Head Start (Cedar Tree #7) (13 page)

“I’m taking you home.” Is all he says, and I’m sucked down too deep in my own misery right now to even care about anyone else.

N
eil

“So Gus tells me you might be staying with Kendra?”

I just managed to get Kendra home and in bed. I hope to God those pills she took will take the edge off, because she looked like death warmed over. Was barely coherent when I was pulling off her shoes, and she didn’t even react when I unbuttoned and stripped her jeans down her legs before tucking her in. I wasn’t going to touch the rest of her clothes. Not like that.

“I am,” I tell Arlene. My phone started ringing when I walked out of the bedroom, and I was half expecting someone to call, since I never bothered going back into the diner to let anyone know we were leaving. I would’ve called myself, but Arlene beat me to it.

“What happened?” Her concern is genuine.

“Migraine I suspect. She was gray by the time I got outside. I got her into the truck and home right away. She has medication, so I’m assuming she has these often.”

“That’s what Elsa guessed it was. You do know you left her mother stranded here, right?”

Fuck. Hadn’t even thought about that. Not even when I pulled around her car in the driveway. Too focused on Kendra. “Shit. Now I do,” I tell Arlene, running my hand through my hair. “Would it be possible for someone to drop her off here?”

“Actually,” Arlene’s voice drops to a whisper. “I was thinking I’d offer her your bed upstairs. Emma doesn’t have room, because Kara has the guest house, and she’s welcome to stay with us in the spare room, but I thought she might be more comfortable in your apartment, since she doesn’t really know us from Adam.”

“Christ, what fucked-up timing for a road closure.”

“Is something going on? Something that has Gus standing outside the door urgently talking on his phone, and you watching over Kendra like a hawk? Is she in any danger?” Should’ve known Arlene would be suspicious. The woman has a keen eye and a nose for drama.

“It’s under control, Arlene. And if you’re worried, talk to Gus. He’d have my balls if I spoke out of turn.”

I hear her low chuckle on the other side. “Ha. I’ll talk to Emma and let her squeeze her man for info. She’ll get it out of him.”

I smile. She sure will. Emma may look the cuddly, warm-hearted softy, but when push comes to shove, that woman is someone to reckon with. And she absolutely has a firm grip on Gus’s balls. “To answer your earlier question, yes, by all means, give Elsa my bed. Do me a favor, though? Check the linen closet for clean sheets and make sure I haven’t left a disaster. I don’t think so, but I can’t rightly remember anything more than stumbling out of bed this morning with my eyes still closed.”

“No problem. And I’ll run her over there tomorrow morning before the breakfast rush.”

“Thanks Arlene, I owe you one.”

“No worries, I’ve got your back. Just look after my girl,” she says before hanging up.

It’s only seven thirty, but it feels like a full forty-eight hours have passed since the phone woke me up this morning. Still, there’s no way in hell I’m going to bed now. Not when there’s a crazy bastard out there picking off women. With a cold beer from the fridge, I sit down at the table and boot up my computer.

I’ve just finished spreading out the notes I made on the dining room table, any possible parallels between the files highlighted. All six women from La Plata county except for one, were single, between the ages of twenty-five and forty, working in a medically related field and all, at some point in time in the last year, had had a profile up on one of three dating websites. I don’t have access to the files from the possibly related cases from other counties that had been flagged, but I assume Agent Jasper Greene will be able to get a hand on those, if he doesn’t already have them. For each of the six women, I made a list of profile names for people they were approached by or had contact with through the dating sites, and I’ve been looking for the same or a similar name on each of them. I could do a background on every profile they’ve connected with but that would take me forever. If I could narrow it down to one profile, it would speed things up. Nothing stands out at first glance until I spot a few that seem oddly familiar. I’m about to pop them into Google to see if there’s any significance when there’s a knock. With half an ear to the upstairs listing for any movement, I quickly open the door.

