Chapter 26
Tyler
Thirty miles separated Elkridge from Irma—far enough, Tyler hoped, that they wouldn’t run into anyone who knew them.
He glanced across the truck cab at Brooke. She’d dressed up for dinner—dark jeans and a blue sweater that made her eyes stand out. Her hair was down instead of pulled back in the ponytail she usually wore for work or running.
“You look nice,” Tyler said.
“Thanks.” A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she smiled at him. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”
Tyler felt heat rise in his face. He’d worn khakis and a button-down shirt, wanting to make an effort for their first real date in public, even if they’d driven to another town to do it.
The past few weeks, since their walk around the lake, they had been careful and quiet. They saw each other at his place or hers, but never out where people might notice.
He had thought about going to the Wednesday night runs with the group, but Brooke was still only walking. The temptation to walk with her, to hold her hand and be the couple they were in his mind and heart, would be too strong.
She said she was ready to start running again. Once she did, joining the club might make more sense. He would still see her, but he’d keep his distance.
He was protecting her reputation. At least, that’s what Tyler told himself. But maybe he was protecting himself too—from the judgment, from the whispers, from Adam Boverman’s constant surveillance.
He never knew when Boverman would show up. More than once, Tyler left for work in the morning to find him parked on the street, either in his patrol car or his personal vehicle. Or he’d be parked near the auto shop when Tyler got off.
A few days ago, when Tyler went to Brooke’s place, Adam was in front of the neighbor’s place. Tyler kept on driving, calling Brooke after he got down the street to a place he could park.
Brooke said she’d had enough. Tyler didn’t know exactly what she’d done, but he hadn’t seen Adam since. Not even in his regular course of duty. It was almost as if the man had simply disappeared. It’d only been a couple of days, but it was a nice feeling and spurred their date tonight.
Without Boverman lurking around, they felt more confident in seeing each other. Not confident enough to go out to dinner in Irma, but still. Tyler had to admit, even the drive down felt special. Romantic, even. They took his truck, their hands finding each other’s whenever they could.
The restaurant was on Elkridge’s Main Street, a steakhouse that had been there since the seventies. It was already dark when they arrived, and the restaurant was lit up with white lights along the eaves and woven through the trees. The outdoor patio was closed, but it still looked inviting.
Tyler wondered why he’d never eaten here before.
Thirty miles wasn’t much of a drive as far as Wyoming distances were concerned, and Elkridge was still part of Basin County.
He’d always heard the food was good. If the reviews were accurate, maybe this could be a special place for him and Brooke. Maybe it could become “their place.”
Tyler parked and went around to open Brooke’s door.
“Such a gentleman,” she said, smiling.
“My mama raised me right.”
Inside, the restaurant was busy, probably what would be expected on a Saturday night. The hostess led them to a table for two near the back. It was the perfect private spot.
They ordered—salmon for him and steak for her. She ordered a glass of red wine, while Tyler stuck with soda. The waitress brought bread and water and left them alone.
“This is nice,” Brooke said. “Being out somewhere together. Like normal people.”
“We are normal people.”
“You know what I mean.”
Tyler did know.
The meal was good, but the conversation was better. Brooke told him about a difficult customer at the coffee shop who’d demanded a refund because her latte wasn’t hot enough. Tyler shared a story about a car that had come in making a noise Robert swore was possessed.
For almost an hour, Tyler managed to let the murders slip to the back of his mind.
The accusations, Adam’s constant scrutiny, all of it faded beneath the warm glow of the restaurant lights and the way Brooke’s laughter curled around him like something he didn’t deserve but wanted anyway.
It felt right. It was exactly what he’d hoped the night would be.
The server brought the check, and Tyler grabbed it instantly. Brooke looked like she wanted to protest until he shook his head. “I told you, my mama raised me right.” He slipped in enough cash for the bill and a generous tip.
He took a sip of water, not wanting the time to end. “So, you think you’re well enough to run tomorrow?”
“It’s been two weeks. Two weeks today. The headaches are gone, and the bruising is mostly gone. The cut is still tender when I catch it with my brush, but I’m good. Even Gina agrees I can do it as long as I take it easy. And you know how Gina is. Old mother hen.” She smiled.
He knew it was true. Gina, Steph, and another friend named Jocelyn were always there for Brooke.
Even so, Tyler knew Brooke hadn’t told them they were seeing each other again. Her cousin Nick didn’t know either, since he’d no doubt tell Gina. That’s what couples do.
And Brooke certainly hadn’t told Joe Monroe.
He’d done several reports on Monique’s death and the connection between her and Sheila.
He never used Tyler’s name in the reports, but there were plenty of suggestions as to who the primary suspect was.
Enough hints were dropped that anyone who’d been paying attention could put things together.
A shadow fell across their table.
Tyler looked up. A man stood there, around forty, with thinning hair plastered to his forehead and a belly shaped by too many nights spent leaning against a bar. His face was ruddy, his eyes sharp and unfriendly.
“Tyler Gillis,” the man said.
Tyler stiffened. “Can I help you?”
“Thought it was you.”
Brooke leaned forward in her seat. “Hello,” she smiled, her voice friendly. “Something we can help you with?”
He ignored her and stared at Tyler. “You don’t recognize me?”
Tyler stared at the man for a moment. He was vaguely familiar, but Tyler couldn’t place him or put a name on him. Someone from the shop, maybe? Or from before when he lived in Basin County. A classmate, maybe? “Sorry, no . . . ”
“I’m Rusty. Rusty Jones.” The name came out sharp and accusatory. “Sheila’s ex-husband.”
