A Deadly Reunion (11 page)

“We are not dealing with assassinations and
bomb plots here,” Thorne spoke through a clenched jaw, “and this
ain’t no counterterrorism situation.”

“You’re right; it’s a potential murder.
Which is just as serious.”

“I don’t need you telling me how to do my
job.” Thorne took a sharp step forward.

“Clearly you do, because nobody in this
crackpot town knows how to respond to a threat.” Denver took a step
forward.

Oh dear, the boys weren’t playing
anymore.

“You think you can come back here and tell
me what to do. Rub everyone's noses in your career? Try to show us
how much better than the rest of us you are?” Thorne snapped.

“I don’t care about my career, and I don’t
give a shit about yours either. Right now all I’m trying to do is
prevent someone else from getting murdered.”

“Fuck you for being so arrogant, Denver.”
Thorne took a sharp step forward, and at the same time so did
I.

I planted myself between them, locked my
hands on their shoulders, and pushed them away.

I had two brothers and a sister, and I knew
how to break up a fight.

“Stop,” I said simply. I didn’t tell them
they were being unreasonable; I didn’t tell them to work it out; I
just said stop.

Though both of them stared at each other
with burning-hot hate filling their eyes, they didn’t push me out
of the way and set about trying to rearrange each other’s
faces.

Instead Denver took a step back.

He glanced down at me and then turned
sharply to the side.

“Whatever is going on here, sort it out
later,” I said with a strict and severe tone. “As for this
investigation, I do hope that you will do everything you can.” I
now shifted my gaze to Thorne. “While I accept that your
explanation is likely true, I want to be assured that the Police
Department are still taking this threat seriously.”

I was now in an authoritative mood. I was
taking charge, and I was using the exact tone of voice that my
experience and wisdom had afforded me.

I wasn’t the exceedingly awkward kid from
high school anymore. I was a woman who had made it out into the
world and had secured herself a good life. And I wasn’t going to
give it up.

Thorne looked taken aback by my statement,
but nodded his head. “Of course we’re taking this seriously.”

“Great.” I now turned to Denver. The secret
to breaking up a fight between boys was never to appear to be
taking sides. “I appreciate all your help, but I do not want to
come between you two,” I pointed at the both of them. “Now I’m
going to grab my stuff, and I’m going to find somewhere else to
stay.”

“You really don’t need to,” Thorne
began.

“But I’m going to because I have no idea
what’s going on here, and I hate this motel anyway,” I answered
flatly.

For a time nobody said anything. Then Thorne
looked down at his shoes, up at me, and then slowly over to
Denver.

The two boys shot each other deadly
glances, and then Thorne turned his attention right back to me.
“Alright then, I guess I better get back to it. We still up for...”
he trailed off.

“Vietnamese? I guess so. I can’t promise you
I’ll eat much, but I’m going to need the company tonight.” It was a
very direct answer, and I can’t say I was flirting at all. It was
honest; I didn’t want to be alone, but I doubted I would be much
fun to be around. Thorne would likely do all the talking while I
sat alongside, ignored my food, and ate my fingernails instead.

“Okay, great, I guess,” Thorne answered
confusedly then shot me another smile, waved, and started to walk
off. “You’re going to be fine, Patti Smith. We aren’t going to let
anything happen to you.”

I nodded.

It took until Thorne was in his car and
driving away before Denver mumbled, “you’re only going to be fine
if you take steps to make yourself be fine.”

I slowly turned to face him.

Was it just me, or did he look slightly
crestfallen?

He couldn’t be that bothered by the fact I
was going out to have dinner with his brother, could he? Denver
didn’t look interested in me... or was he just playing hard to
get?

I couldn’t tell; the guy was decidedly
unreadable. He had one expression and one expression only: a kind
of hard, blank gaze that told you he didn’t like anyone
particularly much and that included you.

Yet right now he looked... I don’t know,
kind of awkward. A little like he had looked when Nancy had chucked
her arms around him and pushed her bust right up into his
chin.

