Page 69 of Close Her Eyes

Josie said, “I can handle complicated. Give me a chance.”

She could see in his eyes that he was wavering. Then she saw the decision and she knew what it was, recognized the response from her own past trauma. No matter how kind or helpful or sincere someone seemed, the best course of action was always to trust no one.

“Mathias,” she pleaded. Her phone’s flashlight began to fade rapidly.

They stayed frozen in place as it died completely. For a brief moment, her phone flashed to the starting screen, her cell carrier’s logo dancing across it, and then everything went dark.

Nearby, an owl cried.

In a voice so small, Josie could barely make out the words, Mathias said, “Dermot Hadlee.”

A jolt went through her. “I’m putting my gun away, Mathias.” She slid it into her holster and snapped it in place. “Talk to me. Right here. Right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and then she heard the crunch of his steps moving away from her.

Her arms shot out, as if to catch him, and she stumbled forward. She tried again to follow the sound, feet scrabbling over rocks as she moved out of the clearing. When his breath became audible, she knew he was close. His voice came again. “Don’t get any closer.”

Again, she reached out. Her feet hurried forward.

Then she stepped into nothingness.

There was a split second of horrifying realization as her body dropped through the air. She’d stepped off some precipice. A cliff or a wall. Her arms flailed for something to hold onto and then her entire body was wrenched briefly upward before it dangled, suspended over a black chasm. The seams where her sleeves attached to her coat cut into her armpits. Hands grappled with the fabric at her shoulders.

“Reach up,” Mathias huffed. “Grab my hands.”

She tried to reach both hands at once but immediately began to slide out of the coat. A scream tore from her throat. She waited for free fall to come but it didn’t. Her heartbeat stopped. In her head she counted. One. Two. It kicked back to life, thundering in her chest.

“Easy,” Mathias said, breathing heavily. “One hand. Just one. I’ve got you.”

Josie used her right hand, snaking it up—slowly, slowly—until she felt his hands.

He said, “Take one of my hands. Just one. I’ll hold onto your coat with the other. One at a time, okay?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

In spite of the cold night air, sweat started to pour down her face. Her newly sewn scalp burned like someone had thrown alcohol on it. They worked together in small movements, tiny increments, until Mathias had both her hands. Then he pulled. She kicked lightly until her feet found purchase along the cliff face. She pushed up as he pulled her over and onto solid ground. Her lungs wheezed. Every muscle in her body shook. She squeezed her eyes tight against tears, glad that it was too dark for him to see them. She said, “Thank you.”

She felt a warm palm on her shoulder. Then he said, “Stay here till first light. Don’t try to go back before that.”

“Wait, what? Mathias, no!”

His voice came from several feet away as he retreated. “I’m sorry.”

THIRTY-SEVEN

A search team found her just before dawn, curled on her side, shivering and drifting in and out of sleep. The next hours went by in a blur. Noah. Mettner. Anya. An ambulance. The hospital again. Cyrus. She was exhausted. So delirious with fatigue that she kept wondering if she’d imagined the entire thing with Mathias. Except that her cell phone was at the bottom of a forty-foot ravine.

“He saved my life,” she told all of them when they asked what the hell had happened.

They were standing around her bed in the emergency department. Noah and Mettner were covered in dirt, five o’clock shadows darkening their jaws. Anya looked like she’d been on a slip and slide lubricated with blood. Only Cyrus looked pristine in his clean, freshly pressed uniform. But looking in his eyes, Josie saw that he wasn’t much better rested than any of them. Lines creased his forehead as he looked at her doubtfully. “Mathias Tobin saved your life?”

Josie touched her forehead. A nurse had been in to clean the wound, her nimble fingers probing the sutures before she declared that Josie would be just fine with a little antibiotic ointment. Now the greasy salve clung to her fingertips. “Cyrus, how well do you know your former son-in-law?”

He didn’t answer.

“Cy?” Anya said.

He wouldn’t look at her. “It was embarrassing. My daughter marrying a guy who’d been under suspicion for both sexual assault and murder.”

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