Chapter 12 #2
He swallowed, his face illuminated in the dash light. “First, you stand up to some guy in the woods who’s holding a .308—probably fully loaded—and then you just . . . you just ran into that barn.” He winced, just a little, and then, very softly, “Mars could have been waiting inside.”
Oh.
He glanced at her. Just that one glance, but in it she spotted the past. And the future. And the fact that . . .
Yeah, she could have gotten them both killed.
Right then, the story of his getting ambushed sort of slid through her, and . . . She had no right to put him in that situation. To put herself in the kind of danger that made him show up, defend her, and nearly get himself killed.
No wonder he’d walked away from her all those years ago. Run, really.
Or maybe . . . escaped?
She pressed her hand to her stomach, the roiling inside. “I’m sorry.”
He made a noise, deep inside his chest. But as he turned into the resort parking lot, he reached over and took her hand. Squeezed it.
Then let go.
Her eyes burned.
He parked. Shut off the engine. Then turned. The lights from the residence lodge entry poured into the windshield. So much earnestness in his eyes, it just swept her up. “Really, I’m so sorry.”
He reached out and touched her face, his fingers a little chilled from the steering wheel. “HT, you need to trust me. I don’t need to be the boss of you, but if we’re going to be partners, then . . .”
Partners?
And now her eyes flooded. Maybe he heard his word too, because he dropped his hand.
“Okay, more than partners. But you gotta work with me. Listen to me. I have your back, and I’m in this . . . but—”
“Then you have to promise not to die.”
He blinked at her, and maybe she didn’t know exactly where that came from, but his eyes widened.
The rawness of her words made her reach for the door. She piled out, Orlando behind her.
“C’mon!”
She closed the door on Jericho’s word, hating herself a little. No, a lot.
Maybe he wasn’t the runner here. And that thought had her stopping right there in the parking lot.
What was she doing?
Perhaps Orlando knew too, because he leaned against her leg, then sat in her path, as if in cahoots with Jericho, who got out and rounded the car.
She looked up at him, frustration in his handsome face, those eyes hard. “I’m scared too!” she said.
He had stopped right in front of her and now nodded.
“You think I didn’t regret running after Mars. Especially when I saw you two fighting—I was terrified. I thought I’d see you beaten to death and it would be all my fault and”—she pressed her hands to her face—“it was always my fault. No wonder you left. I would have left too—”
“Harley, stop.” Jericho reached out and pulled her to himself, hard, strong, sturdy. “I’m not going to die. And you’re not going to run, and Mars isn’t going to win.”
And she so wanted to believe him that she just held on, buried her face in his jacket. She didn’t even know why she was crying, but after a moment, she hiccupped and looked up at him.
He was smiling down at her.
Oh she loved this man. The truth of it broke through, took hold. “I ran away first,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Aw, HT,” he said quietly. “Stop apologizing and let me kiss you.”
Then he bent down and did exactly that, his hands holding her face, the touch soft, sweet, gentle.
Jericho.
Orlando barked and Jericho looked up as headlights streamed over them. A Bowie Resorts truck pulled up beside them, and Jericho slipped his hand into hers.
Hudson climbed out of the truck, wearing a work jacket, boots, a ball cap. A few fatigue lines etched his face.
“Hey, Hud,” Jericho said. “Late day.”
“Yeah. We had a truck stolen from the worksite last night.” He sighed.
“And some building supplies are missing again.” He reached into the truck.
“But I got dinner from the Midnight Sun. And I think we’ll be ready for the grand opening next weekend.
” He shut the door. “So, what have you two been up to?”
“SO THIS HUNTER,” Hudson said to Jericho as he snagged another rib from the carton, “you think he’s with Summit Construction?”
They sat around the oak table, just the guys. Harley had escaped into the home office to search for something on Hudson’s computer.
“Maybe,” Jericho said as he finished off his rib. He looked around for Orlando, but the dog had abandoned him to sit with Harley.
She’d gone weirdly quiet after he’d kissed her—mostly because he had no response, really, for her sudden and apparent regret. And her tears hadn’t helped. It just turned him wordless, thudded a deep ache into his chest.
He didn’t know how to fix it.
Hudson glanced toward the office, the light streaming from under the closed door in the hallway off the kitchen. He lowered his voice. “She okay?”
“She’s hurt. But relieved. And . . . it’s a crazy mix of emotions.” He didn’t blame her. Jericho didn’t know what to feel about the events over the last twenty-four hours. The promises he’d made.
