The Fundamental Theory of Us (19 page)

“Oh my God.” Sawyer’s knees buckled. Andrew caught her and held her upright on the stairs, his arms a steel cage.

Detective Morrow arched a bushy brow. “Are you close with Mr. Winchester?”

Sweat trickled down her back. “N-no.”

He bobbed his head and took out a small black notepad, then flipped through a few pages with a creased brow. “How about Emory Daughton? Do either of you know her?”

“She’s in our Studio Art class at App State U,” Andrew answered, his voice crumbled granite.

“Would she have any reason to be here?”

Sawyer glanced at Andrew. “Your project?”

Detective Morrow’s brows flipped up to his hairline. “Project?”

“We’re paired up for a project in the class.” Andrew’s mouth twisted. “She knew we were busy tonight, though. We just came from a performance put on by the dance school. Sawyer and I, and two of our friends, had dinner reservations. Emory tried to tag along, but there was no room.”

“Tried to tag along?” The detective’s beady eyes lit up.

“She follows him around,” Sawyer said through gritted teeth.

“Is this true, Mr. Warren?”

Andrew nodded as he emptied his lungs in a long, slow hiss. “I think she’s been calling me from a blocked number, too. Obviously I don’t know that for sure.”

The detective nodded. “And Joshua Evans?”

“I served under him in the Marines.”

“Why was Mr. Evans in your apartment?” Detective Morrow asked Sawyer.

“He came to visit Andrew, unannounced, but we had plans. I suggested he spend the night in my place instead of getting a hotel room.” Hot anger simmered in Sawyer’s stomach. “I’m sorry, but what’s going on?”

Detective Morrow faced her head-on. “Shortly after nine o’clock tonight, we received a nine-one-one call from Joshua Evans, claiming he had apprehended a burglar in your apartment. The ID found on the burglar belonged to Chase Winchester.” He pushed the fire door open and ushered Andrew and Sawyer into the hall.

Chaos blanketed the usually quiet corridor. Police tape, plastic on the floor, a table set up with equipment laid out that looked like something off the set of CSI. Several police officers stood at the other end of the hall near the opposite staircase.

Sawyer felt for the wall, using it to help steady herself. “Is … is someone … dead?”

“Yes,” Detective Morrow deadpanned. “Since you’re here before the coroner, Miss Layne, would you mind identifying the body? We like to have a family member do it, for legal reasons.”

Identify the
body
.

The world spun in a hurricane of colors and Sawyer’s fancy dinner came back up inches from the detective’s shiny loafers.

Chapter Thirty-One

Andrew stood close by while Sawyer, held upright by Detective Morrow, inched inside her apartment to identify Chase’s body. Andrew already knew Chase was dead—the officer who called him, after Josh gave his statement and Andrew’s number, mentioned the word “deceased” and Andrew had to know if Josh was all right. Thank God he was fine, just shaken up.

Killing someone in any circumstances messed with one’s head.

He stepped close to the door of her apartment and peered inside. As a Marine, Andrew had witnessed his fair share of carnage. The scene in Sawyer’s place made even his stomach churn. A man lay sprawled across the floor between the open-plan kitchen and sitting area, his arms and legs at awkward angles. The white button-down shirt and beige khakis were dotted with red. Blood puddled around his body.

There was another body lying close by, covered in golden fur. Andrew knew this, too. Seeing Rosie didn’t make the news any easier to swallow. His eyes burned with tears he wouldn’t shed. But Jesus fuck, his heart hurt.

Andrew swallowed past the tightness in his throat as he watched Sawyer, leaning in as close as she dared, to Chase’s body. She bit her lip hard enough to make her cry out form the pain. Andrew saw her nod to the detective. So it was Chase then.

A heartbeat later, Sawyer ran from the apartment into Andrew’s arms with so much force she almost knocked him off balance. Only the wall behind him stopped them from tumbling to the ground. She gripped him in a fierce and trembling grip. He circled his arms around her and held her close, whispering what he hoped were soothing words in her ear.

“He’s gone,” Sawyer’s whisper-soft voice cracked at the end. She pulled her head from his shoulder and looked up, her eyes two dark liquid pools. “And, oh, Andrew! Rosie!” she wailed, clinging to his shirt, her tears soaking through the fabric to his skin.

Andrew could only nod. His muscles flexed and shook. Still, he wouldn’t let the tears come.

“I still don’t understand about Chase, though. Why would he come here?”

Andrew opened his mouth to say he didn’t know but the detective said, “I’d like you both to come down to the station and make your statements, if you don’t mind. Then I can fill you in on what we know. Unless you’d rather wait until the morning?”