“Do you think you can call that friend of
yours and ask if I can stay in her spare room?” I played with my
fingernails as I looked past him at my room.

He nodded.

Silence spread between us. I could hear the
cicadas beating their wings in the afternoon warmth. There were
birds twittering from above, and from behind the motel there was
the creak and crack of the forest.

He didn’t say a word, yet he didn’t walk off
either.

“Is this what I’m meant to be doing? Should
I stay here or just go home?” I asked him. I didn’t know why I did,
but I was feeling particularly tender and vulnerable. While the guy
was arrogant and blustery, he clearly knew what he was doing,
possibly quite a bit more than his brother. What Thorne made up for
in general friendliness, apparently he lacked in his ability to
deal with the threat of an impending murder.

Denver looked at me for a long moment. “Go
home.”

“But you said—” I began.

“I’ve changed my mind. Go home. Get out of
Wetlake.”

I was a little taken aback.

Before, he’d been unable to conclude which
would be the safer option; now, he was coming down hard on leaving
this place and leaving now. A little of me wondered whether that
had something to do with the fact I was going to meet his brother
for dinner in a little under two hours. The rest of me wondered
whether Denver had simply reassessed the situation, using his
superior knowledge and training, and had concluded that it really
was safer to leave.

I felt sick, really sick.

I pressed the back of my hand into my mouth
and tried to swallow.

“We have no idea who committed that murder,
and we have no idea what their plans are next. Now I am betting on
the fact they don’t have many resources and there are only one or
two people involved. If I’m right, it’s much safer to leave.”

“
Right,” I managed, the back of my hand
still pressed tightly into my lips and teeth. “I mean...
fuck.”

“Don’t get scared – get prepared,” he
responded easily.

It sounded like a corny catchphrase, and it
probably was amongst doomsdayers. Yet it had an odd effect on me.
Despite the situation, it stilled me a little, giving me some
much-needed perspective.

“If I leave now, I’m going to be driving all
night long. I’m feeling pretty sick already. I’m not sure if that’s
a good idea.” I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip as I continued
to think. “Plus, I doubt it’s a great idea to travel these roads at
night; from memory, there are way too many woodland creatures
popping out from the trees and trying to make you swerve into the
ditch. Plus, I’m not confident I won’t get lost.”

Denver didn’t say anything; he simply stood
there and watched as I came to my own conclusion.

“I’ll leave in the morning; that’s the
sensible thing to do,” I decided.

As soon as I decided that, I started to feel
a lot better. I let my hand drop from my lips.

I suddenly had a plan. It wasn’t a perfect
one, but it gave me something to hold onto.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I was
going to pack my luggage, and I was going to get out of here.

“Stay to the major highways and call ahead
to your local police station to let them know what’s going on.”
Denver nodded at me sharply.

“Can’t you call them?” I asked a little
pathetically. “You are the FBI Agent, after all. They’ll probably
just think I’m nuts.”

“Fine, I’ll call. But if Thorne finds out,
you’re going to have to come and find us to break up the fight
again.”

It took me a moment, but I eventually
flashed a smile at that. “I kind of get the impression that things
aren’t going well between you and your brother right now.”

“Things haven’t been going well since I
moved out. When I left Wetlake, he took it as a blow to him and the
family. He thought I was abandoning them, and hey, maybe I was.
I’ve hardly written, called, or visited since. I just packed up,
shifted my life, and put everything behind me. So he is right – I
am a fucking jerk.”

“No you’re not.” I hooked my hair behind my
ears and tried to appear earnest.

This elicited a snort. “You’ve already told
me I’m a jerk. You don’t have to try to make me feel better about
this. I made decisions in my life and they had consequences. That’s
the end of the equation.”

Who would have thought I would ever try to
offer Denver, the world’s-biggest jerk, assurance that he was
actually a nice guy. But I couldn’t help myself. Shifting on the
spot and supporting my elbow with my free hand, I nodded at him.
“So you moved away, big deal. So did I. Not everybody wants to live
in Wetlake; he can’t hold that against you.”

