead to her.
“Canwe move that big piece to the far wall?” Claire asked.
It had been less than forty-eight hours since Jack’s revelation. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t compartmentalize and bury the news. Not even throwing herself into Aaron and Jane’s gallery proposal could prevent images of the victims from popping into her mind as she lay awake in bed at night. If she was truly the only person Barney would speak to, didn’t she owe it to them to try? Didn’t she have a moral obligation to help? But trying meant facing her attempted killer. The thought made her blood run like ice in her veins.
Nicole and Kyle, each gripping one end of an eight-foot oil painting, carefully shuffled across the hardwood floors of the gallery. They secured it to the wall with picture wire and stood back, revealing a watercolor of a little girl on a swing made of a tangle of flowers.
“Perfect.” Claire pointed to another painting. “Coli, what do you think about this one?”
She hadn’t had the heart to tell Nicole about her father’s visit. She was lady-balls-deep in wedding plans, and Claire refused to take the spotlight off her for even a moment. Nicole, wearing an old Venor University T-shirt and paint-splattered shorts, considered a charcoal portrait of a liver-spotted grandmother with kind eyes.
“I love this. It shows her mastery of the human form. Plus, it’s super hard to nail liver spots. Let’s put it with some of the other portraits on this side.” Nicole carried the frame off into a different room.
Rosie sat in the middle of the floor in a strip of sunlight, forcing everyone to walk around her.
Sweat glistened on Kyle’s forehead, highlighting the beginnings of a receding hairline. He took a swig from an aluminum water bottle and sat heavily on the floor, shaking the gallery.It had been barely five years since he had worn a Viking beer helmet and stolen a golf cart from campus security. They were getting older, and the crazy days of their youth had been replaced by careers, marriage, and nightmares.
She really needed a night out.
“Luke’s been asking about you,” Kyle said pointedly. Probably lashing out because she had asked him to move a particular painting six different times.
Claire sighed and turned her back to him. “I don’t care.”
“He’s really sorry, Claire. The whole documentary is at stake. And he’s right, you know. An interview with you would really take it to a whole new level. You know what a perfectionist he is when it comes to his work.”
She whirled around, a hammer in one hand. “Kyle, I love you. But make no mistake, if you try to talk about Luke again in front of me, or try to justify his decision to make me re-experience the worst thing that ever happened to me so that he can sell this documentary, I will pack you into one of those shipping crates and send your ass to Madagascar.”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Need help moving your stuff back into your place?”
“That would be great. I’ll text you.”
He disappeared into the back room, clearly too uncomfortable to keep occupying space with her.
“Do you want me to tell Luke not to come this weekend?” Nicole asked softly, touching Claire’s arms with unnaturally cold fingertips. “It’s kind of crazy to expect him to come all the way from California for a field day anyway.”
Great. The field day. She had almost forgotten. In keeping with their grand tradition of over-the-top dates and action-packed adventures, Nicole and Kyle had decided to have a “bonding exercise” for the bridal party. And what better way to bond than try to kill each other at sports? Claire’s broad jump could use some work, but she was fairly confident in her flag football skills.
She sighed. It was all for Nicole’s love story. She wouldn’t be responsible for making it anything less than perfect.
“No, he’s the best man. He should be there. I appreciate the offer, though.” She pulled Nicole in for a tight hug.
Nicole walked off with another frame as Claire checked her phone. Four more missed calls and two voicemails from Luke, and one missed call and voicemail from an unknown number. A knot grew in Claire’s stomach.Had her stalker progressed to threatening her via phone calls?
She spun around to face the gallery storefront, peering out the windows. None of the passersby appeared to be taking an inordinate interest in the gallery, but she hid behind an Asian-themed folding screen as she played the voicemail.
“Claire, it’s Jack. Just wanted you to have a number to reach me by when you change your mind. Think about it.”
She exhaled noisily. At least it was her deadbeat dad and not her stalker. She had to take good news where she could get it these days.
Her finger hovered over the delete buttons next to Luke’s voicemails, but she thought better of it and tucked her phone into her pocket.
