Chapter 11
E lliot was perplexed. He liked being perplexed, actually. It was a nice change of pace from his other job making pizzas. There he only had to repeat the same rituals over and over: make the dough, form the dough, bake the pizzas. But during his job as a deputy, the one he was now performing, he had to use his brain a surprising amount. That was what he liked about being a cop. No day was ever the same, especially in Paradise where he might help rescue a calf from a freezing pond one minute and break up a fight between husband and wife over whose fault it was the calf got stuck the next. But this was a new one on him.
“So you shot the guy,” he reiterated, staring at a patch of trampled grass. It was starting to snow, but he could still see blood spatter among the dried blades of grass.
“Of course I did,” Edward Jonas said around his chew of tobacco. He spit a stream out the side of his mouth. Far from being disgusted, Elliot felt the familiar pull of addiction. He had given up first smoking and then chewing when he and Missy got together, but he never lost his love of the stuff. Instead his love for Missy was greater, great enough that he wanted to cut his risk of mouth and lung cancer significantly, if only for her sake. In an effort to distract himself, he reached into his pocket and popped a piece of gum. Mint gum, thoughtfully purchased and given to him by Missy, who knew he still struggled, despite his protests to the contrary.
“Why, though?” Elliot asked, trying not to sound as longsuffering as he felt. He had grown up in Paradise. He knew everyone, understood exactly how they thought and felt and acted. And yet he still felt baffled more often than not.
Edward blinked at him as if Elliot was the one who didn’t make sense. “Why? Because he was on my property.”
“What if he had a valid reason to be here?”
Edward’s eyes narrowed farther. “Valid? Valid like stealing cattle or tractors or 4-wheelers?”
“But he didn’t do any of those things, right?”
“Right. Cause I shot him.”
“How do you know it was a man?” Elliot tried.
Edward rolled his eyes and spit again. “When’s the last time you heard of a woman rustling or thieving?”
Last week, actually, but Elliot didn’t say so. No need to spread more gossip than necessary. “But you don’t know that he was rustling. And he arrived here on foot. How was he planning to make off with cows or equipment?”
That stumped Edward, but only for a moment. “He was the scout,” he said with a decisive nod.
Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. It was highly likely a man who showed up alone at night in the middle of nowhere on foot was up to no good. But what if he wasn’t? Or, worse, what if it wasn’t a man? What if it was the person who lived closest? The woman who wouldn’t yet know that everyone here lived by the code “shoot first and ask questions later, if they’re still alive?”
“No one has showed up at the vet’s office, asking to be patched up,” Elliot said.
“Of course they wouldn’t. Everyone would know they’d been shot by me. I was at the hardware store today. Everybody already knows to keep a look out.”
Elliot sighed again. The only reason he was here was because his father, who owned the hardware store, called him when he heard Edward shot a man, a fact Edward hadn’t felt the need to pass along. Technically, technically, Elliot could arrest him. He had admitted to shooting a man unprovoked on his lawn, not in the act of breaking into his house, not in the act of holding a weapon on him or making a threat. He’d shot a man in cold blood because he had the audacity to step foot on his property uninvited. It was illegal any way you looked at it. But it was also Montana, where the unwritten law often superseded the written one. Plus he had no victim. The man was either well enough to go somewhere and get treatment or he was so injured he crawled away somewhere to die. Maybe they’d find his corpse in the spring thaw. If so, he’d deal with any charges then. In the meantime, all he could do was check on the one person he knew who might be in danger, the one person unknown enough to show up unannounced in the middle of the night at a neighbor’s house.
He squinted his good eye toward the west and glanced at the falling snow, trying to estimate how much time he had before the roads became too bad to drive for the day. With a nod to Edward, one which left everything unsaid— you shouldn’t have shot an unknown man, this might not be over, I’m going to see what more I can find out— he hopped into his truck and headed away.
H e sat in his truck a minute, inspecting the house. It was quiet, but that was to be expected. She was one lone woman. The tracks behind her SUV were fresh but fading, quickly replaced by snow. No curtains ruffled, no lights came on. If he wasn’t parked behind her vehicle, he might believe no one was home.
