Amongst the trees, there was peaceful stillness.
It was hard to believe that a few hours up the trail, two women were in life-or-death straits.
“Listen, there’s another piece of this I need to discuss with you when we get down,” Gabriel said as he handed her a bag of trail mix.
“Just do it now.” She reached in and took a fistful. “I’d rather not wonder.”
“I know the videos were monetized and making some money.” He’d take baby steps. “Listen, I work for the FBI.”
“Right, you showed me your badge.”
“You don’t include your face in the video. But you do include mine.”
“I—”
“Most of my work is with two groups within the FBI: terror and human trafficking. The problem with these two groups is that they are incredibly bright people with significant mental health issues—sociopaths, psychopaths, malignantnarcissists. They don’t have a lot of boundaries, and they most definitely are survivalists.”
“Good thing I set out those witch pots to keep the ghoulies away.” She slid her gaze up to catch his.
“Yeah, good thing.” He looked down at her; she was much more petite than she seemed in the video, much more athletic. And he’d imagine that in her day-to-day life, she was the captain of her ship, sailing skillfully along. But right now, with the list of shit that had been hitting her, he could sense some self-protection, some vulnerability.
He had to tread carefully, so she didn’t feel threatened or attacked.
Either one was the farthest from the truth.
But he had a duty to Reaper and Iniquus. “I can’t make you do anything. You’re perfectly within your rights to film the street.”
“But you’re asking me to take them down. That’s good enough. I don’t mind.” She reached out and touched Whiskey’s lead, then let it go. “And now that I’ve met you, I feel differently about the project.”
“How did you feel before?” Gabriel asked. Since he didn’t know that Whiskey was howling with someone’s singing until now, he didn’t consider that anyone had been impacted.
“This is going to sound childish, but that first night, I felt like you were being mean to me and trying to get me to stop singing.”
“You thought Whiskey was a punishment?”
“Passive-aggressive.” She scratched her cheek and stuck a piece of her silky, dark brown hair behind her ear. “I stopped singing opera when my long-ago boyfriend got shitty about it. And I’ve just now taken it back up. I’m terrible at it. But dog-howl terrible?”
“It’s amazing how two people can have such different experiences. I’ve seen your videos, and I thought you were a professional performer.”
Sommer squinted at him. “I’m comfortable around you as Gabriel,” she said. “I wasn’t as comfortable around you as Graves.”
“Yeah, you’re going to have to explain that to me. I know in the video you labeled me as Graves and Whiskey was Goth-hound. I assumed it was to match the cemetery aesthetic.”
“Yes. Well, I didn’t know Abbie actually used that. It was a conversation back when we were gabbing on the Sweet Gum search. Abbie put the videos together. I have no idea how to do that. And I never wanted to see them. Not true, I saw the first one, and that was that. Abbie promised me that she didn’t show my face. And you were so far away, I knew your face wasn’t recognizable.”
“In all but the last one.”
“When you walked up to my house, and the lights flashed on?” Sommer scowled. “It’s coming down as soon as I get home. I apologize.”
“But you didn’t watch them?” Gabriel asked.
He had.
So many times.
The graceful turn of her head, the softness of her cheek, the silken curls that draped her shoulder. The rich power of her voice. The bravery to face the emotions she seemed to draw from deep within her.
When Gabriel realized that she was the one living in the witch’s cottage, it was like his boyhood imagination had been personified in her.
