Page 62 of Guilty as Sin
A long pause. “He had an uncle in another village who was Taliban. Or so they said. Reckon they made an example of him.”
“What happened to the uncle?”
He just looked at her.
She said, “You killed him.”
“Yes. At least I like to think it was me. All within the rules of engagement, so don’t get excited. That’s the job. Was the job.”
“Are you sorry you left?” That was the question, wasn’t it? “That you… had to leave?”
He took another bite of his breakfast, but it didn’t look like a delaying tactic. It just looked like he was thinking. Like he was calm. “No. That part of my life is over. I wanted to remember what the rest of life looked like, maybe. Better to quit before all your softer feelings are burnt out of you, I’ve decided. See if they’re just lying dormant after the drought, or if they’re actually gone.”
“I’d say yours are there.”
“I hope so.” He had a hand on one of her curls. Not tugging, just like he wanted to feel the softness for himself. “How about yours? I have a feeling they might’ve been through some dry times as well.”
“Oh.” She tried to be casual. She couldn’t manage it. “Could be. You know. What time is it?”
He looked startled again, but he also looked at his watch. “Eight.”
“I need to clean up here and get ready for the shop.” She got up, grateful in the most cowardly of ways for the chance. “Got a broken window and an insurance report to take care of down there. Your clothes should be dry by now. Thank you for breakfast. And… everything.”
He got the message. He got up himself, helped her carry things into the kitchen, and said, “You’re welcome. For everything. You’ll need me to give you a lift to the shop, as your car’s still there. I can wait for you, or I can come back for you.”
He’d backed straight off, and it disconcerted her. “Uh…” She said. “Wait for me? If you’re all right with that. Half an hour.”
“No worries,” he said. “I’ll do the washing up.”
He thought about Lily on the drive up from Sinful after dropping her at the boarded-up shop, about all the hot and cold of her, and then he didn’t. Because when he pulled up to the cabin, Tobias sat up, tensed, and whined.
Jace didn’t think. He went onto autopilot. He pulled the Glock from his ankle holster, got out of the ute, kept the engine block between himself and the cabin, and said quietly, “Tobias. Go find it.”
The dog went to the door, sniffing hard, then moved around the cabin and back to the front door again, where he sat.
If there’d been somebody in there, he should have barked. But his tail wasn’t wagging, and his ears were canted back. Something was off.
Jace approached the same way Lily had the night before. Circling around, coming in from the back. He unlocked the kitchen door, shoved it open fast, then moved smoothly through and quickly across, ending up behind the wood stove. It was the only thing in here besides the logs themselves that had a hope of stopping a bullet.
Silence. Tobias still wasn’t barking, but he was too alert. Jace locked the door again, spared a moment to think,So much for peaceful Montana towns,and set about seeing what was wrong. A couple hours earlier, the house had felt normal. Now, it didn’t.
There wasn’t much downstairs. His computer had been moved slightly on the table, the stack of papers in the basket on the desk was less than perfectly straight. Upstairs? Let’s say he was very glad he’d been carrying his Glock and tac knife on him, because the contents of his drawers weren’t quite right. Although the relief was stupid, of course. It was Montana, not Australia. Guns weren’t exactly difficult to come by.
He found the thing in his underwear drawer, after seeing a flash of white underneath his stack of dark boxer briefs. A piece of paper where there shouldn’t be one.
Not a piece of paper. An envelope. He got his gloves, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened it.
If you find this,he read,it means you know I’ve been here. How did I get in? I’m sure you’ll figure it out.
I thought you were waiting for me. I told you last time that I was disappointed. You didn’t listen. I wonder if you’ll listen now? I wonder if you’ll listen when I have you tied to your bed the way I told you about, with a knife at your throat?
How about if the knife is at her throat instead?
You thought it was a story. It wasn’t a story.
The gooseflesh had risen on his arms, and he was standing up without realizing it and looking around.
He already knew what he’d see. The sash window beside the bed. It was closed, but its latch hadn’t been turned. Because he hadn’t intended to leave the house last night, and he’d left that window open. Rookie mistake.
