Yet in spite of all the unsettling events that had occurred during her stay, if none of those had happened, she would never have met Brad.
How heartrending, though, that one of them had resulted in tragedy.
But Brad was on Micah’s case, and if there was malice to be found, he’d uncover it.
Hopefully before Natalie’s tucked-away acres hosted any more dangerous and disturbing incidents.
SOMETHING WAS OFF.
As daylight waned on Friday, Brad hobbled to the kitchen to refill his makeshift Ziplock-bag ice pack, frustration mounting.
He was missing an important piece of intel. One that had been niggling at his subconscious all day. Close, yet just beyond his grasp.
What was it?
He dumped the melted ice in the sink and refilled the bag from the icemaker in the fridge. Secured the top. Weighed it in his hand.
Had he failed last night to notice a key descriptive feature of the trespasser? Overlooked an item the man dropped as heand Alan were searching this morning, perhaps the corner of an object that may have registered only at a subliminal level in his peripheral vision? Forgotten to ask Natalie a critical question as he’d sat in her kitchen gulping down caffeine after his long, exasperating night?
He set the bag on the counter and massaged his forehead.
Any of those were possible—yet none of them were setting off any alerts in his mind.
Leaning back against the counter, he shifted his weight to his uninjured foot.
That helped.
At least while he was on patrol tomorrow, he shouldn’t have to do much walking. Nothing like the effort he’d expended traipsing around in the woods this morning.
And if he kept his leg elevated while he slept tonight, that should help reduce the swelling.
He ought to nuke a frozen dinner and call it a night, considering how little sleep he’d gotten today after he’d come home from urgent care. Not that he hadn’t tried to rest, but shut-eye had been elusive as his mind kept chasing after whatever puzzle piece he was missing.
Problem was, he wasn’t hungry.
Maybe he’d do a load of laundry first, see if his appetite perked up. The basket by the washer was overflowing.
Holding on to chair backs and countertops for support, he limped to the adjacent laundry room. Transferred the clothes from the basket to the washer, then leaned over and grabbed the uniform shirt draped over the adjoining dryer.
Why hadn’t that been in the basket?
He started to throw it into the washer. Paused as a stain on the cuff registered.
Oh yeah.
He must have brushed the fabric across Steven’s cut as he tended to the gash on the man’s forehead. That’s why he’dkept his shirt separate from the rest of the laundry. To remind himself to treat it with stain remover.
He opened the cabinet door above him and reached for the spray bottle.
Froze.
Steven.
His encounter with Natalie’s cousin held the key to whatever had been bugging him all day. He knew that at a deep, intuitive level.
But what had raised a red flag in his sleep-deprived, pain-fogged state this morning?
Hard as he concentrated, nothing surfaced.
