Page 81 of Begin Again
When I pull into the garage almost two hours later, I kill the engine but don’t get out. I rest my head against the top of the steering wheel and take slow, deep breaths. What is going on? This cannot be real life. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life. This is the kind of thing you see in movies. The ride home was silent, minus the phone call I got from Beau ten minutes ago.
“Did you find them?” I didn’t waste time on the niceties when I answered the phone. I had been impatiently awaiting his call since I received his text when he arrived at Achor forty minutes prior, managing to cut at least twenty minutes off the typical drive time. I wondered if cops were subject to speeding laws likethe rest of us, or if this constituted a necessary reason to break the law.
“There’s no one here, Nina.” Beau sighed on the other end. I could picture him in my mind, jaw set, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut, as he stood in the middle of the parking lot.
“They were there, Beau! There was someone there, I…I saw them. I’m not crazy.”
“I’m not saying that!” The bite in his words startled me. That was the first time he had spoken to me like that. Ever. “Fuck. Nina, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to snap on you. It’s just…” I could hear someone in the background—Sheriff Wilson, or maybe Max—but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. “Let me call you back.”
The line went dead.
He called back a few minutes later and this time the sounds of a moving car were in the background.
“Everything okay?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.
“Fine.” Beau sounded like he was wound as tight as a pissed-off rattlesnake.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” I could practically hear the grind of his teeth.
“That was convincing,” I said, navigating the road toward the house, hoping he would finally open up and tell me before I arrived. “Beau, please don’t lie to me. What is going on?”
A heavy sigh on the other end mixed with the sound of the road and the wind pouring in from an open window. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m…I’m trying to make sense of all this, but I can’t. Nothing about this makes any fucking sense. We know it’s his wallet—you ID’ed it and his license is inside, but it doesn’t tell us anything.”
The confirmation hits me like a freight train. I don’t know why the confirmation of what I already knew sends an unexpected wave of emotions flooding my system. I clear my throat, trying to hide the thickness of my voice. “Are they gonna reopen it?”
“Rhett said he’d get in touch with James.”
“And you believe him?”
“You don’t?” Beau asked, a hint of something in his tone. Was he fishing?
“I think things have been wonky ever since Rhett got involved,” I said, gripping the top of the steering wheel. It was the first time I had admitted it out loud, but the thought had crossed my mind more than a handful of times.
“I agree,” Beau said before he sighed. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that we shared the same thought. “Will you be home when I get back to town?”
“I shouldn’t be, but probably. I don’t feel like sitting on a plane with my brother for five hours after the day I’ve had. You try being stalked by some weirdo on the trail and then see if you want to be stuck in such tight quarters with Kai James Villa.”
Beau laughed, and the sound made me smile.
“You’ll let me know when you hear something?” Parking outside the garage, my knuckles turned white against the wheel, and I rolled my lips between my teeth.
“The minute I know something, you’ll know something, Sweetheart. And Nina, I really am sorry for snapping at you.” The sincerity in his voice took me by surprise. I can’t remember the last time someone apologized to me and seemed so sincere about it.
Now, the longer I sit here pondering what’s going on, the more I’m starting to believe Sheriff Rhett Wilson is somehow involved in Nick’s disappearance. It’s the only thing that makes sense…And if he is involved—
Knock! Knock!
“Whoa!” A voice shouts outside the car window when I practically jump out of my skin. Turning to see who it is, I’m face-to-face with Elizabeth. She tugs on the handle, opens the door, and leans in. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I say, rubbing my eyes.
“I believe that like I believe Brie when she says she didn’t take the last piece of cheesecake from the fridge. You about jumped to the moon and back when I knocked on the window. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine, Elizabeth. Just…tired.”
“I’ll pretend I believe you for the sake of not wanting to make whatever this is”—she waves her hand in an all-encompassing circle before me—“worse. But don’t think we’re not talking about this later.”
