Chapter Thirteen #4
“Yes.” He answered simply because emotion clogged his throat.
He despised this plan but didn’t want to not support her ideas.
Not just because of their relationship, but the fact she only talked to her boss in a field office full of people told him a lot about her work environment, and he hated that for her.
He couldn’t move without one of six or seven people checking on him.
Case in point? His ringing phone. Mackey.
He opted out of the call and sent a quick text message.
Hunt helped Cait to her feet. “Let’s go inside.”
He followed them, stopping at the door to study the street.
“Nothing there,” Hunt advised. “All the cameras are on the monitors in the kitchen, and we have close to 360-degree coverage. All the entrances are secured. Alarms are green and weapons are loaded and in drawers at each door. Cait’s car is in the garage, and my truck is at Doog’s.
” Hunt’s XO lived a six minute drive away.
“Frank home, too?” Quaid intended that as sarcasm, but it came out terse and expectant.
“Not at the moment, but he’ll tell me when he arrives.”
Quaid followed Cait to the kitchen and didn’t say anything when she started making sandwiches. She fed people in her kitchen. No excuses.
“He’s devolving, which meant nothing to me until Alanna explained it.
Your people followed his assassinations.
He has one method there, but I checked the dates.
He hasn’t been credited with a killing for close to eighteen months.
We’re still searching for victims from the serial side, but we have two we’re sure of, and Frank is searching police reports for more.
Alanna’s pretty sure these searches will hit a deep pocket of kills. ”
Cait set a sandwich in front of him, then one in front of Hunt. Hunt dug in. He never said no to food. “How’s Alanna?”
He forced a bite, intrigued by the ham, cheese, and jalapeno combination.
He waited to answer, chewing while he assessed how to say what he wanted.
“Ear still bothering her, but she’s not complaining.
She’s mind deep into the information and writing things on her whiteboard that mean nothing to me.
It’s leading her, though. Where? Don’t know.
But her nights are chaotic with dreams.” Or the one she’d slept with him had been.
Cait gazed at Hunt. “I’ve experienced those dreams. Sleeping with Hunt helped mine, but alone was another story.”
“This is what we’re planning. I don’t want Safe Harbor or either of you to be collateral damage. I’m sorry I ever came here in the first place.”
“It got you armed, though, right? You were defenseless.” Hunt was always practical. “How’s your car?”
“Dead on arrival. It still runs, but I don’t care to mess with it. Somebody might want to fix it, but it won’t be me.”
“Part of shedding the old Quaid?” Cait ruffled his dark hair, and he took the sisterly act the way it was intended.
“Possibly.”
“It’s time.” She confirmed their months ago talk.
“Yes, it is.”
Hunt’s phone rang. Cait sighed. “Day off?”
“No such thing. Sorry, honey.” He tapped the green answer button and left the table.
Now was his chance, but Quaid hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.
“Getting in over your head?”
“No. Getting right with my head.”
Cait patted his hand and went back for her sandwich and the cookie jar. Once she sat again, he blurted out what was bothering him.
“How do you know when pushing someone toward a home is the right thing to do?”
“I assume we’re talking about Alanna and your home?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t push her toward it. You make it safe so she’ll choose it.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes. Hunt needed time to turn off his internal warning blare every time he moved my direction and in every step we took to build this.”
He stayed quiet a minute, pushing his empty plate aside and going for the peanut butter blossoms in the cookie jar.
“She has so much bad sitting behind her, yet she’s pushed through and built something solid.
Only… she hesitates like someone constantly ready to leave and expecting no one to fight for her. ”
Cait didn’t smile, didn’t placate, didn’t tease. “Hunt did that, too. Still does at times. Maybe she doesn’t want to leave, but doesn’t know how to stay.”
“And where does that leave me?”
“Stay. Every time.”
The similarities to what Elizabeth advised hit home.
How do you love someone who doesn’t believe home lasts?
She had no reason to believe a safe place existed after the death of her parents, the death of her grandfather, and Mercer’s attack?
Home held no surety for her because nobody gave it to her or helped her build one.
Whit tried, but he couldn’t do it for himself.
He faced Cait, reality ripping off his blinders. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”
She turned serious eyes to Hunt on the front porch. “The good stuff usually is.” She patted his shoulder and cleared his dirty dishes, then took a plastic bag from the cupboard and handed it to him. “Take some cookies home to Alanna.”
“Do cookies work?”
“It’s the little stuff. Gold.” Her private grin told him there was a story there, but he didn’t ask.
But he could do this. He could stay. Wanted to stay. And…he would trust that he could hold her to him and teach her how, too.