Chapter Twelve
Crawford County Courthouse
Sam had managed to slip into the courtroom right before court started. She had figured after her little morning argument with Nate, she’d have to scramble to find a seat. Instead, he immediately spotted her and raised a hand and motioned her over.
Like he’d been waiting for her. And he clearly had, because he’d saved her a seat.
Which wasn’t that big of a deal. They were kind of all in this together, even if he was pissed at her. But still, it eased one of the knots that had been tied tight in her chest since he’d left so abruptly. Not staying to deal with Bo.
He’d seemed so angry with her. So … she didn’t know. She just thought they were in a fight, and now he was acting like they weren’t. Which eased some things, but heightened anxiety over other things.
If they weren’t fighting, what were they doing? Because she doubted very much he was suddenly down with Bo Lake.
And Detective Jake Hayes.
Buy a clue, Sam.
He’d said that so disgustedly. And like it was obvious why there was tension there. When she didn’t think anything was obvious. Yeah, Nate had been a little weird about things when Jake had asked her out last summer, but it wasn’t like he’d … done anything about all that weird.
And she hadn’t ever gone out with Jake because everything had felt too unsettled and weird.
Still did, somehow.
She slid into the seat next to Nate just as the judge brought the court to order. Casually, Nate rested his arm on the back of her chair. Like he was physically including her in their little group.
Even if that hadn’t unnecessarily choked her up a little, the progress of the day would have.
The lawyers finished their opening statements and then the prosecution began to lay out its case. The witnesses today were all people who’d dealt with Marie Bennet’s dead body. Fire. Police. Coroner.
They painted a gruesome picture of what they’d found of Marie Bennet’s body and tomorrow would be worse.
Getting into the medical examiner’s report and the early days of the investigation.
Or maybe it just felt worse because every step was a bad memory for the Bennets, and worse, a day closer to the Bennets having to take the stand.
And her. Having to go over why she’d focused on Benjamin Bennet as a teenager determined to set her father free.
Maybe if Sam had been able to do that back then, before his prison time had caused him to …
lose his grip on humanity, or whatever it was, she would be happy to get up there and have been right all along.
But it felt like a moot point now. Tragedy compounding tragedy.
When court was adjourned for the day, Sam filed out of the courtroom with the Bennets. Into another freezing cold night. There was supposedly a storm front coming that would dump a foot of snow on them overnight. Sam wasn’t sure if she hoped it wouldn’t delay court or would.
“Well, see you tomorrow,” she offered, spotting Nate’s truck parked in the opposite direction of hers.
“Actually, I’m going to follow you back. I want to talk to you about something.”
He sounded so casual. So normal. She didn’t know why she felt weird. Maybe this morning wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe he’d come to see her way of things. He wanted to have a conversation about Bo—good or bad. They could do that.
“Okay,” she agreed. She gave a little nod then walked over to her car. She glanced back at him.
He was watching her. The weirdness intensified. But she got in her car and drove back to Honor’s Edge. She parked around back like she always did, Nate pulling his truck in next to hers.
Sam got out of her car the same time he got out of his truck. God, it was cold, but she found herself hesitating. What was this about? Was it a conversation best suited to a cold so frigid she’d be too frozen to cry?
Had he not come around to seeing her way? Had he, in fact, done the opposite and this was going to be some kind of … break. A refusal to deal with Bo. With … her? Yeah, she really didn’t know if she wanted to go inside for that. Still, she was already shivering.
“Um, so, did you want to go inside or—”
“I bought the house.” He stood at the back of his truck, leaning against the tailgate. Like he wasn’t cold. Like he was as comfortable as could be.
And he’d bought the house.
Sam blinked. Of all the things she’d considered, she hadn’t really expected … good news. “Already?”
“I put in an offer this morning on the way to court. Had a message from the Realtor at lunch that the buyer accepted—they were motivated, like she said. Hoops to jump through yet and I won’t close until next month, but hopefully the trial is over by then and it can be like … a fresh start.”
A fresh start. God, what would that feel like? Well, if anyone deserved one, it was Nate Bennet.
“That would be great, Nate. I’m glad. You’ll have to let me know how my aunt takes finding out her easy mark isn’t staying put any longer.” She smiled and mostly felt it.
