Chapter Eight
Mick flipped the wall switch to light the rickety chandelier and rested in the one chair at Rachel’s table that offered a good view of the staircase. Then he folded his hands and waited. And waited.
By the time the stairs creaked, he’d already convinced himself she would stay up there until he shut off the lights and headed back to his apartment.
Rachel stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
She still wore those soft-looking pj’s, along with the unwelcome sweatshirt and bra that obscured the enjoyable silhouette from when he’d first arrived.
With folded arms, she watched him from across the room, tapping the tip of one fuzzy slipper with the toe of the other in a muffled beat. Then she walked over and gripped the back of the chair where her closed laptop rested.
“What was that about earlier? What did you mean, ‘I’ll wait’?”
He glanced down at the table and back up again to state the obvious that he’d done just as he’d promised. “I was going to ask you about your sudden change of plans. Why were you trying to back out of showing me the emails?”
She shook her head as though even she wasn’t sure.
“Let’s get this over with, so you can go home, and I can get to bed.”
“Thought you had so much computer work to catch up on.”
She met his smirk with a scowl. “I do.”
Rachel slid into the spot in front of her laptop.
Just like in his office and the other day in the minivan, her floral scent settled around him.
Soothing and enticing. He couldn’t help but draw in that aroma in a long, deep breath.
That only forced him to exhale as hard as he could without making her think he was about to pass out.
Even if there hadn’t been warnings in those emails nor a possible threat from that SUV driver the other day, he had to recognize the danger of getting too close to the former fire chief’s sister. To his reputation, sure. But maybe to someone in as vulnerable a place as he was as well.
While Rachel clicked on a browser and navigated to a web-based email service, Mick did his own search for a safe topic.
“Is that the site of the hacking?”
“Do you want to see the emails or not?” She frowned at the screen while she typed in credentials. After a few seconds, an inbox appeared. “And figuring out a password isn’t the same thing as ‘hacking.’”
“Isn’t it, though?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “You’re lucky your brother didn’t have two-factor authentication turned on, or he would’ve received the code on his cell, and it wouldn’t have let you in, even with a password.”
She scrolled through the long list. “He doesn’t have access to his cell at all at the center. Just these patient phones that during certain hours he’s allowed to use to call loved ones. If he chooses to.”
Though Mick was tempted to ask her about the last part, he decided to stay on topic. “If he knew you wanted it, would he have given you the password?”
Rachel didn’t answer right away. When she did, it was with her body language, shoulders curling forward and chin dipping to her chest. She splayed her fingers over the keys, not pressing any of them.
“He hasn’t called me in more than a week. But when he did call, he said I should stop asking questions about things that aren’t any of my business. How can clearing my brother’s name, and finding out the truth about Dad’s death for that matter, not be my business?”
Though Mick had to agree with her brother on some of that, Rachel had a point. She might have been missing the possibility that Riley had something to hide as well. Maybe even something that could prove he’d embezzled funds from the department.
“He was probably just trying to keep you safe,” he said, and then rubbed the back of his neck. If his need to reassure Rachel wasn’t more proof that he should back several steps away from her, then he couldn’t read a caution sign.
“Anyway, sounds like you listened to him about as much as you listened to me.” As usual, when he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he went for a laugh.
“I don’t like to be told what to do. By anybody.”
He expected her to pin him with her stare then to reinforce that she was talking about him, but she grabbed the external mouse and started scrolling through the packed inbox instead.
“You don’t find it easy to trust anyone, either.”
This time she jerked her head to look at him, her hands gripping the edge of the table on either side of the laptop. “What do you mean by that?”
He blinked, as surprised by his question as her reaction to it. “I mean…someone must have done something—”
“You might as well just say it. ‘Some dude must’ve really done a number on you.’”
“I didn’t say—” Mick stopped himself because he’d nearly said something close to that. But since he had a shovel, he couldn’t resist digging deeper with it. “I did notice that Carly and Carissa’s dad isn’t around, so…”
“You’re expecting me to fill in the blanks, right?” She didn’t wait for his answer before ticking off on her fingers. “Let me see… My mom died in a car accident when I was nine. My dad took his life last August. I’m the reason for my brother’s relapse and his stint in rehab. Is that enough?”
He squirmed with the reality that he wanted to know more. But how could he admit that he was still curious about the twins’ father when she’d just shared tragic details that eclipsed anything some jerk boyfriend could have done? He held up his hands in surrender.
“Sorry. It’s none of my business.” Even if he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of idiot could have left Rachel Hoffman. Had he forgotten that one of the messages she’d found warned about what curiosity did to cats?
“Are those wounds big enough for you?” she pressed.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Sorry about your mom, though,” Mick said, after an awkward pause. His throat filled over the lost little girl, forced to bury her mother when she wasn’t much older than the twins. “I didn’t know.”
“Angelita Flores Hoffman. I look like her in pictures, but her face is pretty blurry in my memories.”
She turned back to the email box, dismissing him and his questions. As tempting as it was to tell her that she couldn’t be responsible for another person’s relapse, he chose to let that one drop. She wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
Finally, she stopped on a message preview and clicked to open it. “Here. This is what you came to see.”
She was wrong about that. He’d come to check on her, just like he’d said. The girls, too, but mostly her. Grateful for the distraction, he scooted closer to read the email. She angled the laptop to show him the quotes she’d mentioned the other day.
