Chapter Seven #2
Hunter hesitates before getting out of the truck, pulling back his jacket to check the handgun in a shoulder holster. Where the hell had that come from?
“Stay close,” he orders, letting go of his coat and covering up the gun again.
I nod, still staring where that gun had been. “Do you always have that on you?” He must have put the holster on while I’d been unpacking, before pulling on his coat.
“I do when I’m investigating a missing person who may be connected with several other missing persons,” Hunter replies.
Fair point. Knowing he’s carrying a gun drives home the reality of what we’re doing—searching for a man who could be dead by the hand of someone who’d killed more than a few times over if Hunter’s research was right. A man who’d attacked me just yesterday.
Absently, I rub my fingers over the swollen cut on my head. It didn’t really hurt unless I touched it, then it felt like a bruise.
I think of Matthew, who’d worked with me for just a short time. He was funny and clever as he slowly emerged from his shell. I sincerely hope we’re wrong and that we find him safe and sound.
I pop open the truck door and step onto the rutted driveway. Together, we wade through the sea of wet, knee-high yellow grass that gives way to uneven pavers leading to the front door.
“Nice place,” I mutter. I can’t picture Matthew living here, though maybe Hunter’s right. Coldwater seems to swallow people’s better instincts. I hadn’t known the man very long, but he’d been organized and hard-working at the café, and he kept the apartment tidy.
“I don’t know,” Hunter says. “It sort of fits.”
I get what he means. Everything we’ve seen of Coldwater, the inn, Kirkland’s place, hell, even the town itself, is wrapped in a general sense of shabby neglect.
Hunter knocks hard on the front door. Flakes of green paint shake loose and flutter to the ground. We wait a minute, watching for signs of life behind the grime-streaked windows.
Nothing.
Hunter tries again, but there’s still no answer.
“I don’t think he’s home,” I say, stating the obvious.
Hunter sighs. “I think you’re right.”
“Now what?”
“Let’s go into town like we planned, check out the store where Matthew worked. We can always come back later.”
“I guess,” I say, and follow Hunter back to the truck.
I can’t shake the feeling that we’re losing any chance to catch the man by surprise.
I’d lived in a small town long enough that I knew how fast the waves of gossip rolled.
Nancy and Jim Ellis would mention us to someone, and that we were here looking for my missing cousin.
It was only a matter of time. More than likely, word had already started to spread.
If Kirkland did have anything to do with Matthew disappearing, his cousin, looking for answers, could drive him into hiding. And how would we find Matthew then?
***
Less than fifteen minutes later, and we’re back downtown, Hunter pulling into a parking spot across the street from The General Store where Matthew had worked.
Dark clouds are low and menacing, but the rain from earlier has stopped, at least for now.
The air is cold and damp, and when the wind kicks up, it seeps through my clothes, sending a chill into my bones.
I pull my jacket tighter around me. God, I hate the cold.
We both climb out of the truck, then cross the empty street to the store in question.
Set in the center of Coldwater’s downtown core, or what was left of it, The General Store is one of the few businesses still open.
On the opposite side of the street, and a few empty storefronts down, there’s a thrift store and a convenience store on the corner, but not much else.
Few cars pass, and I spot only one person on the sidewalk. She looks like she’s in her twenties, and she’s pushing a baby carriage into The General Store ahead of us.
Absently, I reach for Hunter’s hand, tangling my fingers with his. He stops walking, sighs and shoots me a glare. “Why do you keep doing that?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to admit that I’m holding his hand because it clearly annoys him. And that’s the only reason. Not because I like the feel of his big, warm hand wrapped around mine. Nope. Nothing like that.
Instead, I grin up at him. “We’re supposed to be a couple, so we should look like a couple.”
I know my answer isn’t fooling him. I can tell by the smirk curling his mouth that he knows I like the way it gets under his skin.
“Really?” he asks.
“Got to play the part.” I grin. I can’t help myself.
“Why stop at hand-holding, then?” Hunter steps toward me at the same time he pulls me closer by the hand he’s gripping.
Before I can say anything more, he leans in, pressing his lips against mine.
For a split second, my mind blanks, and all I can think about is Hunter’s mouth; the firm pressure of his lips, the taste of mint from his toothpaste and the heat simmering under my skin like an electrical charge, chasing away any hint of a chill from the cold air outside.
Without thinking, I move closer, drawn by the heat radiating from his frame until our chests touch. I deepen the kiss, nipping at his lips to grant me access. He does, and I take full advantage, sweeping my tongue along his.
I’d forgotten what it was like to kiss him, how much I missed it. I feel like I’m home again, and I know I am so far in over my head, I may never find my way out.