Page 6 of Deadly Oath

“Oh, I mean—I’m sure the people whoneedto know, know.” Marie waves a hand casually. “I just didn’t pry. Some folks around here love to pry, but I try not to gossip too much. Makes others not trust you, you know?”

“That’s true,” I say quietly. “You haven’t pried too much.”

Marie asked the same questions everyone else did when I first met her—where I was from, what made me decide to move to Rivershade, how I liked renting the old Farrow place. From the reaction of everyone who heard where I was living now, Sheriff Brady’s estimation of Mr. Farrow as a shady landlord is spot on. Everyone seemed to think I was getting a raw deal, even though I never said exactly what I’m renting it for. But then again,Idon’t know exactly what I’m renting it for. Agent Caldwell does, but I just haven’t bothered asking.

“I figure folks will open up in their own time,” Marie says cheerily, turning the channel to something that sounds a bit more folk than country. Still not any artist I’m familiar with. “You even have, a little.”

“A little.” I manage a smile. “I’m just not used to people being so friendly.”

“Well, I suppose not everyone is like we are. I’ve lived here my whole life, so I’ve never known anything different.”

“You’d hate Chicago,” I assure her. And she probably would. I can’t imagine sweet, friendly Marie in downtown Chicago, navigating the crowds and curt, no-nonsense people, the trains and fast, in-your-face service. I haven’t been to the Crow Bar yet, but I can imagine that the bartenders there probably talk your ear off while taking your drink order. The pace of everything is probably as slow as it is in all the other spots in this town.

“I’ve never really had any desire to travel,” Marie admits, as she pulls off the main road. “Greg does construction—I think I told you that—and so he travels around a bit for jobs. Back before we had kids, I could go on the road with him if I wanted, and I did a couple of times. But I just never really had any desire to keep on doing it. I’m happy here.”

“That’s good.” I bite my lip again as I say it, trying to imagine what it would be like to be happy living here. To be satisfied in such a small place, with no desire to experience anything more.

“What about you?” Marie asks as she parks. “I don’t think I asked before. Have you traveled a lot?”

“A little, here and there. Boston, New York.” I don’t dare tell her all the other places I’ve been in the past with my father—Rome, London, Paris. She’d know thenexactlyhow different my life has been from hers, and the gulf between us would widen even further. “Enough to know I needed some time away from the city.”

“Well, you’ll definitely get that here.” Marie parks the car, turning it off as we both get out to head into the bookstore. I still have half of my coffee left, and I bring it with me.

It’s a relatively small Barnes and Noble, nothing compared to the huge store in Chicago, but there’s a familiarity to it that makes me glad we could go here. There isn’t any local bookstore in Rivershade—something that Cindy, one of the other women in the book club, has talked about trying to change. But for now, this is our best option, and I’m glad.

Marie and I both grab a copy of the cozy mystery we’re readingthis month, something about a beach vacation gone wrong that becomes an investigation. It’s not my usual cup of tea, but I’m willing to try it. The book we read at the end of last month when I joined, a paranormal urban fantasy, was more my speed.

But these days, it’s harder than usual to lose myself in a book. Romantic fantasy, once a pleasurable escape from the reality of an eventual arranged marriage, now seems even more preposterous. Thrillers and horror are entirely impossible for me to read, pushing me to the edge of a panic attack. And sweet romances feel too sugary. I walk past a shelf of high fantasy series, looking at the titles and considering picking one of them up. That feels like the kind of world I could lose myself in—or maybe something science fiction, completely out of the realm of possibility in the real world.

But then again, maybe not, considering how I feel as if I’m on a different planet these days.

We spend a little more time walking around, before Marie checks her watch and says we need to head back, so she doesn’t miss her kids getting home from school. She grabs another coffee from the small cafe, citing how much energy they always have when they get home, and then we check out, heading back out to the car.

Despite only having had one coffee, I feel full of jittery energy when Marie drops me off at the end of my driveway. The sight of my house brings back the memory of Sheriff Brady stopping by this morning, and I feel that fluttering sensation in my stomach again, the unsettled feeling tangling up with it until I’m no longer exactly surewhatI’m feeling.

Do I distrust him? Or am I just attracted to him, and mistaking that for fear?Even if Iamattracted to him, there’s no point in thinking about it. He’s one of the last people I should consider getting involved with. As someone in law enforcement, if he doesn’t already know about my past, he would pretty quickly after looking into me a little more closely. And surely he would notice the FBI agent who occasionally makes house calls.

I would have to tell the truth to anyone I dated, eventually. Andno one will want to deal with what I’m running from. Any man with half a brain would run in the other direction.

Speaking of running?—

I can think of one productive way to get rid of my excess energy. I jog up the driveway to my front door, unlocking it—no one else here seems to lock their doors, but I refuse to consider anything else—and head back to my bedroom. I have a pair of leggings and a single sports bra shoved into one of the drawers, and I drag them out, giving them a quick sniff to make sure they’re still clean. I haven’t gone running much since arriving here, too afraid of being seen. But if I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future, I have to start trying to figure out how to live some kind of life.

And a run is exactly what I need to settle my nerves and clear my head.

I lace up my sneakers and head out through the kitchen to the back door that leads out to my small yard. There’s a wooden fence around the postcard-sized bit of grassy land, with a gate that leads to a trail winding through the woods. I don’t know exactly where it ends up, but Marie told me that it’s a decent enough trail for walks or running. Some of the other residents use it to walk their dogs or go for hikes.

Marie warned me about snakes and other wildlife, but considering the late afternoon chill, I don’t think I’ll need to worry about that. Anything cold-blooded will have burrowed away, and I can’t imagine black bears coming so close to a residential area.

I start off at a slow jog when I reach the trailhead, getting used to the feeling of running over uneven ground and moving again. For the last several weeks, my workout routine has consisted of some yoga videos and crunches at home, and as I warm up, the familiar feeling of going for a run gets my adrenaline up.

I pick up my pace, feeling a sense of relief at something else that I’m used to, that feels likeme. I think I hear the sound of running water in the near distance, and I turn down the curve of the trail that seems to lead in that direction, wanting to explore a bit more.

The autumn sunlight filters through the trees, warming my skinand casting everything in a beautiful golden glow. I can feel the tension draining out of me, and I let out a long breath, my lips twitching in a real smile for the first time in weeks. This is different from what I’m used to at home, but it’s beautiful in its own way, and I have the thought that I could get used to it. I could make this a part of my routine, running on the trail behind my house?—

A sound startles me, catching my attention to the left. It sounds like leaves rustling—and then almost like heavy footsteps, coming through the trees in that direction. My heart trips in my chest, my adrenaline turning from something pleasant to something cold and fearful, and my stomach tightens.

I slow my pace, looking over to the left. I don’t see anything moving through the trees at first, but then there’s a shape—something dark and too tall to be a bear.

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