He didn’t laugh at the joke. He just kept standing there, leaning against his truck, studying her in a way she didn’t know how to parse. She wasn’t sure he’d ever looked at her with such … determined intent.
Determined to do what, though? Intent for what? She didn’t have a clue, and it made her weirdly nervous when she was almost never actually nervous around him. It almost reminded her of that first time she’d seen him as an adult, when she’d tracked him down to his loner cabin in Tennessee.
Like whatever portent had skittered across her then was coming to call.
“We should celebrate,” Nate said, pushing off the truck and walking over to her. “You’re a big reason I bit the bullet. You asked some great questions when we walked through. Let’s celebrate.”
She had been hoping to just go upstairs and sleep after last night’s break-in attempt had kept her up most of the night.
Was that what this was? He needed a drinking buddy after that whole thing with Cal yesterday?
He just was looking after her because he was worried about the break-in?
And he knew she’d balk at that, so he came up with some kind of … ruse?
Probably. That made sense.
But he was using his buying a house as an excuse, and she thought that was something to celebrate, so she didn’t call him out on it. Not when they were in this weird truce space where his anger this morning just didn’t … exist anymore.
“Sure. Did you want to go to the Graff or—”
“Didn’t the guy with the stolen identity gift you some fancy bottle of alcohol last month when you solved his case?”
“Uh, well, yeah.”
“Saving it for something special?”
Beyond confused, Sam could only stare at him. “No. Not really.”
“Let’s go up then.” He jerked his chin toward the door.
Up. He wanted to go … up. To her apartment. And drink … a fancy bottle of alcohol.
His version of protecting, she supposed. An excuse to look around, verify the break-in hadn’t compromised her apartment. Yeah, that was what this had to be.
She could argue, or she could let him, and the weird fight this morning had left her feeling awful, so she bit back any refusals or calling out and let him. “Sure. Let’s … do that.” She fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door. She could feel him behind her—a steady wall of presence.
They stepped in and he locked the door behind them, securing the dead bolt.
Sam had to force herself not to hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. It wasn’t weird that they were going up to her apartment. So why did her legs feel a bit like lead and why was her heart thudding in her chest?
She unlocked the door to her apartment, shoved it open, winced internally. “It’s … a mess,” Sam offered lamely.
“I’ve seen your desk. I could have guessed.”
She stepped inside. Nice and warm. She shrugged out of her coat, hung it on the hook on the wall out of habit.
Nate did the same. He hung his coat right on top of hers.
It felt like such a weirdly intimate thing, his coat on top of hers.
For a moment, she could only stare at them … on top of each other.
And she was really losing it. Lack of sleep.
Had to be. She shook her head and crossed to her little kitchenette area.
“It’s around here somewhere. Pull up a seat at the bar.
” She patted the counter that separated her kitchen from the living room.
Then moved around the kitchen, looking through cabinets until she found the bottle.
Nate settled himself on a stool on the other side of the counter.
Sam retrieved two glasses, a little more at ease since there was this whole counter between them. “Want to mix it with something or go straight up?”
“I think fancy”—he lifted the bottle, read the label—“scotch is meant to be sipped straight up.”
“Sure, but I want some ice.” She got some for both glasses while Nate opened the bottle. He poured.
Sam lifted her glass, held it out to him. “Well, here’s to you, Mr. Homeowner.”
He clinked his glass to hers. They sipped, eyes locked as they did it. Sam’s heart thumped loudly against her rib cage. But the taste of the alcohol had her wincing.
“I know it’s supposed to be great and all, but that tastes like ass.”
Nate chuckled and Sam moved to her fridge, pulled out a can of pop. Poured half of it into her glass.
“Somewhere some yuppy—maybe Cal—is having a full-body chill that you just put diet pop in that.”
“Good,” Sam replied. She took a sip this time. “So much better.” She pushed the can across to him. “Want?”
“Nah, I’ll pass on diet.”
And it was almost normal. Sharing a celebratory drink in her kitchen area. Him giving her a hard time about her choice of beverages. Just two friends relaxing after a bad day over some good news.
The normal lasted for all of a second. Because he slid off the stool, and then it was just a reminder of how damn tall he was, or how short she was. For a second, she thought maybe he was going to skirt the counter to be on her side of it.