Chapter 10
When Abigail had first become a mom, she never thought she would get used to the feeling of being in some kind of emergency for long periods of time. It wasn’t that her kids had been accident-prone or that she was particularly unwell after giving birth. It was just that she had twins and no idea how to be a mom. The feeling of everything being new and whenever one of her babies had done something unexpected, she felt as if something was wrong.
Little did she know then that her ability to cope and strategize even through this feeling of constant emergency was actually going to be serving her very well in this little house in Rhode Island while they waited for Byron to arrive. Cleo had calmed down, of course; however, she was still upset, and the closer she got to genuine calm had been to pace the hallways. Byron finally knocked on the door a few hours after they called. It had taken him a while because he had to leave a job he was on. Cleo had seemed annoyed by this, but Abigail was quietly amazed that he would even consider leaving a job and rushing to her home based on the very vague request that she had made down the phone.
Sitting across from them now in the kitchen, Byron looked calm and patient as they tried to explain starkly why they had called him. He had nodded, tapped the table, and listened as Abigail explained that Cleo hadn’t heard from Bee.
“I understand that,” he said, “but why are you worried rather than just upset…”
Abigail took a deep breath and glanced at Cleo. She had spent the last several hours debating internally over how she was going to tell Byron. She swallowed hard. “So, you know how you thought you saw someone in those photos?"
His eyebrows furrowed and he cast a glance at Cleo. Abigail tried to telepathically tell him that she hadn’t told Cleo anything but knew that eventually she would have to explain herself to both of them.
"Yeah?"
"Well, so did Bee. She recognized a couple of different people. Not very nice people, and you know how obsessed with true crime she is."
Byron snorted. While Abigail wasn’t particularly surprised he felt derisively towards Bee, it wasn’t like him to react like that.
"Just because she knew couple of these people… or thought she did, because I’m guessing neither of you have looked them up? Are they actually these terrible people she says they are? That doesn’t mean that she’s gone off and gotten herself into trouble. She’s probably just ignoring you because her little show didn’t go as planned."
"What do you mean little show?"
Cleo’s question hung in the air between her and Byron, the tension brewing as she glared at him. Abigail held up her hands.
"What I mean by little show," Byron said, "is that I’m guessing she intended for you to be impressed by her supposed knowledge, and when you were appalled by it, she was embarrassed and upset, so she left. And now she’s punishing you for it."
As Abigail watched Byron speak, she felt herself shaking her head in disbelief—how could this guy say he didn’t have a problem with Bee and then go out and say stuff like this?
"Hey!" Cleo exclaimed.
"Listen, I know that you have issues with Bee, but she’s not the one coming to you and asking for help. We are," Abigail said, interrupting before Cleo could start telling him off.
The smirk dropped away from his face, and he rolled his shoulders side to side.
"Yeah, okay, I guess," he said. “Can you please tell me why you’re actually worried, though? From the looks of it, the people in those photos are from ten or fifteen years ago. What makes you think they’d be a problem now?"
This was it…
“So, the day you came over and tore out of here,” Abigail said, “I was going to tell you something that day but... Well we kind of got distracted.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and nodded for her to continue.
“Well… When we opened the safe first—there was a gun in there.”
Byron stared at her, that impassive blank look on his face that Abigail was coming to really dislike.
"Okay, in… The gun safe?"
The very deliberately calm voice was only making her more prickly.
"Yes. Except my father never owned a gun. As far as I knew, anyway. That’s alarming in itself, right? You might be thinking that your performance is what distracted me that day; you’d be right, but you’d also be wrong. The thing that really got to me was that after you flew out of here, I saw that it was gone."
Finally, the reaction she had been expecting.
"What!?" Byron exclaimed loudly, "What you mean gone?"
"I mean," Abigail said, "that the gun that was previously in a locked gun safe was no longer there. I panicked, strangely enough. Cleo came over because I could hardly give you a call. Could I? We saw footprints in the dust along the hallway when we went upstairs. Not mine."
The chair gave an unholy squeal as Byron stood violently from the table.
"Why would you not tell me this?" his voice was low and he sounded genuinely upset, but that wasn’t really Abigail’s problem.
"Because you had just freaked out at me," Abigail said, "…and then I didn’t know how to bring it up the next time."
The meaningful look she gave him actually hit its target this time and she watched as he realized that the ‘next time’ he had been in her house was the day he had let her sit in on the call he wasn’t supposed to have.
“Okay, fair,” he said, holding his hands up, “that’s totally fair. I’m sorry for freaking out—then and now.”
He cast a sidelong glance at Cleo, telling Abigail he did not want to elaborate on this, if possible.
“Thank you for apologizing,” she said, “it means a lot.”
“What did you do?” he asked, coming to her side of the counter and standing just a little closer than Abigail’s heart rate could stand, “are you all right?”
She breathed in his scent as she looked up at him, oranges and something else she couldn’t quite place. Her voice faltered as he gently placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“I… uh, well, we called the police,” she said, also glancing at Cleo, who was smirking at the exchange.
“The local police?” Byron asked.
“No, the Mexican police,” Cleo snarked.
Byron recoiled, “What?”
“Of course the local police!” Cleo replied, “Who else would we call?”
“Sure, of course, sorry,” he said, removing his hand from Abigail’s shoulder.
Abigail took the opportunity to inform him of how kind of useless the call had been, though Jada had been personable enough.
