Untamed: Duty Bound Book 3 (8 page)

“I’m closing your husband’s cases, ma’am, and it appears some files are incomplete. Do you know if he kept any documents at home? In a filing cabinet perhaps, or on his home computer?”

“No, he didn’t.” Unsettled by the sudden inquiry, she hugged her daughter closer. “The only thing he ever brought home was his pathetic ass. If that’s all, I’d like to go back to bed.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, ma’am.” He sounded despondent. “You have a good day.”

As soon as she got rid of Stone, she returned Lyn to bed.

“Close your eyes, baby.” The light from the bathroom shone across the corridor and into Lyn’s room, casting a yellow hue over the Teddy bears stuffed on the ledge above the bed. She stroked her daughter’s blonde hair. Once sleep claimed her, Terri walked into the hall.

“Your daughter didn’t see me, neither did Stone.”

The shadow in the doorway of her bedroom startled her. She paused within inches of his strong arms and broad chest.

“He asked if Brent kept any documents here.” She ran a finger down the front of his shirt, circling every button. “He looked at me in a creepy way. I don’t like him. Can you keep him away from me? Please?”

“I’ll take care of him. He won’t bother you again.” With a tug, he loosened her belt, parting her robe. “Last night was amazing.”

He teased her breast with his thumb, rekindling a fire in her belly. On a scale of one to ten, he ranked eight and a half. The best rating she’d ever given to a man in uniform.

“Next time you’re off duty, feel free to stop by for another late night coffee.”

Chapter Thirteen

Near the cabin, Hannah’s son was playing with his dog in a fort built of snow and ice. The animal wore black doggie boots and a blue sweater of the same shade as the child’s snowsuit. When Avery approached the lower side of the fortified structure, Rory and his furry friend stilled. Both looked at him with eyes as wide as saucers.

“Hi, little man. Where’s your mom?”

The dog barked once in response while the boy pointed at the shed without uttering a word.

“You’re the strong silent type, aren’t you?”

His face scrunched up in confusion, Hannah’s son retreated into the corner of his frozen fortress where the dog jumped on his lap.

“Want to come with me to see your mom?”

Rory shook his head side to side with gritty determination.

Unsure how to interpret the silent treatment or the refusal, Avery headed toward the shed. Thumping sounds resonated from where the fox had hung. In his mind, he conjured up Hannah tanning the skin with a stick. When he rounded the corner, the images faded. They were replaced by a woman in jeans and plaid shirt chopping wood. Sweat trickled down her face and the shirt hugged her heaving chest.

With his warm winter jacket on, Avery managed to keep the bitter cold at bay. Venturing outside with nothing more than indoor clothing was reckless.

Intent on instilling some sense into her brain, he marched on. “Hannah!”

When she didn’t respond, he halted abruptly. In the spur of the moment, he’d forgotten she couldn’t hear. How was he supposed to get the attention of a deaf woman holding an axe without startling her and jeopardizing both their lives?

No wonder Rory hadn’t shown any inclination to accompany him.
For his own safety, the child had probably been taught to stay away from his mother until she fetched him.

Without getting too close, he waved his arms while trying to move in her line of vision. Focused on her task, she paid no attention to him. He’d resigned himself to wait when a snowball flew by him and hit the bundle of logs. Her head snapped up, and Hannah looked past him. Avery followed her gaze to the boy slapping his mitts together.
A snowball.
The mother and son’s silent code was crude, but effective.

“Thank you, little man,” he yelled at the boy.

Rory responded with a rare smile before sauntering away, the dog on his heels.

“Avery?” The axe set against the tree stump, Hannah walked toward the shed. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.” He followed her to a pile of wood stacked neatly against the outside wall.

Her winter coat lay on the top of the cord. She put it on but didn’t zip it. “Chopping wood. Wasn’t that obvious?”

Amusement echoed in every word, which amazed him considering she couldn’t hear.

“Need help?” Many questions swirled in his mind, questions he ached to ask, but he reined in his impatience. First and foremost, he needed to gain her trust. Then and only then could he hope for truthful answers. “If you let me take a few practice swings, I’m pretty sure I could manage to split a few logs.”

“Practice swings? I may be deaf, but that doesn’t sound too safe.” Mischievousness trickled through her smile—a smile as vibrant as the untamed wilderness surrounding them. “If you help me carry the wood inside, I’ll make you a mug of hot chocolate for your trouble.”

“That’s the best offer I got all week.” He already worked for peanuts, he might as well accept the pay raise to chocolate. “You take Rory inside before he resembles Frosty the snowman and let me take care of the wood. If you argue, I’ll arrest you for disobedience.”