Eventually he stepped out of the truck and made his way to the door. He expected a lag after he knock, but she opened promptly. Was she waiting on me?
“Elliot,” she said.
“Celeste,” he returned, trying not to be obvious as he peered behind her.
“Is everything okay?”
“A storm’s coming, thought I’d stop in and check on you while I was out this way on a call, see if there was anything you needed.”
“Oh, I was in town this morning working toward that very thing. In fact your dad helped me finance a new wing of his house by loading me up with every possible contraption I might need from his store. Good news, though. I finally figured out what Sterno is.”
He chuckled, which was unusual. He didn’t normally do well with strangers, and especially not women. He found them too fluttery for his tastes. Really, he mostly only liked Missy and his parents and a select handful of family friends. She motioned behind her to the large stack of items on the floor.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked.
“No,” she said eagerly and gripped the door. His gaze rested on those fingers. Was she tense or was it his imagination?
“Are you sure?”
Her grip tightened a few beats before she let out a breath and relented. “Actually, yes. I didn’t want to mention it, didn’t want to put you out. But among my list of necessity items was a kerosene heater. It turns out I already have one, but it’s massive. I have no idea how to get it upstairs.”
He blinked at her, assessing. Was that really all this was? She needed help and didn’t want to ask for it? “Well, sure,” he agreed, taking a step inside and doffing his hat as soon as she moved aside. He used the motion to make a sweeping glance around. Everything looked like a lone woman lived there, a woman who had recently been to town and had no idea how to decorate. He’d seen military bunkers with more personality, but then he had become spoiled by his mom’s cozy tastes, first in the home where he grew up, and now in the home he shared with Missy.
She led the way to the rickety stairs of the dark basement, walking in front of him. He lingered a step behind her, taking a full look around. Nothing was out of place, nothing was unusual, minus the antiseptic and unused feel of the house.
She flicked on the basement light, a lone bulb that swung ominously back and forth. The stairs shook as they made their descent. They both gripped the banister for balance, and Elliot had to duck when they reached the bottom. She led him to an ancient kerosene heater, a metal one that looked like it fell out of the Korean War.
“I can go backwards up the stairs,” she offered.
Elliot couldn’t help it; he laughed again as he handed her his hat. “It’s fine.” She looked dubious so he bent and lifted the metal contraption, carrying it easily up the stairs. “Where do you want it?” He was glad he didn’t sound winded. The thing actually was particularly heavy. But as long as she didn’t want it on the second floor or dither needlessly, he’d be okay.
“The kitchen,” she said, going ahead of him again.
He deposited the heater in the middle of the oversized farm kitchen. She handed him his hat, staring at the heater.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Do you think this is an okay place for it? I was trying to pick somewhere central.”
“Most people put them in the kitchen or living room. Depends on where you spend the most time.”
She frowned and bit her lip as if uncertain of where she spent the most time. Something about her reminded Elliot of himself right after he came home from the war. Injured and missing an eye, the worst part had been the uncertainty of what to do next, of his place in the world. If not for his family and Missy, he would have fallen to pieces. Who would make certain the same didn’t happen to Celeste?
“Thank you,” she said, motioning toward the heater.
“No problem. Do you know how to light it?”
She opened her mouth, probably to assure him she’d be fine, but hesitated a beat. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”
“Let me save you the trouble. It’s easy once you get the hang of it. Do you have kerosene?”
Now her expression turned wry. “Do you think Minnie would have let me leave town without it?” She left before he could answer and returned a moment later with a full can, peering over Elliot’s shoulder as he crouched, unscrewed the cap on the heater, and poured in the fuel. When that was done, he adjusted the wick, talking out loud as he did so, and then pushed the button to light the heater.
Nothing happened.
“Sometimes it’s a little stubborn,” he said, trying again.
“Aren’t we all,” she muttered, still watching intently.