The restaurant noise faded. Brooke gasped, and several diners nearby looked their way.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tyler said carefully.
“Are you?” Rusty’s voice rose. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t look sorry at all. You look like you’re out on a date, having a good time, like you didn’t kill my ex-wife.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Rusty leaned closer. His breath smelled like alcohol. “You were there. At the bank. Same time she left work. Same night she died.”
“Lots of people use the bank.”
“Not lots of people dated her. Not lots of people had reason to want her dead.”
Tyler’s hands clenched under the table. “I didn’t want Sheila dead. I barely knew her anymore.”
“Liar.” Rusty grabbed the edge of the table. “You killed my Sheila, and you killed Monique. And you’re going to pay for it.”
“Rusty.” Brooke’s voice was calm but firm. “You’re upset. We understand that. But Tyler didn’t hurt anyone.”
“Who are you? The girlfriend everyone’s talking about?” Rusty’s laugh was ugly. “Better watch out, sweetheart. You might be next.”
Tyler stood. “That’s enough.”
“Or what?” Rusty straightened to his full height, still shorter than Tyler. He had weight on him, though, most of it around his middle. “You going to kill me too?”
“I’m going to ask you to leave us alone.”
“I don’t think so.” Rusty shoved the table, slamming it into Tyler’s thighs and knocking him back a step.
The restaurant had gone quiet. Everyone was watching now.
Tyler steadied himself. “Walk away.”
“Too late.”
Rusty swung, wild and fast. Tyler got an arm up in time, but Rusty’s other hand drove in low and hard, cracking into his ribs. Pain tore through his side.
Tyler lost his footing and went down hard. Rusty was on him immediately, his fist slamming into Tyler’s jaw. Stars burst across Tyler’s vision.
Brooke shouted something, sharp and urgent. Chairs scraped across the floor. Rusty had him pinned, one knee driving into his chest, hands clamped around his throat.
Tyler clawed at Rusty’s wrists, trying to pry them loose, but the angle worked against him and Rusty had all the leverage. Pressure pounded behind his eyes. His vision tunneled. Then the weight vanished. He sucked in a ragged breath and rolled onto his side, coughing.
Through watering eyes, he saw Brooke standing over Rusty, the broken wooden chair still in her hands. Rusty lay on the ground, clutching his shoulder, his face twisted with pain and surprise, splinters scattered around him.
“Stay down,” Brooke said, her voice shaking, holding the jagged chair above him.
Rusty looked at her, then at Tyler, then at the restaurant staff rushing toward them.
“She hit me,” Rusty said, like he couldn’t believe it.
Two servers reached them. A man who looked like a manager was already on his phone, probably calling the police.
“We’re leaving,” Brooke said. She dropped the broken chair and reached for Tyler’s hand. “Now.”
Tyler let her pull him to his feet. His ribs screamed, and his jaw throbbed where Rusty had connected. But he could stand.
They moved toward the exit, but the manager stepped in front of them.
“You need to wait for the police,” he said.
“That man attacked my boyfriend,” Brooke said. “We defended ourselves.”
“You broke a chair. You’re going to pay for it.”
“Fine. Send me a bill.” She fished a business card out of her pocket and thrust it at the man before pushing past him, Tyler following. They made it to the truck before anyone came after them.
Tyler’s hands shook as he pulled his keys from his pocket. Brooke took them from him.
“I’ll drive.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
She pulled out of the parking lot as sirens sounded in the distance, getting closer.
“They’re going to find us,” Tyler said. His voice was rough from Rusty choking him.
“Let them. He attacked you first. Everyone in that restaurant saw it.”
Tyler touched his jaw, wincing. It was already swelling. “You hit him with a chair.”
“I did.”
“You could’ve been hurt.”
“You are hurt.” Brooke’s hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “He had you down and was choking you. I wasn’t going to just stand there.”
Tyler looked at her, taking in the shake in her hands and the fierce set of her jaw as adrenaline faded.
She’d fought for him. Literally picked up a chair and hit someone to protect him, despite all the doubt, despite what people would say, despite the risk to her own reputation and safety.
She’d chosen him.
“Brooke,” Tyler started, but didn’t know how to finish.
“Don’t.” She glanced at him, then back at the road. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“Still. I hate that it happened.”
“I hate it, too, but it did. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She reached across the console and took his hand. Her fingers were still trembling.
Tyler squeezed back. He held on like she was the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to knock him down.
They drove the rest of the way in silence, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling, the kind that came from understanding.
When they reached Irma, Brooke drove to Tyler’s house instead of hers. She helped him inside, found ice for his jaw, and checked his ribs.
“You should see a doctor,” she said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re stubborn.”
“So are you.”
She smiled at that, a real smile despite everything.
Tyler caught her hand as she pressed the icepack to his face. “Thank you. For back there. For saving me.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She looked like she was going to say something, but instead, she leaned in and kissed him, careful of his injured jaw, her lips soft against his.
When she pulled away, she said, “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to head home.”
He caught the look she gave him and couldn’t quite make it out. He wanted to suggest she stay, but the words wouldn’t come. It felt like he’d be asking for too much. Besides, he was hurting and knew he’d be terrible company.
“I’m good. See you tomorrow?”
“Sure.” She smiled.