“Then, this morning,” she continued, “the first box of my father’s documents arrived and we found some interesting things when we went through all the stuff. Well, possibly interesting—”
“Definitely interesting,” Cleo interrupted.
Abigail shot her a look before continuing, “including a notebook with almost nothing in it except a few pages of what looks like a code.”
“A code? Like a cipher?” Byron asked.
“Are you making fun of me right now?” Abigail asked, suddenly unsure if she wanted to continue.
“No! Not at all. Just wanted to clarify—code like cipher, or computer code, or like code of conduct…”
Cleo narrowed her eyes with a snort similar to the one he had given her earlier.
“Do you mean a manifesto? One of them was a terrorist after all.”
“What!? No!” Byron exclaimed, almost shouting as he turned to face her, “Terrorist!?”
Abigail flinched. She had been holding that back for a less dramatic reveal, but she trusted Cleo to dive right in.
“One of them, according to Bee, was a terrorist,” Abigail said, “which should give you some context about why Cleo is this concerned.”
There was a beat of silence while Byron took a moment to clear his thoughts and refocus.
“Okay,” he said finally, “and why are you telling me this and not the police?”
“Because they were so much help last time?”
She watched for his reaction as she spoke, almost daring him to give her that blank mask again.
To his credit, he shrugged and nodded in agreement—though Abigail was sure she could see something else in his expression as well.
“Plus,” she said, “I just feel like you’d know what we could be doing to check on her.”
He caught her gaze and sighed after a few moments, running his hands over his face.
“Okay, sure,” he said, “I can help, but let’s have a look at this notebook first, please.”
It looked like Cleo was going to say something, judging by the look on her face. Abigail wanted to cut her off before she had a chance, but in a total about-face, Cleo’s mouth dropped open, and she stood from her chair so quickly she nearly knocked it over.
“Cleo?” Abigail asked.
“I just, uh, realized we haven’t eaten today—I’m gonna go get the menus,” she replied as she almost ran from the room.
Abigail turned to look at Byron but he was glaring at his phone with such venom that she almost wanted to bolt as well.
“Are you all right?”
At her words, he looked up and met her gaze. His eyes were burning intensely with some emotion she couldn’t quite put a finger on. He was still standing close to her, close enough that she had to look up into his face, and she saw his expression soften as he looked at her. A warm feeling rushed through her veins as she took him in. He was angry, yes, but not at her.
"I will be," he said, carefully placing his phone down on the kitchen counter, "once I know the locals have you on their radar and will actually do something about it."
She swallowed hard, "Oh, okay..."
"Abby, you have to let me do something," he said, then corrected himself: "Well, no, actually you don’t have to, but please let me. Someone has broken in and stolen something from you that you didn’t even know was there at first. That concerns me. Please, let me install a security system."
His voice was low and measured. Abigail wasn’t a hundred percent sure she had heard everything he’d said because she’d gotten so lost in how it sounded—how it might sound when saying other things.
"Uh... isn’t that very expensive?" she asked, wondering if her savings could take the hit and if she would need to take on more consultancy work to cover it.
"I have one," he said, "let me install it."
"Oh, no, I couldn’t!"
"You can, and I’d prefer it if you did," he said, placing his hand on her upper arm.
Abigail’s heart raced and the heat from where he was touching her, even through her shirt, radiated out and made her feel flushed. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before making deliberate eye contact with her.
"Please?"
It was barely a whisper.
"Okay," she said, her voice wavering.
The tiniest twitch of his lips hinted at a smile and he leaned down, causing an electric thrill to run through her as she lifted her face in response. His arm slipped around her waist, and he hugged her tightly.
If she was being honest, she had stupidly been expecting him to kiss her... but she also had to admit that she was not disappointed. He held her tight enough to lift her from the chair as he straightened and held on just a little longer than felt strictly platonic.
When they broke apart, she took in a deep breath and felt a little dizzy as he made his way to the office where she could hear Cleo loudly ordering pizza. Steadying herself on the table, she couldn’t entirely tell if it was the lack of oxygen or the prolonged contact with such a gorgeous guy that was making her dizzy but either way she did not mind.
His phone screen lit up with a text. He’d left it unlocked and open on the counter. She knew she shouldn’t look, but she saw her name towards the top of a conversation with someone called Cap F.
Byron: What the hell, Fontaine? Do you not have any decent officers under you anymore? Abigail Clement reported a break-in and theft of a gun and the two beat guys you sent around here treated her like a nuisance call!
Fontaine: Really, eleven months of the cold shoulder and you break it for your new girlfriend?
Abigail blanched. His what!?
Byron: She is not my girlfriend. She’s far smarter than that. She’s not crazy, and she’s not making it up. I swear to God above that if your dislike of me gets her hurt, I’ll make sure every single person who matters knows it was your department's fault.
Fontaine: All right, jeez, calm down, By. If you’re serious about this, I’ll look into it myself tomorrow.
She gritted her teeth: so they had thought she was crazy? The seething annoyance she felt was tempered somewhat by the knowledge that Byron had leaped to her defense—apparently contacting someone he had no desire to speak to in order to do that. Her stomach fluttered at the thought, followed immediately by a sense of dread—what if she entirely screwed up their friendship? On top of that, should she be feeling this way about someone who couldn’t even be honest about why he didn’t like or trust Bee?