“Hey,” I greet Gus, joining him on the porch. I don’t want to chance waking up Kendra, so leave the front door open only a crack.  “Something happen?”

“Got a call from Gomez,” Gus says as he leans up against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “They picked up Cayman half an hour ago in Gallup, pulling into his driveway. He’ll be driving out there sometime tomorrow with plans to take on Cayman’s questioning himself.”

“That’s great news. Fucking fantastic news,” I tell him. It is great news, but it doesn’t explain why Gus came to tell me in person when a phone call would’ve done the trick. “But why do I get the feeling that’s not why you’re here?” The slight tick of his jaw tells me my guess is on the money.

“Kendra,” he says, squinting at me. “What are you up to with her?”

Instantly my defensive hackles go up. “Not sure if that’s any of your business, Boss.” The last I say with a bit of an edge, enough for Gus to raise one eyebrow into his hairline.

“I also consider you a friend,” he says, calmly deflating my indignant balloon. “Kendra as well. Which is why I’m asking.” He slowly uncrosses his arms and reaches back to grab the top of the railing, effectively using his body language to show a little less confrontation. “Maybe the better question would be what are you up to with Kara?”

Now I’m confused. Kara? We’re good friends, he knows that. Hell, everyone knows that. But then I think of the odd look I was catching from Kendra across the table and there was that remark she made outside of the diner. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, although she did sound a bit off. In fact, she’d been off most of the evening.

“I don’t understand. I haven’t seen Kara in over a year. We’ve been friends for years, Gus. What the hell? Everyone knows that. I know there was a period where some people thought there might have been more, but friends is all we’ve ever been.” Of course I don’t tell him that Kara has even less interest in me than I might have in her, but that’s not for me to share.

“Sure most of us know that, but not necessarily everyone, bud. Would Kendra have reason to know that? She’d never met Kara before tonight. Look,” he urges when I make a move to object, “I’m not blind. I know you’ve had a thing for Kendra since she first came to town, but I don’t know where you’re at with her. Or where she’s at, for that matter. All I know is that seeing you and Kara together did something to her. Don’t know what, but I know she was shaking beside me almost the entire meal.”

Son of a mother-fucking-bitch.

I drop my head back against the house and blow out a lungful of air through my tightened lips. Dammit. It never occurred to me how it may have come across. I never even fucking stopped to introduce them. Frankly, I didn’t even know they’d never met. To me, Kara is synonymous with Cedar Tree, and so is Kendra. The one difference is that I’m probably the only one in Cedar Tree who knows everything about Kara. Which is part of the reason we’re so easy with each other. She’s like my sister. But to Kendra ... Jesus. I’m an ass.

“I see I made my point,” Gus says with a grin. “Better clear that up ASAP, boyo.”

K
endra

I feel like I’ve slept a year.

My head is heavy, but the migraine is gone, thank God. Carefully cracking open an eye against the sunlight streaming in, I take a peek at my alarm clock. Six forty-five. Shit. Already fifteen minutes behind. It only took me ten minutes to get to the hospital for my shift from the apartment. Now, I’d need at least another fifteen minutes. My internal clock apparently hadn’t received that message and I’d been too out of it last night to set my alarm.

Last night...shit. The whole day yesterday had been one stressful thing on top of another. I thought at the time, my mother’s arrival would be the cherry on the cake but it managed to get worse. No wonder I ended up with the migraine to end all migraines. Did I puke? Can’t remember. I do remember Neil following me outside and taking me home, but very little after that. Before my mind has a chance to drag me places I don’t want to go, I swing my legs out of bed and rub my hands over my face. Thinking can come later. Time to hustle.

It’s not until I see myself in the bathroom mirror that I notice I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes. At least the top half of them. My legs are bare. Neil must’ve undressed me. A hint of panic is almost instantly quelled when I realize he stopped there, and I blow out a deep breath in relief. With quick movements and with my back to the mirror, as always, I whip off the rest of my clothes. Once under the hot shower, I feel the lingering tension drain from my body. After quickly washing my hair, I squirt some shower gel in my hand and soap up my body, shaving the stubbly bits as I encounter them. My fingers slide over the ugly ridges on my skin. Scars I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.