On the third try the flame sprang to life, giving off an instant glow of heat. It was so cheerful and inviting, Celeste was tempted to leave it. But it was probably better to conserve, so she didn’t object when Elliot turned it off and stood, brushing his hands together.
“Thank you so much,” Celeste said, hating that she had to. In the army, everyone had been equal. Some might say Celeste had the advantage because the places she went viewed her as non-threatening, usually to their regret. Misogyny had given her an advantage. But now that advantage was gone. She had returned to a time when brute strength counted for more. Her plan to get the kerosene heater upstairs had been to locate a dolly and tie the heater to it. And at that it would have been a painstaking process, bumping up each step one at a time. Sam was certainly incapable of helping her. And now Elliot, almost seven feet of him, had done in two minutes what it would have taken her half a day to accomplish. And she couldn’t resent him because he’d helped her so much. What did country people do to show appreciation? Send baby hogs? Bake pies? She had no idea. In her defense, she also had no idea what city people did to show appreciation. Really, she had no idea how normal humans functioned in day-to-day society. All she knew was taking orders and killing people, two skills that wouldn’t help her survive her new life at all.
“It was no problem,” Elliot said and probably meant it. All the things he took for granted—brute strength, survival skills, country living—were completely foreign to her. “Take care with this storm. I’m thankful you got supplies in time. That’s one worry off all our minds.”
Whose minds? His and his father’s? The entire town of Paradise? It was unfathomable to Celeste that strangers should care about her wellbeing. Perhaps it was something country people said. If only there were a translation guide for this sort of thing. A State Department manual on safely dealing with rubes and ranchers.
She walked him to the door and that was when he dropped the bomb. He turned and, with forced casualness, asked, “By the way, have you seen anyone suspicious?”
Without missing a beat she replied, “I’m from the city. Absolutely everyone I’ve met so far in Paradise seems suspicious,” and was rewarded when he laughed out loud.
Tipping his hat to her, he laughed all the way to his truck.
Celeste waited until he was gone, leaning on the door, heart pounding. “You can come out now.”
When no one emerged, she went to the closet where she’d stashed Sam and opened it up. He lay curled on his side, staring dazedly out. “Is he gone?” His voice sounded weak, a thready wheeze.
“Yes, are you?”
“I’m in fighting form,” he assured her, groaning a little as he tipped forward onto his hands and knees and began crawling toward the couch.
“Come on,” Celeste encouraged, patting her leg as she walked slowly beside him.
“I feel suddenly like your kitten,” Sam said.
“I wouldn’t know; I’ve never had one.”
“Never?” He reached the couch and paused, taking a bracing breath before slowly climbing aboard.
“Nope.”
“Dog?”
“No.”
“Hamster.”
“Nada.”
“Goldfish?”
“Does it count if they come in a bag from Pepperidge Farm?” she asked. He shook his head. “Then no.”
“Do you hate animals?”
“No, I’m ambivalent toward animals,” she said, but the truth was a bit more complex. Pets had always been something for other people. People with families and life skills. Every time Celeste considered a pet, she talked herself out of it, certain she would kill it by either neglect or ignorance. And though she had killed more people than she cared to number, somehow it felt worse to accidentally kill a living being who depended on her for survival. It was a level of failure she wasn’t willing to risk. Speaking of dependence on her… “Are you hungry? I bought food when I was in town.”
Was it her imagination or did he perk slightly? “What sort of food?”
“Some cans of soup and some cans of stew and some frozen lasagna and mac and cheese.”
“Oh,” he said, sitting back. Was it her imagination again or did he sound disappointed. If so, why?
“What kinds of things do you like to eat?”
“I’m not picky,” he said, but his tone suggested otherwise. It was definitely lethargic now and that made her feel bad, but why? For some reason she felt like she’d let him down with her food selection. Not enough vegetables? Maybe he was a health fanatic.
“Also pie,” she added, hating the plaintive note she heard in her tone. He was practically her captive; there was no need to impress him with her shopping prowess. But then his eyes lit again and he squiggled.
“Pie?”
“Yes, pie. A lady in town makes them.”