“Are you okay? I haven’t seen you make such a serious concentration face since that Spanish final sophomore year.” Nicole peeked around the corner of the folding screen.
Claire jumped. For a moment, she considered telling her about Jack’s visit, about the organization, about everything. But it wasn’t fair to burden her. “Yes, sorry. Just double checking a few things for Tyler’s proposal. It’s going to be great.” She forced a smile.
Nicole sighed and sat down in a black director’s chair. “You’re sure this doesn’t have anything to do with Luke?”
For once, it did not.
“You mean the person who is dead to me? I’m sure.”
Nicole bit her lip, seemingly choosing her next words carefully. “You know you’ll have to talk to him eventually. He’ll be there on Saturday.” It wasn’t a question.
Claire whistled for Rosie. “I can’t talk about this right now. I have a class with Sawyer. See you later?”
“Of course. Let me know how class goes.” Nicole drew Claire into another tight hug. “Love you.”
The summer sun burned oppressively outside the gallery. Claire tied her hair up into a ponytail, half wishing she was still speaking to Luke just so she could use his pool. But there were other pools that didn’t come with a douchebag clause. She slipped her headphones into her ears to block out the street noise and tugged Rosie along. Rosie trotted along beside her, chasing a bug.
“Heel,” she said, wrapping the nylon leash around her wrist.
Rosie ignored her and barked threats at a Pomeranian across the street.
Claire sighed and continued walking, half-dragging the easily distracted dog behind her. Sanctum Security headquarters was only three blocks away, but that didn’t stop Rosie from sniffing four streetlights, chasing two squirrels, and attempting to steal a cheeseburger from a toddler.
Fighting Rosie’s chaotic walking pattern, Claire checked her appointments. Mindy had forwarded a confirmation email from their fireworks technician. As long as Tyler—or Ericka, for that matter—didn’t turn out to be a serial killer, the proposal would be stunning. She switched from email to the West Haven News homepage and scanned for mentions of missing women. None had been reported. Maybe Jack was completely wrong about the network of killers. She wasn’t putting anyone in jeopardy by refusing to go see Barney. Was she?
As she approached the front doors of Sanctum Security, she found Sawyer already leaning against them.
“Fourteen,” he said.
She could barely hear him over her headphones. She popped them out and tucked them back into their case. “Sorry, fourteen what?”
“That’s the number of mistakes you made in your three-block walk from Nicole’s gallery.”
Mistakes?Claire made a face, and her inner perfectionist shuddered. “What do you mean? What kind of mistakes?” She glanced down. Her shoes matched today, so it wasn’t that.
“Come inside. Rosie can come too.” He pulled the glass doors open.
Claire strong-armed Rosie into the office, still reeling from Sawyer’s accusation. Sanctum was the exact opposite of Sawyer’s house. Everything was stainless steel and glass. The receptionist had a pixie haircut and a neck tattoo of a lotus flower.
“Any updates since I was out, Candace?”
The receptionist shook her head. “Not really, Mr. Goulding. Just an AFA at Giuseppe’s restaurant. Brad’s on it.” A fork rested in a half-eaten carton of what appeared to be roasted broccoli and brussels sprouts. Either she had a gut of steel, or she wasn’t shy about fumigating the office with cruciferous-vegetable-induced flatulence. She offered Claire a bottle of water as Sawyer filled out a security badge.
“Wow, this is very official,” Claire said as she hung the visitor badge around her neck.
“We are in the business of security.” Sawyer pushed open a set of double doors.
They walked into a training room, complete with wrestling mats, weight equipment, and punching bags. Claire bounced on her toes, beyond ready to start punching things.
“Ooh. Where do we start first? I would love to hit something.” Her purse hit the floor.
He scooped it back up and handed it to her. “You’re not ready for that yet. Especially after what I saw this morning.” He led her to a side door, which opened into a classroom with about twenty desks.
She shot him a dirty look and sat in the front row. “What do you mean?”