My migraines started when I was maybe fourteen. Just about the time I started ballooning out of my training bras. By fifteen, I had a chest that seemed to be everyone’s envy. Or focus. I hated it. It wasn’t until I was twenty-six that I started thinking those two might be connected—my boob size and the migraines. But it wasn’t until about six years ago that I worked up the courage to do something about it. At first it had been worth it as it seemed my migraines were gone.

They weren’t, so now I had scars and migraines to contend with. Big ugly scars from complications after the surgery. Scars I couldn’t even bear to look at, let alone expect someone else to.

Wiping briskly with a towel, I finish drying myself off, and will the negative thoughts from my head. I still have my back to the mirror, though.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed—my hair blown out and up in a ponytail—and am coming down the stairs. It’s not until I’m halfway down that I realize I’m smelling coffee. Neil never left.

“Hey,” I say in greeting as I walk into the kitchen and see him at the counter, doing something with a bowl of eggs. Relaxed in a T-shirt and jeans, he looks unfairly gorgeous as usual. 

He turns around and throws me a smile. “Morning. How’s the head?”

“Better,” I mumble as I edge up to the counter to see what he’s doing. A cutting board with diced peppers and onion is sitting beside the stove, and in a pan he has some chopped up bacon sizzling. “What are you making?”

“Omelet. Thought I’d do a mushroom omelet, but you don’t have mushrooms.”

I wrinkle my nose at the thought. Mom tried to feed me mushrooms every so often when I was younger but I never could stand them. I’m a bit better now and can stomach them if they are chopped up small enough and hidden in a bunch of other ingredients. A mushroom omelet sounds disgusting, though.

Neil chuckles when he sees my expression. “I’m guessing mushrooms ... not a favorite?” I simply shake my head in response.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask as I watch him deftly sauté the vegetables with the bacon.

“Had planned on staying anyway, Pup. Sure wasn’t gonna leave with you not feeling well.” He pours the eggs right on top of the contents of the pan and shoves it in the oven.

There it is again— Pup. Irritating me and making me feel warm inside at the same time. But before I can voice an objection, he has swung around. Tagging me behind the neck, he pulls me close and takes my mouth in a firm kiss. “Morning,” he mumbles against my lips.

“You already said that,” I point out, my brains about as scrambled as those eggs.

“I needed to do it right. Especially since I fucked up.”

I push back on his chest and take him in. “How’s that? What did you do?”

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me into the living room.

“Hey, your eggs.”

“Twenty minutes in the oven. We need to talk,” he says, pulling me down on the couch with him.

It’s never good, when someone tells you they need to talk. Those words lead to disappointment and pain. Which is why I scoot to the other side of the couch and pull my legs up to create some distance.

“I fucked up yesterday and I didn’t realize it. Kara and I—“

I immediately hold up my hand to stop him. I don’t want to do this right now. I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had a fudged-up weekend and I’m done. “Please, no need. I get it, we’re good. You two obviously go way back and you seem perfect together. I wasn’t really—“

“Shut up,” he growls. Growls. At me.

I’m already on the move, prepared to pick up breakfast on the way and forfeit that delicious looking omelet in the oven, when I’m stopped in my tracks, his hand on my wrist. With one tug, he has me sitting on his lap. “Neil, I—”

“Quiet. You’re gonna have to let me explain.” His words are clipped.

“Really, it’s not necessary.” I slide off his lap and laugh. Even to my own ears it sounds fake. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Christ, you are exasperating, would you be quiet and let me talk?” The eye-roll to the ceiling was a bit over the top if you ask me. But I press my lips together, figuring that it’ll be over much faster if I let him have his say.