10. Andie
Sleep completely eludes me.
As I lie here, staring up at the ceiling fan while it whirrs above my head, all I can do is picture some faceless intruder destroying my gran’s precious house. Shattering her collectibles and ripping her clothing from the closet.
The dresses she chose for church.
The clothes she’d gardened in.
Everything in it was a piece of her. And now, it feels like the memories surrounding my time there have been tainted.
I know what she’d say. “Andie, they’re just things. Things don’t matter.” But they did matter. Because they were pieces of her.
The clock beside me reads two thirty. With a frustrated huff, I toss the thick comforter off then get an angry glare from the cat, who seems to have absolutely no issue falling asleep in a new place.
“Sorry,” I mutter then push to my feet and grab the long cardigan I’d draped over the edge of the bed. Even though I changed the sheets, I can still smell Elijah on me as I move about the room. Every inch of this place smells like his cologne, and just breathing it in takes me back to the balcony.
To the feel of his hand on mine. The look of intense understanding in his eyes.
Gran, what in the world were you thinking, putting that house in both of our names?Then again, after what Felix said about her believing Elijah and I would be great together, I know exactly what was on that woman’s mind. She loved playing matchmaker. So much so that it seems she was determined to do it even from the grave.
How could she have known that I’m too broken to risk another chance at heartbreak?
I step forward and run my fingers over the top of the wooden box I’d set on Elijah’s dresser. I haven’t had the heart to read her words since that last letter, the “Are you still singing?” haunting me even now.
How many times did I break that poor woman’s heart? How many times did she long for me to come home, but I’d been too buried in my own past to realize just how much I needed her?
I start to open the box but change my mind at the last minute. Turning toward the door, I gently pull it open and head down the stairs. The spiral staircase comes around the corner, and I freeze in place, stunned by the sight below me.
Elijah, shirtless and coated in a thin layer of sweat, is doing push-ups in the middle of the floor. He spreads his legs farther apart and puts one arm behind his back, then goes down to the floor and comes back up.
He makes the movements look effortless, the only proof that they’re not in the way his muscles coil and retract.
Oh.
My.
The man is built. Not in a “he spends his life at the gym” kind of way. But in the “has been steadily training for war” type of way. Every inch of his back is toned, as are his legs from what I can see.
My mouth goes dry, desire churning in my gut. Nope. Shove it down, Andie. The man is good to look at. That’s all.
He jumps up then turns and nearly leaps out of his own skin when he sees me standing there. “Andie, sorry, I didn’t hear you. Did I wake you up?”
I stare at his bare, sculpted chest. It’s covered in scars—one of which runs the complete length of his abdomen and up to just under his armpit.
When he catches me staring, he rushes over and retrieves a white t-shirt to tug over his head.
It’s almost a crime for him to cover it up.
“No. You didn’t wake me.” I wrap the cardigan more tightly around myself and try to ignore the desire burning in my belly as he crosses into the little kitchen and withdraws a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Want one?”
“I’ll take coffee if you have some.”
“I do.” He takes a drink then heads over toward the coffee machine. As he preps, I look at the computer screen. A bunch of red and green dots are lined up in rows on the left while names are positioned directly to the right.
“Is this what you watch all night?”
“I mainly listen,” he says. “And look for any possible outages.”
“Outages?”
The coffee begins brewing, so Elijah leaves the kitchen and comes to stand next to me. “The green are systems that are not armed. The red dots signify systems that are armed and ready. If there are any not working, they’ll show up as yellow.”
“What causes a system to not work?”
“Power outages mostly. Though we’ve had a handful over the years that have been cut by people trying to get inside.”
“They cut the lines?”
He nods. “We have solar backups on nearly every system we install. Most of them aren’t high powered enough to run it for long, but it will catch whoever thinks cutting the power will help them bypass the alert.”
“So you just work out while you monitor.”
“Not typically,” he replies. “But I needed the release tonight.”
“And what could you possibly have to be stressed about, Mr. Breeth?” I ask, mocking sweetness lacing my tone.
“More than you probably realize, Miss Montgomery.”
Our gazes lock, and tension snaps in the air between us. There’s something here, something that keeps me rooted where I stand despite the coffee beeping to let us know it’s finished brewing.
His eyes—a light hazel—are breathtaking in their intensity. I’ve never met a man who wears his feelings quite so plainly. When he’s angry, his gaze reflects it. Worried? Small lines appear at the corners of his eyes.
And right now—if I’m not mistaken—it’s attraction I see written on his face.
Attraction that I absolutely feel in return.
Clearing my throat, I force myself to sever the connection. We were brought together by the sudden passing of my gran. And once we catch Rebecca sabotaging my house and fully transfer ownership to him, we will never see each other again.
“Let me grab your coffee.” Elijah puts distance between us and slips into the kitchen. He pours a mug then glances over his shoulder. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Just black, please.”
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you always drunk your coffee black?”
“No. I used to use?—”
“Hazelnut creamer?” he interrupts.
I cock my head to the side to study him curiously. “Gran said you were great with background checks—or rather, cyberstalking as I call it—but that’s next level, Mr. Breeth.”
He chuckles. “That one is actually Edna. She told me the two of you used to go through creamer like it was water.”
I smile, the memory of sitting with her before school, enjoying a mug that was more cream than coffee one of my favorites. “That we did. I remember?—”
The monitor begins flashing as a low beeping fills my ears.
Elijah slips into business mode like most men slip into jeans. Effortlessly and without thought. He slides into his chair and rapidly types something onto the keyboard.
Seconds later, a screen pops up on his monitor—black and white camera footage of the back of gran’s house. A person stands just outside the back door. Black pants, a black hoodie, face hidden from view.
The figure tilts their face up to the camera…and waves.