Rosie leapt onto a seat at the desk beside her, panting happily and looking quite pleased with her newfound height.
Sawyer leaned against the large wooden desk at the front of the classroom. “The best defense you can possibly have is simply being aware of your surroundings. First lesson: try not to wear your hair in a ponytail when you’re walking alone.”
“But why—ow!” Claire screeched as his hand whipped out and gripped her hair, dragging her head down onto her desk.
Rosie jumped out of her chair and growled at Sawyer with bared teeth.
“Rosie, hush,” Claire said, face smashed against the spiral of her notebook.
“It’s okay,” Sawyer said, releasing her. “I wanted to see her reaction. Good girl.” He pulled a dog treat out of his pocket and tossed it to her.
She sniffed it suspiciously for a moment and looked at Claire before taking it and retreating into a corner. She kept her eyes on Sawyer.
“Ponytails are easy for bad people to grab,” he continued, walking back to the front of the classroom. “Do yourself a favor and make it harder for them.”
“Point taken,” Claire said, rubbing her neck.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked sheepishly.
She shook her head.
“Good,” he said in a much louder voice. “Second lesson: do not wear headphones, earbuds, or anything else in your ears that will compromise your awareness. Do you know why so many women get abducted when they’re jogging?”
“They’re usually listening to music?” she guessed. Running without music sounded almost as bad as getting abducted.
“Exactly. And if you’re listening to music, you can’t hear footsteps or cars approaching. Third problem. Your eyes are glued to your phone.”
“I get it—I should be watching my surroundings,” Claire grumbled, skin prickling.
He smiled. “For someone who is so controlled and disciplined, you certainly have a lackadaisical approach to personal safety.”
“Sawyer, this is central Pennsylvania. It’s not like I’m walking through downtown Detroit wearing a suit made of hundred-dollar bills. I’m more in danger from being trampled by a rogue cow or runaway cheesesteak cart.”
“An interesting take. And yet, remind me. Were you in Detroit when you were abducted?”
She sighed. “No.”
“Where were you?”
“Here,” she said in a mopey voice.
“Exactly. Over eighty-five percent of sexual assault victims know their attacker. It doesn’t matter where you live if someone has set their sights on you.”
“I’m glad we’re not mincing words. What else am I doing wrong?” She opened her notebook to a new page and pulled a pen out of her purse. It was fatter than usual. She rolled it in her hand to study it. The mystery pen from the woods! She had nearly forgotten.
She brought it closer to her face. There were initials on it. ESA Who the hell was ESA? Edward? Edgar? Ellen? She didn’t know anyone with those initials. Maybe it was the previous owner of Luke’s property. He had told her who they were, but she couldn’t quite remember the name. Something to do with fancy toilets.
She shrugged and jotted down over a dozen additional tips from Sawyer, ranging in topics from vehicle safety to doorbell etiquette.
“Now we’re going to head out for some practice in the field,” Sawyer said.
Claire closed her notebook. Rosie came to her side, dragging her leash.
“Oh, sure. Now you come,” she said, looping the leash around her wrist. “Where are we going?”
“Just a few blocks down,” He led her back out onto the street. Claire reached for her phone, then immediately snatched her hand back. Emails and appointments could wait. She would show him. She would be so self-aware that even her FBI bio-dad would be impressed. Damn it. She wasn’t thinking about him either.
“What are we missing?” Sawyer asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, right,” Claire said, reaching up and tugging the elastic band away from her scalp. Her hair tumbled down in an unmitigated disaster of curls.
“That’s perfect,” he said, smiling at her. “Your technique, I mean,” he said, clearing his throat. “You are far less susceptible to attacks now.”
“Thank you for the advice. Oh, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” she asked, searching for her wallet. “I can go back.” He had walked her straight past the receptionist with no mention of payment.
He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “There’s no charge for this. I just ask that you listen, take me seriously, and inform your friends. Especially that wild, dark-haired one. What’s her name again?”
