“A gun? Not just the wrench?”
“You’d be surprised how often ‘Little Jo’ has saved me.” Not counting a time or two she wished she’d had a deadly weapon that could be used from a distance. “But yes, I have a handgun too.”
“Good.”
“While I was out walking, I saw a vehicle and decided to check it out, then recognized it. I figured you’d be back soon. I was only waiting a few minutes. I’m not going to lie, it was getting cold, and I was about to head back to my tiny, safe house hidden in English ivy. Even though I enjoy walking, I’m glad for the ride.”
“You sound relaxed, Jo, and while I’m glad the fresh air and nature did you good, I don’t like that you were out walking alone.” He entered the small town of Forestview and turned right at a stoplight. “Have you heard anything from your father?”
“Nope. I’m not sure I want to.” She stared out the window.
“I don’t believe you.”
“All right. All right. Just considering the possibility that maybe I shouldn’t count on hearing from him.” Was it wrong she wanted to protect herself from being hurt again?
“But more than anything, you want to know that he’s okay.”
“I want to know what and who he’s running from, and I want to—” Tears choked out her next words. She couldn’t finish. “Like I said, he can take care of himself. I need justice for my mother, and I figure since you’re looking into it, along with the Michigan cop, that it can finally happen.”
Cole said nothing, and Jo appreciated the way he listened. He knew when to press her, and he understood when to give her time to think and process. He gave her space. Cole knew entirely too much about her. She’d let him get too close.
Maybe she had run him off. Because she’d needed space, and he’d left to give her all the space she needed. Then he just kept going. Yeah, that was all on her. She didn’t know how to cross the emotional abyss between them. Or why he would suddenly show up and be all in to help her.
God,help me,I don’t know why.
Images of their passionate kisses seized her heart and mind, and she forced them away.
Whatever happened between her and Cole just wasn’t as important as the fact that Cole was now investigating her mother’s murder.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” he finally said.
“It’s weird. Just three days ago, I was fixing a toilet. Nobody wants to fix a toilet. That’s the job for grunts. The bottom-of-the-rung stuff. But you know what? I wasn’t stressed. I had no anxiety. I was looking forward to making a taco casserole Pop wanted to try.” She looked at Cole. “I’m not a Texan, but he introduced me to the food, and you really can’t get true Tex-Mex food here in Washington. Oregon either. I tried.”
“You can get it in Spokane,” he said. “There’s a couple of chains there.”
“Well, I didn’t know that.” A small laugh escaped. Here they were talking about Tex-Mex food when her life was falling apart. But sometimes you had to cling to the small familiar things to keep your head on straight.
Cole slowed to the requisite fifteen miles per hour through the neighborhood. He turned up the driveway, passing Mrs. Crawford’s house, then onto the easement to Spruce Hollow. “How did you work out this arrangement to live on the property behind her house anyway? You never said.”
“How do you think? Mrs. Crawford is friends with Mrs. Monroe.” Evelyn Monroe was an eccentric elderly woman with a heart of gold who lived in a mansion on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and she owned the Cedar Trails Lodge. She maintained secretive connections that allowed her to assist those who needed to disappear or hide from the danger pursuing them. Jo had been one of those people. Jo had told him all about it back in their short, very sweet romance.
Maybe she’d only imagined it. After all, they had both been recovering from a severe near-death trial.
Mrs. Crawford came out onto the porch. Jo waved to let the woman know everything was okay. Cole steered toward the house in the back.
“Doesn’t it look like part of the forest?” Jo took pride in the vines, greenery, and moss.
“It does,” he said. “Except you have all the lights on and anyone can see inside.”
“I don’t like the curtains drawn. The forest is like a work of art on my walls. That reminds me, I have some drawings I need to show you. They could mean something.”
“Mean something how, and to which case?”
“I’ll explain when I show you.” She didn’t remember seeingthis person back in Michigan, but the face was in her mind, and now in pencil and charcoal, and even in the sand on the beach in the summer. She might try to sculpt it, even. If she showed it to the investigator in Michigan tomorrow, would it mean anything to him?
He continued steering slowly toward the house, then parked in front.
They got out and Jo led him to the door, unlocked it, and entered. “At least I know if someone is inside or not. There’s nowhere to hide.”