Sawyer swiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at Andrew. “Can we do it now? Get it over with?” A shudder wracked her small frame, making the red satin dress shimmer like blood. “I don’t think I could sleep tonight anyway.”

“Sure.” Andrew kissed her brow.

A few minutes later, he and Sawyer piled into the back of a black unmarked car. As the officer pulled out of the lot, Andrew caught sight of Emory getting loaded into a police car. He still didn’t know what the hell she was doing there. Trying to get his attention for … something? Stalking him? Who knew? He’d find out soon enough, though.

At the station, Andrew and Sawyer were taken to separate rooms to give their statements. He went over the events of the evening until he could recite each dancer’s costume, their routine, the music playing during each performance, and what everyone sitting in the cozy restaurant had ordered during his time there.

Hours later, he and Sawyer sat together, and Emory was brought into the room with another officer. Andrew noticed the handcuffs on her wrists and the smear of blood on her cheek. He stared at Emory, trying to read her thoughts.

Detective Morrow stepped into the room and sat down, setting a file in front of him on the table. He waited for a minute in paper-thin silence before he began. “Sergeant, you can remove Miss Daughton’s cuffs.” Andrew stared at the man as he crossed the room, took a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the handcuffs. Emory winced and rubbed her wrists. “So, folks. This is what we have. At approximately nine-oh-nine PM, Chase Winchester broke into Sawyer Layne’s apartment. According to Miss Daughton, Mr. Winchester tried Andrew Warren’s place first, and when she arrived at the building, he let her into Mr. Warren’s apartment, then crossed the hall.”

Sawyer’s head snapped up at that, her eyes burning hot and full of anger in Emory’s direction. Emory ducked her chin to her chest.

The detective continued. “While Miss Daughton waited for Mr. Warren’s return, Mr. Winchester entered your apartment, Miss Layne, but since you weren’t there, he ran into some trouble. Mr. Evans said he was in the restroom, drying off from a shower, when he heard a noise and went to investigate. With Mr. Evans’s extensive military background, he obviously had the upper hand.”

Speaking of, where
was
Josh? He would have asked, but having been through this scenario following previous firefights and close-combat during his tours, Andrew knew to keep his questions until the end.

“While Mr. Evans subdued Mr. Winchester, Miss Daughton heard the commotion and entered the apartment, followed by the golden retriever, both distracting Mr. Evans long enough for Mr. Winchester to escape. Now, according to the evidence, and both Mr. Evans’s and Miss Daughton’s statements, Mr. Winchester grabbed a pair of scissors that were left on the kitchen table, and attacked Mr. Evans.”

“Oh my God!” Sawyer hiccupped between sobs. “Is he okay?”

“Mr. Evans is fine,” Detective Morrow said. “He sustained some defensive wounds, and a nasty cut to the cheek, though he’ll recover. Going back to what I was saying, Mr. Winchester turned on Mr. Evans with the scissors. At this point, the dog—”

“Rosie,” Andrew ground out, his teeth clenched so tight they might crumble to dust. “Her name … was Rosie.”

Sawyer laid her hand on his.

“—excuse me, Rosie,” Detective Morrow amended. “Rosie bit Mr. Winchester’s arm and he kicked her away. She came at him again, and he caught her in the shoulder with the scissors, then the eye, a fatal blow.”

A raw, ravaged sound filled the room. When all eyes moved in his direction, Andrew realized it came from him. Sawyer squeezed his hand. The detective continued.

“While the two men struggled, Miss Daughton rummaged through the kitchen drawers until she found a paring knife, and with that, stabbed Mr. Winchester once in the side. He then turned on her, and gave her the cut to her cheek. Miss Daughton dropped her knife, which Mr. Evans picked up. Miss Daughton ran for the hallway as Mr. Evans … well, you saw.”

Detective Morrow turned to Emory. “We also established that Miss Daughton and Mr. Winchester had never met before tonight. She claims to have met him in the hallway between the two apartments and, when she saw him picking the lock at Miss Layne’s apartment, said she wouldn’t call the police on him if he did the same for Mr. Warren’s apartment, letting her inside. She claimed to want to surprise you, Mr. Warren.”

Beside him, Sawyer fumed. He could actually feel the rage coming off her like heat from a bonfire. Andrew leaned forward in his chair. When the detective didn’t continue, Andrew said, “So what happens now?”

