Page 77 of Say Yes to the Death

“I’m glad we’re not mincing words. What else am I doing wrong?” She opened her notebook to a new page and pulled a pen out of her purse. It was fatter than usual. She rolled it in her hand to study it. The mystery pen from the woods! She had nearly forgotten.

She brought it closer to her face. There were initials on it. ESA Who the hell was ESA? Edward? Edgar? Ellen? She didn’t know anyone with those initials. Maybe it was the previous owner of Luke’s property. He had told her who they were, but she couldn’t quite remember the name. Something to do with fancy toilets.

She shrugged and jotted down over a dozen additional tips from Sawyer, ranging in topics from vehicle safety to doorbell etiquette.

“Now we’re going to head out for some practice in the field,” Sawyer said.

Claire closed her notebook. Rosie came to her side, dragging her leash.

“Oh, sure. Now you come,” she said, looping the leash around her wrist. “Where are we going?”

“Just a few blocks down,” He led her back out onto the street. Claire reached for her phone, then immediately snatched her hand back. Emails and appointments could wait. She would show him. She would be so self-aware that even her FBI bio-dad would be impressed. Damn it. She wasn’t thinking about him either.

“What are we missing?” Sawyer asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, right,” Claire said, reaching up and tugging the elastic band away from her scalp. Her hair tumbled down in an unmitigated disaster of curls.

“That’s perfect,” he said, smiling at her. “Your technique, I mean,” he said, clearing his throat. “You are far less susceptible to attacks now.”

“Thank you for the advice. Oh, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” she asked, searching for her wallet. “I can go back.” He had walked her straight past the receptionist with no mention of payment.

He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “There’s no charge for this. I just ask that you listen, take me seriously, and inform your friends. Especially that wild, dark-haired one. What’s her name again?”

Claire’s heart warmed, and she smiled. “Mindy,” she said, stifling a laugh. “I don’t think she needs any help, but I owe my life to you. I’ll do whatever you ask.”

He exhaled. “You don’t owe me anything. You’re a fighter. With a little instruction, it’ll be very difficult for anyone to hurt you again. Well, physically anyway.”

He stopped outside a frozen yogurt store and held the door open for Claire.

“Is this part of the test?” she asked, tying Rosie’s leash to a heavy metal table and stepping inside. She swept the interior. Six flavors of yogurt. Thirty-two toppings. The teenage cashier had braces and a Seventeen magazine sticking out of her purse.

“No, I just feel bad for grabbing your ponytail.” He handed her a bowl.

“Oh, it’s okay.” It may have been overly theatrical, but it was necessary.

“How have things been since the other night? Mindy said your dad was the reason you pressed the panic button.”

Claire swirled some chocolate yogurt into her container and began mindlessly adding toppings. “Oh, things are great. My biological father showed up for the first time in over twenty years, but only because he wants me to go to prison and interrogate the man who tried to kill me. He looks like me. Same eyes and everything. Oh,” she said, lowering her voice and scanning the room. They were alone except for the cashier. “There’s also allegedly a secret society of men murdering women all across the country for unknown reasons, and I have accidentally been implicated as the only living victim.”

In the three days since she told Sawyer about the second note, there had been no mentions in the local news. Maybe he really was trustworthy. Was that why she felt so relaxed around him? She hadn’t even paused to consider if she should tell him the whole truth. It had just tumbled out. She barely knew him, but she had word vomit drama dumped on him every couple of days. He probably thought she was nuts.

He stood frozen with a bottle of chocolate syrup in his hand. A plop of syrup fell, viscous and dense, onto the counter.

She hurriedly wiped it away with a napkin before turning back to him. He still hadn’t moved.

“Yeah, you’re gonna need to unpack that for me,” he said, setting his yogurt on the scale.

Claire added hers as well and quickly slid the cashier a bill before Sawyer could protest.

“Stop,” she said when his mouth opened, one hand clearly reaching for his wallet. “You are giving me free lessons. I buy you as much froyo as I want.”

He gave her a disapproving look but thanked her. They sat outside despite the clouds that had begun to gather. Rosie curled comfortably at Claire’s feet. Sawyer pivoted so his back was to the storefront.

At his request, Claire re-told the story of her father’s sudden appearance and the horrors he unveiled.

Every so often, Sawyer’s eyes darted in every direction, undoubtedly keeping track of potential threats and watching for danger. It seemed unconscious, even natural for him. Claire felt a sense of peace sitting next to him, even with pedestrian traffic on both sides of the street. Her stalker wasn’t likely to threaten her when she was sitting next to a six-foot-eight security expert with pecs the size of cantaloupes.

“So, he wants you to go to the prison and interrogate the man who tried to murder you.” His thick brows furrowed.

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