Falling Like Snowflakes (30 page)

Beau took a call, holding one ear so he could hear over the cacophony of music and chatter.

A loud pop sounded, and Micah held his arms up to her. His eyes had taken on that anxious look she hadn't seen in weeks. She lifted him up, and he wrapped himself around her. He'd gained weight over the past several weeks, and his little bony body had filled out. He looked healthier, happier. Except for tonight. It was too much too soon. She should've known better.

The crowd bustled closer together as the minutes ticked down. She shifted Micah's weight in her aching arms.

Beau pocketed his phone and held out his hands. “Let me have him.”

Micah went to him without complaint, tucking his face into Beau's shoulder. She gave Beau a worried smile. There was no way she was putting him through a fireworks show.

“That was Sheriff Colton,” Beau said over the emcee at the microphone. “He asked me to help with crowd control after the lobster drop.”

She started to tell him she needed to take Micah home after the fireworks, but the crowd, spurred by the emcee, began counting down. “10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . .”

Beau encouraged Micah to watch the giant fake lobster, creeping ever so slowly down a metal pole. The little boy peeked out from the spot between Beau's neck and shoulder.

“3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Happy New Year!” Party horns sounded all around them as a cheer went up.

Zac gave them high fives, including one for Micah.

“Happy New Year, kiddo.” Eden caressed Micah's cheek.

A loud crack sounded, followed by a pop. Micah's arms tightened around Beau, and he tucked his face into Beau's shoulder.

Her eyes aligned with Beau's, his warming as he searched her face. Funny how he could make a crowd disappear with just one look.

“Happy New Year,” he said.

“Happy New Year.”

He leaned forward, a protective hand on Micah's back, and brushed her lips with his. His mouth was surprisingly warm, and her heart gave a sigh as he pulled away.

The crowd had already begun dispersing. “I have to man the walkway out to the harbor. Are you up for the walk?”

“Actually, I think Jack and I need to go home.” She gave a pointed look at Micah and mouthed.
Fireworks.

Beau rubbed his jaw. “Gotcha. I'll call Colton and get out of this.”

“Maybe we can get a ride from someone. Or we can take the truck, and you can get a ride after the fireworks.”

“I'll take you. You're not going home alone.”

She balked at the order, but before she could argue, Zac spoke up.

“I'll take them home. I'm not staying for the fireworks.”

“It's settled then,” she said. “Thanks, Zac.”

Beau was slower to agree. He looked at his brother for a long minute before he looked back to her. “I won't be long.”

He handed Micah back to her, and they parted ways. Micah was very quiet on the ride home. She prayed tonight hadn't set him back too much. She put her arm around him, and he leaned into her side.

When they were pulling into the drive, Zac's phone rang. He checked the screen before he answered.

“All right,” he said a minute later. “Be down in a few.” He hung up the phone. “The alarm's going off at the Roadhouse. Probably just some kids messing around.”

They pulled up to the house and Zac turned off the car, reaching for the door handle.

“Go check on the alarm,” she said.

He gave Eden a look. “Beau told me to stay with you.”

The order set her teeth on edge. She was perfectly capable of being alone for two seconds.

“I'm fine, Zac. He'll be home soon. I'm leaving tomorrow anyway, remember? We'll be completely on our own then.”

Zac stared at the darkened house, looking torn.

Eden reached for the door handle. “Really, we'll be fine. Go on.”

He sighed, then gave her a pointed look. “Lock the door behind you.”

“I will. Thanks for the ride. I hope everything's okay with the alarm.”

Once inside she closed the door and twisted the locks, hearing the rumble of Zac's truck as he started down the drive.

Micah was already curled in the recliner by the window, looking too much like the little boy she'd taken on the run a month and a half ago. Leaving the lights off, she lifted him and sank into the chair with him, hoping he might fall asleep in her arms. But outside the distant sounds of the fireworks show began, the deep booms reverberating through the night air. There would be no sleep until the show was over. She wrapped the afghan around him and tucked his head under hers.