“Here’s another one from Miguel de Cervantes, that one who wrote about secrets and graves.” She pointed to the screen. “‘Let every man mind his own business.’”
“That doesn’t sound scary. In fact, it’s good advice.”
“What about this one?” Rachel scrolled down the page and read again. “‘It is not every question that deserves an answer.’ That’s Publilius Syrus from the first century BCE.”
“Still not making me tremble. If you found just that quote, would you have mentioned the emails to me at all?”
“Well, this one might give you shivers. I didn’t see it before.” She slid the laptop to him.
“Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”—William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
“Even that one’s not so bad.” But this time he shifted his feet under the table. Like before, the warnings were vague, their threat still unformed. “Anyway, that’s just Julius Caesar.”
She shot a look at him. “How do you know that?”
“Are you saying a firefighter can’t read a book? Or a play?” He shook his finger at her but couldn’t help grinning. “Before you answer, remember you’re from a firefighter family.”
“I only meant I’m surprised you chose that one.”
He rolled his eyes, not buying it. “High school literature. Extra credit project,” he explained, anyway. “I know. It was so long ago that I shouldn’t be able to remember it.”
She opened a spiral notebook to a page with several notes on it. Beneath the others, she wrote down the sender’s email address, the date and the quote. “You talk about yourself like you’re a few breaths away from old age.”
“Maybe I am.” He pointed to her long list of email addresses.
“Either your brother signed up for a quote club with a bunch of different word fanatics, or one person’s been sending messages from multiple addresses. Look at that one.” He pointed to the screen, this time unable to keep himself from shivering. “Death is definitely a theme.”
“It hath been often said, that it is not death, but dying which is terrible.”—Henry Fielding (1707-1754)
“They’re all warnings, but Riley wasn’t listening.”
She appeared to have said those words to herself, ironic since she, too, had chosen to ignore the messages of caution.
“There are so many of them,” she said, as she jotted down another email address. “I need to start a spreadsheet.”
Somehow, Mick had to convince her to avoid following her brother’s example and heed the warnings.
“I have lousy taste in men.”
Mick squinted at her, the comment making no sense. But as she sat taller, her gaze locked on her notebook as though her own words had surprised her, he recognized that she’d referred to his earlier question. Details he still craved, whether he should have asked or not.
“What are you saying?” he prompted after too many seconds ticked by.
“You asked about the girls’ father. There’s your answer.”
It was hardly a complete one, but she didn’t appear likely to share more.
“A lot of women have that problem. Just ask my ex-wife.” Mick’s breath hitched. She might have been surprised by her confession, but his had downright shocked him. He hadn’t talked about her with anyone since— Well, since…
When Rachel clicked the laptop closed, Mick pushed back from the table and stood. Even if he wasn’t an expert on Miss Manners’s rules, he could tell when a meeting was over.
She came to her feet as well but didn’t sprint over to the coat-tree for his jacket. He headed that way himself.
“Thanks for showing me the messages. If you see anything else—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Mick stopped just as he’d pulled his coat off the hook. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to hint at all that juiciness and then leave?”
He opened and closed his mouth, studying her. She had to realize that he wasn’t the only one who’d offered a tantalizing tidbit that warranted more discussion. “I’m not sure what you’re saying here.”
“You’ve just admitted that you were a lousy guy. At least that your ex thought so. I’m sure there’s a story there.”
“I was talking about the guy she was having the affair with.” His throat tightened. Why couldn’t he just shut up and head back out into the snow? Did he want her to know his whole pitiful story?
Rachel gestured to the chair where he’d been seated before and headed into the kitchen. From the other room she called, “I think this conversation calls for wine.”
Mick bypassed the chair and followed her but stopped in the doorway. At the counter, Rachel rustled in a drawer and produced a corkscrew. Then she reached for a bottle of red on the countertop.
His chest tightened the way it always did lately when he allowed himself to think about those subjects where innocence and guilt were anything but clear. “We don’t need to talk about all of that. And, anyway, you’ve already said you’re behind on your work.”
“I’ll catch up tomorrow.” She used the tip of the corkscrew to slice the foil seal around the bottle. “I could use the distraction.”
“Then could you make it tea instead? At least for me. I don’t drink.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know.” She pushed the bottle back against the wall. “That’s why you said all those things about alcohol the night I met you.”
“I’m not—”
“I usually don’t— Well, anyway. Do you like Earl Grey? Or I also have herbal tea. I rarely drink that myself since I need caffeine to work at night.”
“Anything’s fine,” he said to stop her nervous babbling.
She flitted back and forth, flipping on an electric kettle and grabbing bags of regular black tea and mugs. Eventually, she slid past him, sideways so they wouldn’t brush, and set a sugar bowl, spoons and napkins on the table.
“Rachel,” he said, as she scooted past him again. “Like I started to say, I’m not an alcoholic. It’s my dad.”
She stepped back to the kettle just as it started beeping. Soon she followed him to the table, carrying two steaming mugs.
“Guess there are a lot of things I don’t know about you,” she said, as he took his first sip.
Mick closed his eyes, his tongue burning, the too-hot liquid singeing all the way down. There were a lot of things she didn’t know about him, too, but she would probably like him a whole lot less when she learned more.