She remains still, not tense, but contemplative.
“You’re thinking about babies?” she asks.
“I’ve thought about them with you.”
“You? The guy who growled at me a little bit ago and was prepared to separate Jason’s head from his body last week?”
“You’re the one who said I was nurturing,” I argue with a smile. She makes it sound like I don’t have plans to take care of Jason. He was an accomplice and will be dealt with accordingly.
“I don’t think there would be a dad more overprotective than you.”
There wouldn’t.
“I’ve thought about it,” she admits. “Not daydreaming about cute little clothes or picking names or anything, but I’ve wondered if I was capable of motherhood. Whether I’d be a good mom. Growing up without one makes it harder to picture what that might look like for me.”
“You would be a good mom.”
She snorts. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” She’s far too compassionate.
“Is that something you want?” she asks.
“I used to not think so, but with you . . . I like the idea of having a family, and if that family ends up just being me, you, and Odin—that’s okay too. However . . . if you ever decide it’s something you want, or want to discuss more, I’m up for that. It’s nothing we need to rush now.”
“I think”—her finger traces figure eights on my chest—“I think I might want that . . . someday.”
It makes me happy that she’s leaving the door open on that conversation. That’s enough.
“Then we’ll talk about it more someday. We’re not on any sort of timeline.”
“Psh. Speak for yourself,” she quips. “We’ve got a wedding timeline.”
I chuckle. “Oh yeah? Did you pick a date?”
The smile in her voice is audible. “I may have . . .”
TWO MONTHS LATER
I end the call and collapse into Logan’s office chair, relishing the moment. It’s over, it’s finally fucking over. I just got off the phone with the detective we’ve been in contact with for almost two months since the fire. Endless meetings and follow-ups. It seemed like we gave statements a dozen times and handed over everything we had related to her: phone data, photos, even the note that was on the windshield in Bozeman.
Sitting up again, I glimpse down at the phone that’s still warm in my hands.
We’re closing the investigation.Four words I’ve been waiting to hear for months. No more suspicion, no more questions, no charges being filed.
No more nightmares.
For nearly two months, Piper Nygaard has been haunting us from beyond the grave, but this time she isn’t coming back from the dead. This is more than just an online obituary and deleted social media accounts. She’s gone.
That house was filled with evidence, not just the charred grounds of my place, but the crime scene at hers. It was never a rental, she lived there. The place didn’t look lived in because she didn’t have a life. Logan was her hobby—her obsession—and I was getting in the way.
Once they got her laptop, it was pretty much over. She was good at keeping herself hidden but didn’t extend that same stealth to her browser history. She had access to Logan’s email and calendar. Always knew where he was going to be, knew what he was doing. Even going so far as to hire and frame Jason, making the flowers trace back to him just to fuck with Logan—who has assured me Jason will no longer be a problem . . . I didn’t ask.
Most of the Instagram messages were sent while she was using the Wi-Fi at cafés and other public businesses. Much of the security camera footage was gone after thirty days, but Piper also purchased coffees and other items during her visits, leaving a credit card footprint. She truly believed she was invincible.
I step out of Logan’s office feeling weightless for the first time in months. I walk down the aisle, listening to the familiar buzz of tattooing that has always lived in these walls, and toward his station where he’s putting the final touches on a large eagle that spans across his client’s back. The man lies on his stomach with headphones on. Logan glances up at me standing in the entrance to his work area, and I smile—really smile.
“Grant just called,” I mutter, referencing the detective who has been managing this case. “We’re cleared. Nothing is being filed.”