“What kind of pie?” he asked.
“Huckleberry.”
Now his eyes were blinking rapidly but not in disappointment, more as if he were processing the new input. “I’ve never had huckleberry before. Is it good?”
“I have no idea, but it must be because everything here is made from it. I swear if I see huckleberry kitty litter somewhere I’m moving back to sanity.”
He laughed and, in that weird way, it felt like a victory. But not really. Celeste didn’t want to be tied to him, not in any way, not in the slightest, simplest manner. She had survived her entire adult life with no attachments. Now was not the time to form one, not with someone temporary, someone untrustworthy, someone who looked a bit too like men she’d spent the better portion of her career hunting and eliminating.
When she gave herself a mental shake, Sam was staring at her in that way that was becoming familiar, as if he were assessing her the way she was trying to asses him. He definitely had questions about her. So far he’d kept them to himself, but she couldn’t hold him off forever, especially not if he stayed for any length of time. But of course he wouldn’t stay for any length of time. She forced a bit of sternness into her expression, hard to do when he was staring at her with his cow eyes, big and brown and fringed with long lashes. Kind eyes, she thought and banished it. She had no idea if he was kind, but she doubted it. Being in The Colonel’s world meant you’d done enough and seen enough to eschew kindness from your life, possibly forever. When you saw so much bad, it became hard to find the good.
“Tell me again how you got shot,” she commanded. All he’d had time to say before Elliot arrived was that someone local shot him when he was trying to find her house.
“I paid a coyote to bring me over the border from Canada, but it’s not the sort of service that extends door to door. He dropped me at the end of the road. Nothing is marked here, however. The Colonel gave me a description of your car, along with your license plate.”
Celeste hadn’t informed The Colonel that she’d gotten a new car, and she certainly hadn’t told him what it looked like. One of his hackers must have found out. She fought a shudder. It was no fun to be spied on, even if it was for a good cause. No matter where she went, even here in the middle of nowhere, she wasn’t far enough to avoid detection.
“I was creeping toward what I thought was the house, intent on looking for a vehicle, when a man stepped onto his porch and shot me.”
She blinked at him. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“No warning?”
“No warning. One moment I was looking for a car, the next I was shot and scrambling for my life.”
“That’s insane. This isn’t Afghanistan. We’re not in a war zone. You can’t shoot someone without asking who they are or why they’re there.”
“There we agree. However, I do not think this is a place like any other. The land is remote, self-sufficiency a necessity. Perhaps he’s been robbed before.”
“Are…are you defending the man who shot you?”
His answering smile was wry. “I’m afraid I have the terrible habit of always seeing both side of an issue. It’s my fatal flaw.”
“Literally,” she said. Unconsciously she tapped the spot above his wound and then yanked her hand back. No touching, she reminded herself. It was much easier to keep herself in check if she followed all her rules. No touching was definitely at the tippy top.
Sam seemed not to have noticed the touch, nor her hasty retreat. “And what about you? What brings you to this wild and unsettled realm?”
She stared at her hands as she answered. “I recently retired. Thought I would try country living for a change.”
“A city dweller, are you?”
She gave a slight nod.
“Which city?”
“Most of them.”
His lips tugged upward again, amused at her vague avoidance. “And how are you enjoying retirement and country life?”
She opened her mouth to answer and closed it again. “I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to say yet. I’ve barely gotten started with either.”
“And here I am, intruding. My apologies.”
She gave a slight shrug. “Not your fault The Colonel had to stash you.”
“Except I think perhaps it is,” Sam replied. He let out a breath and closed his eyes.
“Are you allowed to tell me?” she asked. Celeste had grown comfortable with classified information. Long ago she quashed whatever part of her remained curious. Most of her life in the army had existed on a need-to-know basis. Eventually she came to prefer it that way. The less she knew, the better. And while she had no desire to trample security clearance or Sam’s privacy, she thought it was best to know anything that might keep them both safe and alive.
He gave her the smile again, the wry one. “Celeste, I may do anything I want. I’m a free agent.”