Denver started by looking past me at the
lawn behind the motel, and then he dug his heel hard into the
gravel below him and kicked it around for a second. Looking up, he
cast his gaze quickly over my face and maybe just for a second let
it drop down to my figure too. “Why do I get the feeling you are
attempting to intervene here, Patti? Are you trying to fix me?
Because I’m not the one who’s got a potential murderer on her
tail.”

Wow. That was hardly discreet. If you had to
award Denver emotional-sensitivity points out of ten, he would
score a flat zero along with stones, walls, and the long dead.

I didn’t let him get to me this time. I
realized that his lack of people skills had a lot to do with being
defensive rather than being a class-one asshole.

Denver clearly had his problems, and his
particular method of coping was to ignore them while snapping at
everything that came in range.

In other words, he was a classic guy.

“Fix you, Denver Scott? I’ve only got the
weekend, and I have a feeling you would take a lifetime.”

Though my statement had been sharp and
practically acerbic, he didn’t storm off in a huff. Instead, he
offered a punctuated laugh. “Somehow I don’t think you could stand
to hang around me that long. So why don’t we make a deal: you stop
with the insights and the advice, and I’ll do what I can to get you
out of this town in one piece.”

I was feeling queasy, nervy, and paranoid,
but I still had the guts to flash him a grin. “No deal. I hand out
insights and advice for a living. And though you aren’t going to
pay me, that isn’t going to stop me from telling you how to get
your life in order.”

His defenses dropped as concern flashed in
his eyes. “I don’t need your help.”

“You do. And I need yours. So why don’t you
help me pack my suitcase and take me to your friend’s house? I like
being honest, Denver, and though you admittedly irritate the hell
out of me, I want you by my side as I walk in my room in case a man
with a chainsaw is waiting in the wardrobe.”

Denver didn’t reply immediately. In fact, he
appeared to take a good long while to reassess me. I could see it
in his eyes; that mix of wariness, concern, and confusion revealed
that Denver Scott was starting to realize I had changed more than
he’d accounted for.

He gulped slightly. Then he readjusted his
jacket, pulling down hard on his sleeves as he shifted his neck
uneasily. “Chainsaw?” he managed.

“Gun, ax, spike – you pick your weapon of
choice. I think it’s important to know your limitations, and
Denver, I’d be as useless in a fight as a one-legged dog. You,” I
stood back and appraised him briefly, “look like you can handle
yourself.”

He coughed awkwardly.

“When it comes to hand-to-hand combat at
least,” I smiled around my words, my lips pulling up tight against
my teeth. I turned and gestured for him to follow me.

He paused.

It took a long time, but eventually he
added: “are you going to leave that statement just hanging there,
begging for a caveat? You think I can handle myself in a fight, but
not much else, right?” He strode up to me and matched my pace as we
walked, side-by-side, up to the porch.

I flicked my gaze over to him, blinking as I
did.

I didn’t say anything though.

He took one quick step ahead and then turned
to face me. Walking backwards confidently, he nodded low. “I can
handle a lot more than men with guns. I’m pretty good at handling
self-help authors who are trying to flirt with me as a distraction
from murder threats.”

Bam.

Denver was not a subtle man.

He took one more step backwards and reached
my door. He held my gaze as he held out his hand for the key.

I’d been unashamedly playing with him up to
that point, but now I ground my teeth as I reassessed the
situation.

He’d called my bluff; I was flirting with
him and quite probably as a distraction from the goddamn horrible
things that were going on around here.

“You know, I think pointing out my faults
makes you feel momentarily powerful in a situation that has robbed
you of any sense of certainty and security. I also think flirting
with me makes you feel more in control than you are.” He still had
his hand held out for my keys.

I slowly got them out of my bag. I didn’t
hand them over. Instead I stepped forward and grabbed the door
handle, opening it myself. Though I had to press my arm up hard
against his, I didn’t care, and he didn’t move.

Letting the door swing gently open, I looked
up at him. “You’re right and you’re wrong.”