When we’re alone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Outside Paul’s farmhouse, the sky has turned gray as storm clouds sweep in over the foothills. Duncan Gilcrest careens up the driveway, sirens blaring. As I step from the converted barn, the cruiser skids to a stop.
“Where the hell is Freya?” Gilcrest asks.
“At the trailhead,” Paul says as he emerges from the farmhouse behind me.
Gilcrest comes close enough that I can feel his ragged breath against my face. “Listen close, Charlie,” he says. “Maybe you didn’t understand you were stepping on my turf before, but you do now.” He shoves his finger into my chest. “First we find you at the scene of an arson and you run around town spreading rumors about your long-lost father. Then you decide to post a podcast about an active investigation. Now you’re right here in the middle of things when Freya is threatened. Too many coincidences. And if anything happens to Freya, you’ll regret the day you were born.”
Somehow, I manage to keep my voice steady even as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. “Save your anger,” I say. “Freya doesn’t need you to prove how masculine you are right now.”
“I don’t take advice on my personal life from a man-child.”
Thankfully, Reid emerges from the house and heads toward his Audi.
“I have questions for you, Reid,” Gilcrest says. “We have you on video filling a gas can at the station in Kingston two days before the fire.”
“Backhoes don’t run on solar power,” Reid says. “And sometimes gas isn’t delivered when you need it. If you have other questions, you know where to find me.”
He slides into the car and speeds off as Seton’s cruiser pulls out of the trees and down the hill toward us. Freya emerges from the passenger’s seat and releases Ginger, who’s on high alert.
“You okay?” Gilcrest asks, keeping his distance.
Freya puts a hand to the dog’s head and doesn’t answer. Gilcrest approaches slowly and gently sweeps a stray lock of auburn hair from Freya’s eyes. Freya steps into his embrace and lets her head fall to his chest.
Score one for the detective.
I approach them. Ginger growls, and Freya lifts her head, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. “Harold,” she says, “thanks for watching out for me. This would have been so much worse if I’d been alone.”
“And you can move on now,” Gilcrest says to me. “I have this covered.”
“Charlie and I are having a tender moment, Duncan,” Freya says. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“I don’t know if he can help it,” I say.
Freya’s eyes flare. “Same goes for you, Charlie,” she says, her voice icy. “In fact, the two of you can have at it, but keep me out of whatever’s going on between you.”
She leaves us in the driveway as Ginger trots after her into the farmhouse.
Gilcrest goes to follow, but Paul stands in the doorway and shakes his head. “Don’t make the situation worse,” he says, before heading inside.
“Good job there,” Gilcrest says to me.
“You’re the one who was a territorial asshole,” I say. “Freya and I ... we’re friends. Nothing else.”
Gilcrest’s phone rings. “I need to take this. It’s the fucking FBI. When I’m done talking to them, don’t be here. If I have questions, I’ll find you.”
He moves out of earshot as he clicks into the call. I cross to where Seton’s watched us from her cruiser. “He’s protective,” she says.
“You think?”
“But he’s not the only one. Stop acting jealous. It makes you look guilty.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say. “If someone had bothered to tell me Freya had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have gone home with her in the first place. I’m not that kind of person. Besides, I waswithFreya when she saw what had happened to her truck.” I hear the defensiveness in my voice. I close my eyes and will myself to calm down. “If you want to treat me as a suspect, I suppose I could have had a partner,” I say.
Such as my brother.