The way his heart had left his body . . . followed her around. The fact was, he wanted to join Orlando in the room with Harley, his words still thundering inside him. “I’m not going to die. And you’re not going to run, and Mars isn’t going to win.”
Felt a little like a promise he’d made to himself.
But Mars—the guy was still out there. And maybe finding him would help her see that, no, he wasn’t going to die, and Mars wasn’t going to win, and this whole thing could end happily.
Oh, he hoped so.
“Have they found the truck yet?” Malachi asked Hudson.
Moments before, Hudson had been on the phone with Deke, describing the stolen truck. Sounded like the same truck that had forced Gregg off the road.
“Nope,” Hudson said. “But the building materials do match Gabe’s account—”
“Adam,” Jericho said, and Hudson gave him a look.
“Right. Adam. And for the record . . . that’s a crazy story. I remember Gabe—Adam—after the plane crash. He worked on the wing addition here at the resort and built a couple cabins. All with North Face Construction.”
“I want to head up to the Eagle’s Nest with you in the morning, Hud,” Jericho said. “See if I can nose around the Summit Construction office.”
Hudson picked up a napkin, wiped his fingers. “It’s Sunday. No one will be working, so I’m headed to church in the morning though . . .” He raised an eyebrow.
“Is that an invitation?”
“It’s not a command. But couldn’t hurt to throw a little prayer in the direction of a happy ending with you two.” He smiled.
Jericho quirked an eyebrow.
“Please. I saw you two kissing long before I pulled up. Feels like old times.”
“Old times?”
Hudson glanced at Malachi, back to him. “Your bedroom wasn’t the only one that overlooked the dome house. And the dock.”
Jericho’s mouth opened. “I’m now going to have to hurt you.”
Hudson held up his hand. “Hey, I promise, there was no peeping. Or popcorn. We had your back . . . In fact, a couple times, Malachi headed off Mom’s sixth sense that you’d gone AWOL.
She’d head to your room and Mal would sneak into the connected bathroom and flush the toilet, like maybe you were in there reading or something. ”
He glanced at his youngest brother, who winked.
Oh. “Thanks.”
Malachi lifted a shoulder. “You were nicer when you were with her. Less bossy.”
“I was never bossy.”
Silence. Hudson picked out a rib. “Whatever.”
For some reason, Harley’s words from the cabin latched on. “You can’t save everyone.”
And his own stupid response. “I can try.”
Oh. “Maybe I was, just a little.”
“You kept us alive.” Sully had walked into the room. “Not an easy feat.” He had gone upstairs to check on Kennedy, who retired early.
Grief made people tired. He remembered that.
Now Sully sat at the table, set down a cold can of root beer, reached for the box and pulled out a rib. “Fact is, we’ve all been a little at loose ends since Mom and Dad died.” He grabbed a napkin. “Probably time to admit that we need each other.”
More silence.
“Okay, I’m not saying we hug or anything, but just . . . you know. Life feels less overwhelming with you guys around.”
“You two are going to make it through this,” Hudson said quietly.
Sully met his eyes, his mouth a line. Nodded. “Yeah.” He opened the root beer. “We’re not quite ready to head back out to the outpost.”
“No rush, bro.” Hudson took his own can, crumpled it, and tossed it like a basketball toward the garbage.
And the action just stirred up a thousand family dinners, all four of them, and their parents, the laughter, the ribbing—even the fighting, sometimes.
Family. It swept through Jericho, heating him, filling up brittle, hollow places.
He’d already apologized. Now maybe he needed to embrace the grace on the other side.
“Okay, I’ll go to church with you in the morning.”
Hudson nodded. “Good. Barry Kingston attends too. You can talk to him about his findings regarding the plane crash.”
Steps in the hallway, as well as clipping against the floor. He looked over—Harley had come out of the room, Orlando her shadow.
“So?”
“I did some digging. As a PI, I have access to some private databases, and I did a hunt on Summit Construction. They started a year after Mom and Dad died, but according to some records I found, it’s the same ownership as North Face Construction.
All owned by a company called Blue Peak Holdings, LLC.
But according to my research, they have no assets, no other holdings .
. . so my guess is that it is a shell company.
Its registered agent is a law firm in Alaska, with just a PO address, so I think that’s fake too.
I’ll do a search for the annual report of Blue Peak tomorrow—it might have its corporation holders listed. But for now, I’m going to bed.”
Silence.
“What?” She reached for Jericho’s root beer. “I’m a PI. Did you think I just ran down bail jumpers?”
“Please don’t remind me,” Jericho said.
She winked at him. Looked down at Orlando. “So, buddy, you coming to snuggle with me?”