A thunderous boom shook the windowpane behind them,
and he pressed closer until she felt the thump of his heart against her own.

“It's okay, kiddo,” she whispered.

She closed her eyes, the late hour catching up with her. The faded strains of “American Kids” strummed in her mind.

She wasn't sure how many minutes had passed when there was a pause in the fireworks. A quiet hum rose to fill the brief silence. An engine. Had Zac returned? Beau couldn't be back yet. And yet there had been no lights flooding through the curtains on the car's approach. Her body stiffened at the realization.

The humming ceased as the fireworks resumed.

Heart thundering in her chest, she whipped around and edged back the curtain.

A dark SUV huddled in the shadows. Then someone emerged. Someone tall and broad-shouldered. Fear struck the very marrow of her bones as she recognized the man she'd once trusted to protect her.

Chapter 33

B
eau watched from the boardwalk as red specks of light bloomed across the velvet sky. People were spread on the rocky beach in front of him, bundled in quilts and blankets. Others lined the retaining wall and perched on piers that jutted out into the water. Boats dotted the harbor, their pole lights barely visible in the wispy smoke from the fireworks. A metallic smell hung in the air.

He'd hoped to head home once the crowd was settled, but Sheriff Colton had been right. People were drinking and antsy tonight. Beau broke up a fight between a love triangle and had to call Colton to haul one of them off. Others had just been loud and obnoxious, but he knew how quickly a little “good fun” could turn into a ruckus.

He went to the fireworks every year, on the Fourth of July, too, but he always forgot until they started that they bored him silly. He scanned the crowd, looking for impending trouble. A group of young men on a moored boat was getting rowdy, disturbing the peace. A little girl toddled toward a live sparkler planted in the sand. Before he could move, the girl's mom swept her up.

A few stragglers wandered around, unable to find a place to
sit. Mrs. Miller, his picky Christmas tree customer, wheeled her fussy grandson around in a stroller. Merle Franke, who owned the cranberry bog, wandered around with two steaming cups. Beau pointed him toward his wife on the beach.

“Hey, Beau.”

He whirled at the familiar voice. Paige came to a stop a few feet away, cradling a steaming cup between her gloved hands. Her eyes and nose peeked out between her blue knit hat and scarf.

“You're back.”

“Didn't want to miss the show.” She looked up, the firework casting a golden glow on her face.

“They're good this year.”

She shot him a look. “You don't even like fireworks.”

“True enough. Who are you here with?”

“Sara and Lauren,” she said, naming two of her coworkers. “They're . . . out there somewhere. I went for a drink. I'm waiting for their text. You?”

“Just helping the sheriff with crowd control. How was your Christmas?”

“Good. It was fun catching up with Mary Beth. Christmas dinner was a bust, though. She burned the ham, and we ended up at a truck stop. It was the only place open. Riley called, though. That was a nice surprise.”

“He called us too. It was good hearing his voice.”

“He seems to be doing well.”

“Yep.” Beau shoved his hands in his pockets. “He sure does.”

An awkward moment settled between them as they ran out of small talk, the fireworks punctuating the silence. He hadn't seen her since the night of their breakup. He wondered how she was doing but didn't feel he had the right to ask.

“I am okay, you know.”

His gaze cut to her, but she was still watching the sky.

“What?” she said cheekily. “Didn't think I'd ever get over you?”

“Of course not—”

She shot him a smile. “Kidding, Beau. I had a lot of time to think while I was in Portland. And you were right. Things haven't been right lately. Maybe they never really were. We were missing a certain spark, I think. And honestly, part of the appeal of ‘us' was your family. I'm already close to Riley, and you guys are . . . well, the closest thing to family I have. I guess I just wanted to be one of you.”

His heart softened at her words. “You already are.”

She smiled. “Thanks for that.”

“You're always welcome at our house, you know that. Sunday suppers, Patriot games . . . you have an open invitation.”

“I might take you up on that. How are things working out with Kate?”