Claire’s heart warmed, and she smiled. “Mindy,” she said, stifling a laugh. “I don’t think she needs any help, but I owe my life to you. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
He exhaled. “You don’t owe me anything. You’re a fighter. With a little instruction, it’ll be very difficult for anyone to hurt you again. Well, physically anyway.”
He stopped outside a frozen yogurt store and held the door open for Claire.
“Is this part of the test?” she asked, tying Rosie’s leash to a heavy metal table and stepping inside. She swept the interior. Six flavors of yogurt. Thirty-two toppings. The teenage cashier had braces and a Seventeen magazine sticking out of her purse.
“No, I just feel bad for grabbing your ponytail.” He handed her a bowl.
“Oh, it’s okay.” It may have been overly theatrical, but it was necessary.
“How have things been since the other night? Mindy said your dad was the reason you pressed the panic button.”
Claire swirled some chocolate yogurt into her container and began mindlessly adding toppings. “Oh, things are great. My biological father showed up for the first time in over twenty years, but only because he wants me to go to prison and interrogate the man who tried to kill me. He looks like me. Same eyes and everything. Oh,” she said, lowering her voice and scanning the room. They were alone except for the cashier. “There’s also allegedly a secret society of men murdering women all across the country for unknown reasons, and I have accidentally been implicated as the only living victim.”
In the three days since she told Sawyer about the second note, there had been no mentions in the local news. Maybe he really was trustworthy. Was that why she felt so relaxed around him? She hadn’t even paused to consider if she should tell him the whole truth. It had just tumbled out. She barely knew him, but she had word vomit drama dumped on him every couple of days. He probably thought she was nuts.
He stood frozen with a bottle of chocolate syrup in his hand. A plop of syrup fell, viscous and dense, onto the counter.
She hurriedly wiped it away with a napkin before turning back to him. He still hadn’t moved.
“Yeah, you’re gonna need to unpack that for me,” he said, setting his yogurt on the scale.
Claire added hers as well and quickly slid the cashier a bill before Sawyer could protest.
“Stop,” she said when his mouth opened, one hand clearly reaching for his wallet. “You are giving me free lessons. I buy you as much froyo as I want.”
He gave her a disapproving look but thanked her. They sat outside despite the clouds that had begun to gather. Rosie curled comfortably at Claire’s feet. Sawyer pivoted so his back was to the storefront.
At his request, Claire re-told the story of her father’s sudden appearance and the horrors he unveiled.
Every so often, Sawyer’s eyes darted in every direction, undoubtedly keeping track of potential threats and watching for danger. It seemed unconscious, even natural for him. Claire felt a sense of peace sitting next to him, even with pedestrian traffic on both sides of the street. Her stalker wasn’t likely to threaten her when she was sitting next to a six-foot-eight security expert with pecs the size of cantaloupes.
“So, he wants you to go to the prison and interrogate the man who tried to murder you.” His thick brows furrowed.
“Yes, my father’s paternal instincts are off the charts,” Claire said glumly, stirring the melted remains of her yogurt.
“How did you feel when you saw him?”
“Terrified at first. I thought it was my stalker. I hit the panic button right away.”
“That’s good.” He reached across the table and took her hand.
Claire froze at the contact and pulled her hand back, feigning a cough.
“Sorry,” Sawyer apologized, crossing his arms over his chest. “I had four sisters growing up. I sympathize and comfort with physical contact. It gets me in trouble sometimes.”
She smiled. “I bet it does.” She wondered briefly what else those enormous hands could do, but it instantly felt like a betrayal. Even though Luke was dead to her. She scooted her chair back an inch and continued her story.
He sighed. “You don’t deserve this.”
“I didn’t think that I did. But this is all just too much. The universe has to be punishing me for something.”
“Maybe it’s leading you to something. In a really dickish way.”
“Another murder attempt, probably,” she said, shuddering. She glanced around. “There must be some cosmic punch card I have yet to fulfill.”
“Speaking of murder, it’s time for our out-of-classroom exercise. What was the cashier’s name?”
