Page 38 of Falling for a Killer

“I don’t know. He always just told us we’d know when to open it.” Stepping forward, I eyeball the tall, wide tan cabinet and reach for the lock. “The code is the day my parents met. He said he knew immediately that he’d spend the rest of his life with her and build a family, so that was also the day he realized he’d do whatever he could to keep her safe.”

The door pops open and I nearly shut it again when I see what’s inside.

There are four long guns I don’t know enough about to identify, three more handguns, and a foam pad filled with grenades.

Fucking grenades.

“Boom,” I whisper, stepping back so he can see. “I think we’re covered.”

“Fucking hell,” Killian whispers. “Daddy’s ready for the zombie apocalypse.”

He reaches out to touch the biggest one, sending a rush of something I wasn’t quite expecting through me.

This man didn’t hesitate to go make sure we were safe. He didn’t stutter when protecting me. And though our situation is complicated, what I feel right now isn’t complicated at all.

“Take it. It’s okay.”

He gives me a look that says “are you sure?” before picking it up and grabbing a box of shells to take up with us. “We can keep one in the bathroom, living room and mine in the bedroom. Sound good?”

I grab one of the little handguns for myself and nod, then hesitate, offering it to him. “I... wait. This is okay, right? Me having one? I’d be able to get to the others same as you, but...”

“Why not? You’re not going to shoot me. You’d miss me too much.” He tosses me a grin and grabs more bullets. “Have you ever shot one before?”

My sense of self-preservation is dying to ask him if that means I’m free to leave. If he knows I won’t hurt him, surely he realizes that extends to not turning him in. It’s not that I want to leave, but knowing I have the option would be nice. “I know the basics. We can’t exactly practice because we’d draw too much attention to ourselves, but hopefully I’ll never need to use it anyway.”

“I think we’re far enough off grid, but hopefully you don’t. Just point and pull the trigger. You got this.”

He nudges my chin playfully, drawing me in closer until my headlamp bumps against his chest. Laughing, I pull back just enough to see his face. “Come on. I think the storm is over so maybe I’ll finally get some rest.”

And if not, it just so happens that I have a very tall, very strong man around who can find a few ways to put me to sleep.

I’m almost looking forward to it.

Eighteen:

The Reason to Carry On

I’ve always been a cautiously curious person. I’m nosey, but I know better than to ask questions about things I may not want answers to. I also acknowledge the fact that when I probe a little too much, people probe back. Usually that’s a dealbreaker for me.

But as I watch him flip mindlessly through tv channels trying to find something worth watching, I have to admit to myself that I have questions.

What was he like as a child? Was his hair always this dark, this unruly? What prompted his tattoos? What’s the story with his dad? Why doesn’t he have friends? What did he do for a living before this, and was he happy?

A thousand more flood my mind until one finally tumbles out of my mouth. “What’s your happiest memory?”

His finger freezes on the remote as his gaze flicks to mine. “Like ever?”

He turns the tv off completely and leans so his body faces me better, giving me a little more confidence.

“Yeah, I guess. I just... what makes you happy?”

He glances down at his hands for a moment before smiling softly. “When I was ten my mom took me on our first vacation. We were broke as hell but we drove up the pacific coast highway and visited a bunch of beaches. Slept in the car and survived on gas station food. It wasn’t perfect, but it was probably my first memory of her smiling. At the end of it she told me I wouldn’t ever see my dad again, and I could tell she was so fucking nervous, but I’ve never felt more relieved. We pulled up a map and chose to start over again in Blackridge.”

Curiosity is a rabbit hole. I can picture it, him as a little boy, just happy to be along for the ride. In awe of how big the world is. But am I ready to know what sort of horrible things would make a ten year old boy relieved to never see his dad again? “She sounds like a great mom.”

“She was. What about your parents? You guys close?”

He pats the spot closest to him like he wants me closer during this conversation, like that doesn’t make it worse. Like it doesn’t make us both more vulnerable.

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