Gus resisted the urge to grunt,I’m good. He was afraid if he said anything, he might cry right there in front of Danny, among the mud and the dripping trees, among the new lime-colored tips of the pines that Somer used to caress between her fingers. The freshness of it all threatened to soften his wrath and replace it with sorrow. That would be unbearable.
“You’ve been pretty”—Danny winced, seeking the right word—“distant.” He shook his head as if no, that wasn’t right, either. “I mean, I just don’t want to see you get hurt. It’s a safety thing. You know that better than anyone.”
“I do.” Gus inhaled the tangy, pine-saturated air around them. All of it soalive. How could she be gone? “You’re right. I need to focus. Sorry. Like I said, never flipped one before. Ever. Guess everyone deserves a first.”
“Sure, but if you need to talk ...” Danny hit his own chest as if to say,I’m a good listener.
“Appreciate it, man. Right now, though, I want to check to make sure the oil levels are okay and finish out this day.”
When Gus drove home, he could feel that tipping sensation in his gut and how his heart plunged. He heard the drone of a saw in his ears. A pressure built up in his head and hammered behind his eyeballs.
When he’d hit the ground in that feller, his entire world had pitched over—and he was still falling, still hitting bottom, over and over. But this wasn’t a jobsite accident. This was reality. There would be no soft landing. There would be no getting out of it. It was a black hole of rage mixed with sorrow. He was tumbling down, crashing and falling, crashing and falling.
By the time he got to his driveway, he’d begun to weep at the thought of going in, of spending another evening alone in the house where he’d raised Somer after her mother left them. He kicked himself again:I should have never let her go to that city, so far from home. I should have never let her talk me into it.
After he dried his eyes, he sat in his truck and wondered,What would Somer do now, in my shoes? If she was the one left behind?
She’d google something to find a solution,he thought. He smiled thinking about how she’d grab her phone and say,I’ll figure it out. It’s not that hard when you have the entire world at your fingertips. You need to keep up, Dad.
He sat for a moment longer, staring at their little blue house, then fumbled for his phone out of his pocket and typed in one word—rage—to see where Google would take him.
Chapter 30
My porch light illuminates a man blinking into the light’s glare a few careful feet from my stoop. Hair pushed back behind the ears, facial stubble, holding something by his side with one hand and the other held palm out as though in surrender.
It takes a second for my brain to catch up, and when it does, it’s a jolt in my chest. Oh my God, it’s him.Rolling Stone. Jeremy Fisher, the man from the airport. Holding a ... what? A six-pack?
Why the hell ishehere? My mind spins from all the chaos. The same person I saw on the day after the sketch came out shows up unannounced in the dark?
My breath punches out louder than it should in the still air.
Plus, the look on his face suggests he’s clueless about my state of worry, but then maybe that’s the point, his entire ruse.
“Crosbie Mitchell,” he says, squinting into the light. “That you? I’m not here to hurt you or cause any trouble.”
I step out, still holding my gun up.
“Whoa.” Jeremy takes a big step back. “Is that necessary?”
“Do you really think I’d answer the door without making sure I’m safe? Why are you creeping around out here this late?”
“Creepingis a strong word.”
“I don’t see your car. Where is it?”
A tentative smile. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your entrance is well guarded. I figured I’d park on the next road over and walk across the field.”
“And why in the hell would you do that?”
“To talk to you before the others do.” He gives me the same sheepish squint he gave me in the airport.
“How do you know where I live?”
“Once your identity came out in the news, it really wasn’t difficult. Can we talk?”
I press my lips together and think about it. The inhales and exhales through my nose are still too loud. I part my lips and try to breathe more quietly and calmly. I don’t trust him, but I do need to know more about him. If I suspect Jeremy, which I do, then I should talk to him, find out what he wants. Keep my enemies close.
I do the math: In the morning, there will be only two days left. Discovering what he’s after here and now saves me time from tracking him down later, if I need to.