“You’ll all be released,” Detective Morrow announced. “Miss Daughton will be charged with accessory to breaking and entering, also known as aiding and abetting. Mr. Evans will not be charged with anything, and once the hospital releases him, he’ll be free to go, as well. Both you and Miss Layne are also free to go, however, you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay until our investigation is complete and the crime scene cleaners enter Miss Layne’s apartment.”

Andrew stood. “Take me to my truck.” The words came from someone else, someone he used to be.

One of the officers opened the door and led Andrew and Sawyer through the maze of the police station. When they reached the outside, Andrew paused, staring up at the sky. Wishing he was somewhere else. Then Sawyer gave his hand a tug, and when he met her gaze, he knew that was a mistake. Because if he weren’t here, he wouldn’t have her. They had both walked the mean streets of Hell and came out on the other side. Battered and bruised, and in his case, missing a limb, but together, they were strong. Stronger than anyone.

****

The police let them gather some clothing from their apartments. Andrew shoved his extra prosthetic, extra items, and his crutches, in his truck just as Sawyer came down and met him. She changed from her blood-red dress into jeans and an Appalachian State University sweatshirt. Her hair remained up in soft curls. Some had fallen from the pins and framed her pale face.

She stood in front of him, her brown eyes so big and wide, brimming with unshed tears. Andrew held his arms out and she went willingly, pressing her shaking body against him. He didn’t have the words to comfort her. It felt like someone had murdered his best friend, and in a way, that was close to the truth. Rosie was there for him when Andrew pushed everyone else away. She taught him to trust again. She taught him to open his heart. Rosie gave him the strength and courage to go after what he wanted most of all: Sawyer.

“I’m so sorry, Andrew.” She kissed his throat.

He held her tighter, and they stood there for a few more minutes, until he felt he could get in his truck and drive without breaking down. He wanted to run the course. Shit idea though—going there would only remind him of Rosie.

Instead of heading straight to a hotel, Andrew drove around town for a few hours. He stopped at a drive-thru for coffee and breakfast, which turned out to be a waste of money. He couldn’t get more than a couple bites down. Neither could Sawyer. When the sun came up, casting an eerie glow on Boone, Andrew pulled into a parking spot at the hospital. He needed to see another familiar face.

Sawyer didn’t speak. She held his hand and walked in silence. She was there, just there, like she knew that was what he needed. God, she was so fucking perfect.

They reached Josh’s room at the same time the breakfast trays were being handed out. Josh sat up in his bed, a few bandages here and there. Another guy lay in the bed across from Josh, awake but staring at the ceiling. Josh turned when he heard them enter the room and Andrew sucked in a breath.

A jagged row of what had to be at least fifty stitches went from Josh’s cheek, just under his eye, to the edge of his jaw. Andrew couldn’t hide his reaction, and Josh saw it. After a second, he dropped his gaze to the floor while Andrew stared at him. He wanted to kick himself, but he couldn’t look away.

Sawyer let go of Andrew’s hand and went to the chair beside Josh. She sat down and laid her hand on his. When Josh looked up, he met Andrew’s stare first. A hundred words went unspoken between them. Josh gave his friend a nod, then looked to Sawyer.

“Thanks for coming,” Josh said, his voice thick.

Sawyer scooted the chair closer to Josh’s bed. “Of course. Did they say when you’re allowed out of here?”

“Some point today.”

An orderly brought in a tray for Josh, and the guy in the bed across from him. The other guy didn’t move.

Sawyer busied herself with the tray, lifting lids and angling the table for Josh. If she were anyone else, Josh would have snarled at her. Hell, Andrew would have, too. Not when Sawyer fussed. She had this almost magical way of making anyone feel at ease in any situation.

Andrew grabbed a second chair and carried it to Josh’s bed. He sat on the left, so Josh wouldn’t feel like a fly in a glass jar. Andrew still remembered the pitying looks the hospital staff gave him about his leg. Now he covered it with jeans and long pants. Josh’s scars were forever visible. He wouldn’t even be able to grow a beard to cover it.

When Sawyer prompted him, Josh ate a little of everything on his tray. He swallowed the last bite he put in and set the plastic fork down, then turned to Andrew. “Thanks for coming, man.”

Andrew nodded. Nothing could keep him away. That was another thing Rosie taught him. Mistakes were just that, mistakes. Maybe he couldn’t go back, but he could go forward, and fix the broken bridges along the way.

“And,” Josh said, his voice breaking, “I’m sorry about Rosie.”

Hot anger mixed with tears, blocking out his vision. He stared at something, not knowing what it was, and bobbed his head. That’s all he could do.