She leaned forward. “I appreciate your concern, really I do, but until we get a fire going or a way to heat up warm water for our feet, the best thing we can do is keep moving.”
He hated to admit it, but she was right, and the smirk on her face said she knew it. Man, she lit a fire in him. He was never more alive than in her presence, but soon this adventure would end, and she’d be back out of his life.
But with her stalker gone ... Sheriff Gonzales checked in with him often. A weekly call. Fifty-two weeks and no sign of the stalker. She was finally free. Maybe now that fear and stress weren’t a part of their daily lives, they could begin again. Had that been it? Because he really had zero clue why she left.
“Ready?” she said, limping for the door.
“Whoa! Let’s at least get you something to lean on.” He scanned the room. Nothing that would work. “Okay. We’ll look for something, but I want you to lean against me until we find you something stable.”
“Okay.”
Was that a smile on her face?
Entering the shed, I slipped inside—Brady too preoccupied to notice. I waited, observing. Thinking how easily the knife in my hand would slice into him. But only if necessary.
He moved along the work benches. So far, safe. The annoying fool whistled while he worked. What was he, a dwarf?
Trying to block out the noise, I slipped farther back between the two metal shelf racks disguised in darkness. Brady moved, striding mere feet away. People were so oblivious.
Cassie, her ex, and the cops still had no clue how I moved so easily in and out of her place. If you knew a few techniques, it was as easy as slicing pie ... or Brady, if he got much closer.
My muscles coiled, heat rushing through them.
Brady moved for it.
Don’t do it.
The fool lifted the cover off. He’d seen my exit strategy. Night night for Brady.
I stepped from the shadows and moved behind him. They’d said it was hard slitting a throat, but I had it in me. I always had.
Nine
CASSIE HOBBLEDbehind Joel into what had been an office.
“Stan’s dad kept a yardstick in here,” Joel said. “The guy was always woodworking and preferred a yardstick to a tape measure. That might work, though a cane or walking stick would be far more stabilizing.
She stepped farther inside the room, taking in the file cabinets with a thick layer of dust on them, the globe on the desk, pictures hanging on the wall. “Why did no one take this stuff to the new lodge?”
Joel poked around in the closet but glanced over his shoulder at her question. “It’s kind of a sad story.” He straightened and moved for the corner on the right side of the desk, riffling through fishing poles.
“Odd place for those.”
“Frank, Stan’s dad, was odd.”
“Oh.”
“When his wife, Mariel, passed away, Frank sort of died too. He wandered around the empty lodge and was really absent-minded.”
“Dementia?”
“The docs said no. Apparently when people have been married a long time, it’s really hard on the other spouse when one passes. He refused to move out of the lodge and sort of let it fall to ruin. The new lodge was built, but he wouldn’t budge. It was really hardon Stan. Anyway, Frank passed not long after, and Stan hasn’t had the heart to come deal with all of this yet, so it sits.”
“You weren’t kidding. That is really sad.”
“Here you go,” he said, handing her a walking stick. “Like I said, even better than a yardstick. I knew Frank had some around here. The guy loved to hike. Always took a walking stick with him.”
She gripped her glove fingers around it. “Thanks.”