His gut twisted at the mention of her. He watched a red oval spread across the sky. “She's leaving tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry. That must be hard.”

“Mmm.” He didn't want to talk about Kate with Paige. It was awkward. If not for her, then for him. It amazed him that she sounded genuinely sad for him. But then Paige was a special woman. Just not the right one for him.

She pulled her phone from her pocket, then scanned the beach.

Sara and Lauren waved from the middle of the crowd.

“There they are. I'd better go claim my spot.”

“Enjoy the show.”

“Take care, Beau.”

He watched her go, feeling a little melancholy. Not because it was over between them but because she'd brought up Kate, and
now he was thinking about her leaving tomorrow. He'd kept hoping that by some miracle the feds would have collected enough evidence by now to put the moles away. Then Jack could be an eyewitness at the trial, Fattore would be put away, and all of this would be over.

“Howdy, Beau.” Charlotte Dupree from the diner stepped up to him. Her bright red hair was tucked into a black knit cap with a fuzzy pom-pom, and she wore a pink scarf that clashed with her lipstick.

“Hey, Charlotte. Enjoying the fireworks?”

A thunderous boom shook him from the inside out just before a spray of blue brightened the sky.

“They're pretty good so far.”

“Where's Joe?”

“Aw, he's shutting down the café. He doesn't care much for fireworks. What are you doing out here all alone?”

He shrugged. “The rest of the gang went home, and Aunt Trudy's with her friends.”

“Hey, did Kate's brother ever find her?”

A knot of dread tightened in his gut. His eyes cut to hers. “Kate's brother?”

“He came into the café earlier with a picture of her, said he was her brother. He's quite a looker, that one, but he doesn't really look like—What's wrong?”

Adrenaline flooded his system. “What did you tell him?”

“Well . . . I told him she was staying with you all, out at the Christmas tree farm—”

He turned and ran.

“I'm sorry if I . . .”

He couldn't hear anything else. Couldn't hear anything
beyond the blood rushing in his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. The blocks whizzed by, a blurry backdrop. He pulled his phone from his pocket, slowing only long enough to dial Kate's number.

His feet pounded the sidewalk. He skirted people, his eyes trained on the library parking lot.

Come on, Kate. Pick up.

The phone rang and rang until her voicemail kicked on.

He called Zac and waited for him to pick up. He'd reached his truck when his brother finally answered.

“Is everything okay?” Beau's breath came in gasps. He started the car and peeled from the parking space.

“What's wrong?”

“Kate. Lock the doors. Someone's looking for her. I have a spare gun upstairs in my—”

“Beau, I'm not there. I had to—”

“What you do you mean you're not there?”

“The alarm at the Roadhouse—crap. I'm heading out the door now.”

Beau was closer to the farm. “I gotta go.” His words were abrupt. He hung up and dialed dispatch. He couldn't believe Zac had left her there alone.

You shouldn't have let her leave. What were you thinking?

He pounded his fist on the steering wheel as he waited for his call to connect, nearly running down pedestrians in front of the fire station. He braked reluctantly.

Come on, come on
, he thought as they moseyed across as if they had all night. When they finally cleared his lane, he floored it.

The dispatcher picked up as he passed Wharf Street. He requested backup, reverting automatically to the clipped language
of cop lingo, then hung up the phone. He was tempted to call Kate again. But that would only slow him down.

He turned toward the farm, punching the pedal. He flew over the hills, his tires squealing around the curves. The minutes ticked away too fast.

“Come on, God. Let me get there before he does. Please . . .”

He couldn't stand the thought of the alternative. An image flashed into his mind. Kate on his living room rug, a gunshot wound to her chest. Jack lying in a pool of blood nearby.

No.
No, he wouldn't think like that. It wasn't too late. It couldn't be.

It took forever to reach the farm. He pulled into the drive and flew down the lane, forcing himself to slow as he neared the house. His heart pounded at the sight of an SUV parked alongside the house.

He killed the lights and crept as close as he dared before he shut off the engine. The porch light was on, but the house was dark.