Page 16 of Beckett
I forced a laugh. “Makes sense.” I hadn’t showered in a couple of days, not wanting to risk it again after dark. Maybe I could while he was gone.
“I’ll be using the one in the guest house, although when I’m not staying there, I use the outside shower. That’s why Lark set it up, so people had somewhere to shower without having to worry about getting the inside of a house dirty.” His tone stayed casual, but those eyes stayed sharp.
“Yeah, that’s smart.”
“Could have sworn I saw you coming back onto the property a couple nights ago to shower. You left and came back.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Oh. Yeah. I was meeting some people. Like you said, didn’t want to smell like horse.”
There were so many holes in that story. So many. Both of us knew it.
“Huh.” He studied me for a moment that felt like forever. “Well, be careful. Roads get tricky after dark. Especially if you’re tired. I’m sure Lark would tell you to just use the shower here before you leave, not to try to sneak back after dark.”
Did he know I was staying in the shed? The weight of what he wasn’t saying pressed down on me. He knew something was off. But he wasn’t pushing. Yet.
“I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” He turned and headed toward the house.
I stood frozen until he disappeared inside. My hands shook as I pressed them against my thighs. He’d seen me. Been watching. How much did he know? How much had he figured out?
I needed to be more careful. Needed to change my routine, park somewhere different, maybe skip a few nights in the shed. The thought made my chest ache. That stupid shed with its draft and cold floor had become the closest thing to safety I’d felt in months.
But safety was an illusion. I’d learned that the hard way in Seattle, when my own apartment had become a trap. When deadroses showed up on my doorstep. When the phone calls started. When the photos appeared under my door—pictures of me at work, at the coffee shop, asleep in my bed.
An eye for an eye.
I still didn’t know what I’d done to garner the stalker’s attention. What perceived slight had triggered this obsession. I’d racked my brain for months, going through every interaction, every relationship, every random encounter with a stranger. Nothing made sense.
The burn scar throbbed. I wouldn’t touch it. Wouldn’t give in to the memory.
Jet whined, pressing against my leg. I looked down to find him watching me with worried eyes.
“I’m okay,” I lied, running my fingers through his fur. “Just thinking.”
He didn’t look convinced but stayed close as I finished the morning chores. The sun climbed higher, warming the air enough that I shed my jacket. Normal. I needed to look normal. Just a woman doing farm work, nothing to see here.
But Beckett’s words echoed in my head. He’d seen me coming back. If he’d seen that, what else had he noticed? My car disappearing some mornings? The fact that I never actually drove into town when I left?
I couldn’t leave. Not yet. The forty-seven dollars in my wallet wouldn’t get me far. I needed Lark to come back, needed that next pay period. Just a little longer.
Besides, leaving meant going back out there. Back to gas station bathrooms and sleeping with one eye open. Back to jumping at every sound and checking my rearview mirror obsessively. Back to being completely, utterly alone.
Here, at least, I had Jet. Had the animals. Had Beckett’s steady presence, even if that presence now felt more like a threat than comfort.
“I’ll figure it out,” I told Jet.
But even as I said it, I knew the clock was ticking. Beckett was suspicious. Suspicious meant questions. Questions meant scrutiny I couldn’t afford.
One way or another, my time here was running out.
Chapter 6
Beckett
The lunch crowd at Draper’s Tavern had thinned out by the time I slid into our usual booth, the one in the back corner where we could see both entrances. Old habits. Coop was already there, chair tipped back against the wall, looking relaxed in a way that only former military who’d seen too much could manage. That practiced ease that said he was ready to move at the first hint of trouble.
“You’re late.” He didn’t look up from the menu he’d probably memorized three years ago.