I scream.
* * *
My heart is still poundinga couple of hours later while I sit in the front seat of my grandfather’s old truck as Elijah talks to Sheriff Vick in front of my gran’s house. It’s five in the morning, and the entire property has been swept from top to bottom.
The police searched every inch of the place, along with Elijah and his boss, Lance. But no one has told me anything. Elijah made me wait here, and after seeing what I did in reaction to the monitor, I couldn’t even make myself argue.
I’ve always prided myself on being strong. On rolling with the punches and maintaining my calm even when things get stressful. But tonight, I lost it.
All because I may have been able to outrun this town, but the nightmares still haunt me.
Elijah pulls the passenger side door open, his face grim.
Something is seriously wrong. I know it even before he says anything. “What is it?”
He hesitates, clearly not wanting to tell me whatever it is he has to say.
“Out with it. Did they break something else? Leave a creepy note? What is it?”
Elijah runs a hand over the back of his neck and sighs. “It’s your mother.”
Fury sings in my veins as I get out of the car and shove past him. “I knew it was her. I told you. I—” He doesn’t follow, so I turn to look at him. “What is it? Tell me!”
“She’s dead, Andie. We found her body behind a shrub in the backyard.”
“Dead?” I choke on the word and stumble forward. Elijah manages to catch me before I could fall though, righting me and helping me lean against the car. “No. It was her this whole time. What happened? Did she overdose?”
He chews on his bottom lip for a moment. “She was killed. We don’t know who yet. But?—”
“The man on the screen. It had to be him.”
“Andie.”
“I want to see her.” I shove past him and rush through the house. Lance steps in my path and holds up both hands.
“Miss Montgomery.”
“I want to see Rebecca,” I say. “It’s my right. She’s my—” I can’t even get the word out. Guilt over my initial anger mixes with shock and disbelief. We’ve never been close. Truth is I can’t stand the woman. But dead? Murdered?
“Andie, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Sheriff Vick says as he removes his hat.
“That’s not for you to decide, right? I get to see her.”
“She is dead, Andie.”
I turn slowly, facing Elijah. “I want to see her.”
He exchanges looks with both Lance and the sheriff before reluctantly nodding and crossing over to take my arm. Floodlights illuminate the garden as crime scene investigators comb over the space. They check the flower beds, their blue jumpsuits crisp and clean.
Everything feels so surreal.
Like a twisted nightmare I can’t wake up from.
Elijah guides me around the bushes and nods to a man kneeling beside a sheet-draped body.
The man slowly pulls the sheet down.
The dead never look like themselves. It’s something I’d once thought was weird, but after attending my grandfather’s open-casket funeral, Gran explained to me it’s because our bodies are just shells. It’s our souls that give us what those shells radiate.
My mother’s eyes are wide open, her skin pale. Eyeliner is smeared down the sides of her face, and a red ring circles her throat.
Dead.
“How was she killed?” Tears threaten to fall now, but I shove them back down. I will not cry for her.
She abandoned me.
She scarred me.
She abused my gran.
So I will not cry.
“It looks like she was strangled,” the man who’d removed the sheet says as he covers her again.
I look at Elijah. “How long has she been here?”
“It couldn’t be more than a few hours,” he replies. “We swept the place—back here included—when we put up the cameras.”
“I’m going to guess she was killed somewhere else then brought here,” Lance says.
“I agree,” Sheriff Vick adds.
I hadn’t even seen them approach, but they stand just behind me, both men wearing combined looks of pity when I face them.
My heart hammers in my chest. “So the guy in the mask did it. Okay. She probably made someone angry. It’s not like she lived the best life. Excuse me.” I walk around them and head straight for my gran’s bedroom, somehow managing to move on legs that feel like jelly. How am I still standing?
People around me move like blurs, all while I do my best to keep my breathing steady. But I make it inside, closing the door and sliding down the wall beside it until I’m sitting on her carpet.
The walls begin to close in as images of that man in a ski mask surround me. I’m back in the house.
Back with him.
He jumps out. I scream. He laughs. Over and over again. A twisted, tormented game.
Suddenly, Elijah is kneeling directly in front of me, his hands on top of my knees. I didn’t hear him come in.
“Breathe, Andie.”
“I—” I suck in a breath as the edges of my vision blur. My chest feels heavy like a thousand bricks are crushing down on me.
“Breathe,” he commands again. “God, please help her,” he says aloud. “Please help Andie be strong. Help her find her breath.” It’s the prayer that brings me back.
“You prayed for me,” I manage as I suck in another breath.
“You weren’t doing it for yourself.” He reaches up and brushes the hair from my face. “Better?”
“She’s gone.” It feels so surreal to say it out loud. To speak the words. Like I’m someone else, saying it about someone else. “This whole time, I thought it was her behind the damage. Maybe it was. Maybe she just made someone mad. But she’s dead now, Elijah. My mother is?—”
“Andie.” He cups my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks. His touch is soft, though he has the calloused palms of someone who works with their hands. “Breathe.” He pulls me in and rests his forehead to mine, and prays again, “Dear God, please help us through this. Please give us the strength, Lord, to find out who is behind this. Please give Andie Your peace. Lord, please remain beside her as she grieves. Amen.”
I haven’t prayed in years. Haven’t asked God for anything.
But hearing Elijah praying on my behalf, asking for help, strengthens me just enough that I catch my breath. Even if I don’t feel worthy of the love that I was taught our Creator has for me, I can appreciate Elijah’s kindness. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He releases my face, and the moment his hands leave my skin, I long for his touch again. “Better?”
“Yes. I can get up now.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet.
The moment we’re on our feet, there’s a knock at the door. Elijah looks back at it and says, “Come in.”
Lance pushes it open. “You’d better come look at this.”