“Amanda,” Claire fired back. Ha. She had repeated the name in her mind several times in case he had asked.
“Good. How many froyo flavors?”
“Six, but one dispenser was broken. So five.”
“Not bad, Hartley. How long has the guy with the briefcase been sitting on that bench?”
“Uh.” She looked across the street in the direction he pointed. Damn it. She hadn’t noticed him at all. “Three minutes?” she guessed.
Sawyer shook his head. “I’m not saying you to have make a mental catalog of absolutely everything you see everywhere you go. But it is important for you to pay attention to people. Especially anyone who looks suspicious, who feels a little off. Trust your instincts.”
“My instincts and I aren’t on very good terms. They led me to plan a proposal for a man who killed five people. Six, if you count his dad.”
“He fooled everyone. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He started to reach across the table again, but pulled his hand back and tapped the metal surface instead. “You’re alive. Focus on that.”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. A raindrop landed on the top of her head. At least she hoped it was a raindrop. The way her year was going, it was probably bird poop.
“I wanted to tell you, I looked up the video of the proposal you did for Kyle and Nicole. It was amazing.”
The plastic spoon fell from her hand. She was so used to Luke disparaging proposals at every turn that any unsolicited compliment from a man about her profession made her immediately suspicious. “Oh—thanks. A lot of work went into it.”
“I bet. The archery, the obstacle course. Every part of it was so well thought out. How do you do it?”
Okay, it didn’t sound like he was being sarcastic. “It’s a combination of interrogation, internet stalking, and borderline obsessive planning. If you’re ever in the need for proposal planning services someday, I’m your girl.”
“I wouldn’t consider anyone else. It’s one of the biggest questions you’ll ever ask in your life. Everything should be perfect.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you get it. A lot of people think elaborate proposals are stupid.” Luke, for example.
Sawyer raised his eyebrows. “Then they’re stupid.” Damn straight.
“So, how long have you been in the security business?” She took a visual sweep of the area as she asked the question. The man with the briefcase was still sitting on the bench. What was his deal, anyway?
“About six years now. I got a degree in engineering and my first idea was the fire alarms, like the ones in your building. That went over so well that we were able to expand into complete security systems. That’s what I’m really passionate about. Safety, preventing crimes. I design all our systems.” Rain pinged steadily off the table.
“That’s amazing. But you own Sanctum, don’t you? How do you have time to run the day-to-day?”
“I have a business manager, Jill. She handles all that stuff.” He glanced up at the sky and wiped something off his cheek. “I think we’re about to get rained on. If you’re up for it, I think we should have another class next week and start moving to physical defense.”
He gathered their empty bowls and tossed them in a nearby trash can.
“Oh, I am beyond ready to kick some ass,” Claire said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and detangling Rosie from the table.
“Let’s get you back to your car.”
Claire shielded her electronic devices in her purse, and they began to walk back, their pace more leisurely than a couple caught in the rain should be. A quarter mile from the Sanctum building, the rain turned from a minor shower to a downpour.
She dug through the purse with one hand as they ran. Where the hell was her travel umbrella? Pre-abduction Claire would have checked the forecast three times already today and been prepared for any kind of weather. Barney had taken so much from her. She wouldn’t stand for it. Just as soon as she got in the car and made sure the rain didn’t fry her phone.
Dozens of people ran off the streets into the safety of shops and vehicles.
They both ran, sprinting for shelter. It felt good to run. She was strong, she was fast, and she was capable.
Or at least she was until she tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell magnificently, landing on her hands and knees.
“Oh, God, ow. No, go on without me. You can still make it!” She swiped a hand across her forehead, where her hair was matted to her face. Of course she hadn’t thought to apply her waterproof mascara today. Another strike against the woefully unprepared, current-day Claire.
Sawyer ignored her pleas and scooped her up into his arms. His neck was slippery, and she fought to hold on. He gripped Rosie’s leash in his other hand and ran them under the awning of the Sanctum building.
“You can put me down.” Claire laughed, squirming slightly in his arms. His breaths were even and slow, not like the ragged ones that racked her lungs. She really needed to start running again. Stalkers be damned.
