Page 299 of Heart So Hollow

A few hours later, the feed on the front of the house detects motion. When I look, a familiar white Tahoe comes rolling up the drive and Valerie gets out carrying a bag. I watch her on the front porch, glancing around as she waits for Brett to answer. It’s clear that she’s expected, so I keep an eye on the interior feed as they mill around and eventually sit down in the living room.

No more than a half hour later, Valerie rises from the sofa. But something is…wrong. Brett’s not smiling anymore, her soft features replaced with a scornful look as she snarls something at Valerie. Not a minute later, Valerie is out the front door, making a beeline for the Tahoe. She practically peels out of the driveway, speeding toward the road, with Brett marching down the long driveway after her.

Where the hell are you going?

I pull up each feed along the driveway as she goes, making sure she’s the only one on that driveway. I see her stop at the road, the Tahoe long gone, and linger there for a minute or so.

A crack of thunder rumbles over the mountains as dark clouds begin to roll in. Just what I need. Cursing under my breath, I pull up a couple of the feeds closer to the house. With Brett at the end of the driveway, I need to find Bowen.

And I do find him, emerging from the south edge of the property and heading for the house. My position makes it impossible to see much, so I scan through the feeds for a better view and begin heading south along the slope. I watch Bowen head toward the house when, all of a sudden, the image jostles and a moment later, the screen goes white. I’m blind, and I don’t know which direction he went.

Brett’s outside. Did she lock the house when she left?

Then I see something dart in and out of the frame of the feed that went white. I bring my phone closer and wait for it to appear again.

A black blob fills the screen and then gets smaller. It bobs in and out a few times before I realize it’s a deer—a giant buck with a massive rack, and he’s nosing at the camera on the ground. It’s the same buck I caught on the trail cams who’s been tearing down our fences and destroying the fruit trees. I’d recognize him anywhere.

King of the fucking forest…

I cock my head, glowering at the screen as that son of a bitch nibbles at the camera and pokes at it with his snout. That asshole finally shows up and what does he do? He tears my goddamn camera off the tree. I’m surprised he hasn’t put his hoof through the screen as a final fuck you. And of all the cameras, this camera.

A deep growl builds in the pit of my stomach and then bursts up through my chest, “Goddamnit!” I drop my rifle and take off down the slope toward the tree line.

But then I stop, digging my heels into the pine needles and dirt.

Chess, not checkers…don’t let your emotions overwhelm your intelligence…

I stand there for a few moments, motionless while a firestorm raging behind my eyes. Against every fiber of my being, I reluctantly spin around with a growl and scramble back up the slope. When I get to the top of the hill, I take off in a sprint, running deeper into the forest.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE

Brett

Present

It seems like a dream, the one I have over and over, but this time I know I’m awake, standing in my bedroom with my arms out in front of me, aiming a gun at the doorway.

He’s standing in front of me, and he’s real. Black t-shirt, black boots, black camo pants…

Seeing isn’t always believing, but smelling his cigarettes is, and feeling the heat of his stifling presence is. Now he’s standing on my side of the glass, leaning motionless against the doorframe, and his deep brown eyes are looking at me like he’s starving.

Finally, Bowen rakes his black hair away from his eyes, “Brett Sorensen, whose pen is mightier than the sword…I didn’t mean to scare you,” he nods behind him to the hallway with that same wide, dimpled Cheshire Cat smile I used to love, “I was just cleaning out your closet.”

My eyes dart over his shoulder to the dim hallway where the door of the linen closet is hanging open.

I forgot the closets, like I forgot the front door…

But there’s no time for admonishments. Adapt.

“Baby girl,” Bowen chuckles, “your self-awareness is for shit.”

Stop calling me that. And no, it’s not.

I adjust my stance, my arms still locked in front of me, “Are you here to kill me?” I ask him.

He shifts his gaze from me to my Glock, pointed straight at him, “Seems you’ve graduated from pens to something more useful. You’re not afraid of guns anymore?”

He didn’t say no…

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