He set her down, and Claire limped over to a pillar to catch her breath. Her hands and knees stung where they had hit the pavement.
Sawyer’s shirt now clung to his impressive physique.
“Let me see your hands,” he asked, gently turning them palms-up. He stroked his thumbs over her palms in a confusingly tender gesture. Her heart beat anxiously in her chest.
Sawyer was the polar opposite of Luke. It wasn’t just that he was kind and respectful, or that he had saved her life. His eyes distinctly reminded her of her childhood cat’s, and they crinkled kindly around the edges. He was truthful, straightforward, and tender. He even complimented her work. She could tell in her bones that when it came to Sawyer, what you saw was what you got. What a refreshing change of pace.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, moving his hands from her wrists to her cheek.
“No,” she said, even as her palms stung. The heat from his hand warmed her.
They stood there for a moment. The rain beat a staccato rhythm on the awning. Why was this awkward? It shouldn’t be awkward. They were just two friends—acquaintances, really—with a scheduled appointment.
Sawyer swiped a thumb under her eye. “Mascara,” he explained, wiping it off on his jeans.
Her shoulders relaxed when he took a step back. “Forgot to go waterproof today. This storm came out of nowhere,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Right?” he said, scanning the street again. “That’s June for you.”
Great, now they were awkwardly small-talking. Why was it so hard to be friends with a member of the opposite sex?
Rosie chose that moment to rid her fur of excess water, shaking the entire length of her body.
Claire squealed and squeezed more water from her shirt. It spattered onto the ground. “I had better get her home,” she said, laughing nervously and gesturing to the dog. “She hates being wet.”
“No problem. So, see you same time next week?”
“Definitely.” Claire turned to go, but only got a step or two down the road when she turned back. “Sawyer?” She called from the downpour. There was no point in running. She was already soaked.
“Yeah?” He paused with one hand on the door.
“You’re coming to the field day thing this weekend, right?”
“For Kyle and Nicole? Yeah, I’ll be there. Fair warning, I played a lot of flag football in my day.”
“That doesn’t scare me,” she teased. “I’ll see you there. Also, there’s this thing that I have to go to next Friday.”
With Luke dead to her and Nicole and Mindy in a meeting, she had no date for the awards. Maybe it would be nice to have a friendly face along. And, as a bonus, he could strictly enforce a perimeter around Claire if the alleged serial killer ring decided to act up at the ceremony. Or if Wendy came over to gloat about the lawsuit.
“It’s an awards ceremony for entrepreneurs in the valley,” she continued. “I am currently dateless, and my nemesis—the one who’s suing me—will be there with my ex-fiancé. Any chance you’d want to come along as a friend?” she asked, putting perhaps a little too much emphasis on the f word. “Maybe tackle anyone who tries to murder me?”
“I will be your personal security detail,” he said, winking as he went inside.
By the time she had made it back to her car, she and Rosie were drenched from head to toe and her stomach was in knots. She popped her trunk open and pulled out a towel. At least she hadn’t neglected her emergency towel. She flung it into the back seat before buckling Rosie into her seatbelt.
The windshield was hopelessly fogged up from the volume of wet hair in the car. Claire cleared a circle on the inside of the windshield and saw a small plastic bag tucked under her wiper blade. A paper was barely visible inside.
“Seriously, a ticket? Thanks, universe,” she muttered to herself about unclear street cleaning schedules as she opened her door, welcoming another wave of water into her already hopeless hair.
She snatched the bag from her windshield and shut the door behind her.
Her blood ran cold at the sight of her name scrawled across the front of the paper. This was no parking ticket.
She engaged her automatic locks. Sawyer had been very clear on the importance of vehicle safety. Should she run back to Sanctum? Sawyer would open it. Or Kyle and Nicole. But she had burdened them enough this week.
With shaking hands, she opened the bag and carefully unfolded the note.
Welcome back. We are always watching. Stop digging for the truth, or westart digging your grave.