Her renewed laughter floated in the air long after she disappeared around the shed.

***

Meet me. Arena. 2 pm.

Matt preferred the text messages requesting his presence in her bed, but if she wanted to meet him at the indoor skating rink, he would happily oblige. Everyone in town knew they’d been friends forever. No one raised a brow when they hung out together.

A folding sign sat on the concrete floor in the lobby of the recreation center near the admission booth. FREE PUBLIC SKATING FROM 1 TO 3 PM was written in white letters against a navy blue background.

He strolled by the curling rink where Vic’s team competed against the guys from Garnet Financial Services. After four ends, his friend’s team trailed 3-1. Vic wasn’t as handy with a stone as he was with an icicle. That was too bad for his team.

The skating rink was located at the other extremity of the rec center, next to a snack bar that sold greasy French fries and bad coffee at exorbitant price. Matt walked past the empty, ketchup stained tables and through a set of thick doors. The temperature dropped by several degrees despite the heaters hanging from the ceiling.

Kids and adults alike skated counter-clockwise on the ice surface. He spotted her in the stands, high up on the last row. Alone.

Her attention focused on the ice, she didn’t acknowledge his presence until he sat by her side. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, babe, but I was on a job.” In private, he would have greeted her with a long kiss, but she disliked public affection. “The shitty pipes were so rusted I had to retrofit the entire line.”

“You were supposed to chase her away.” Hatred pervaded each word. She didn’t need to name
her
for Matt to know who she referred to. “Vic saw her nosing around the bridge with her bastard. He said she looked anything but scared.”

The deaf woman was more stupid than he thought. By now, she should have gotten the hint that she wasn’t welcomed in this town. “What do you suggest I do, babe? Point a gun in her face?”

The donuts in uniforms weren’t taking the threats against Parker seriously, but if Matt pushed too far, the scale might tip against him.

“Of course not. That’d be too obvious.” She leaned closer to him, and her breath teased his ear. “But a hunting accident would be nice.”

***

“Why don’t we sit at the kitchen table?”

Rory had fallen asleep on the couch watching Avery stack the wood under the window, and Hannah didn’t want to disturb her son’s peaceful rest.

To avoid an accident while he worked, Avery had removed his gun and stored it on top of the fridge, out of reach for children. That he trusted her with his weapon brought back bittersweet memories.

He accepted the mug of hot chocolate she presented him, then sat in Rory’s place. The tip of his tongue licked his upper lip when he took a sip, drawing a quizzical smile.

“It’s better than I remember.”

The soft glow in his dark brown eyes warmed her insides more effectively than any hot cocoa. “Glad you like it.”

It’d been many years—too many years—since she’d welcomed a man in her cabin and let him take his boots off. She found herself wishing she could let her guards down.

“Will Rory wake up asking for a cup?”

“He doesn’t ask for anything anymore.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words until Avery’s brows arched up. Thinking aloud was a bad habit she’d developed. She needed to curb it. “I didn’t mean…”

“Hannah? Has something happened to Rory?”

He gazed at her with a strange mixture of compassion and curiosity—a look she couldn’t resist.

“An incident happened back in November. It was the day after our first big snowstorm of the season. Rory was so excited to go play outside in the snow. He took a small red shovel with him and climbed into the tree house while I chopped wood.”

The ill-fated day replayed in her mind as clearly as if it’d happened hours ago. She’d lifted the axe above her head when—without warning—Rory had appeared in front of her. A few seconds later, and she might have hurt him, but she never took the swing. The axe had slipped from her hands and grazed her back before landing in the snow somewhere behind her.

“Rory knows to stay away from me when I hold an axe, hammer, or rifle. If he needs me, he throws something in front of me so I know he’s there. That day, he didn’t warn me. He just walked up to me, shivering like a leaf in a storm. His was face whiter than snow and his bare hands colder than ice. He was…he was petrified, Avery. Snowflake was by his side, her tail between her legs. I picked him up, and as I walked to the house, I saw blood and snowmobile tracks in the fresh snow near the tree house. Someone had come, and the only thing I could think of was that he had hurt my son. I called Freddy, the doctor in town. He came right away.” Her foster brother had rushed to her rescue, and though he wasn’t a vet, he’d examined both Rory and Snowflake. “Freddy didn’t find any physical sign of assault, but Rory hasn’t spoken or played near the tree house since.”

Avery nodded slowly as if the motion helped him absorb the details. “Did you mention the incident with Rory when you reported the first threatening note?”

“No, I—” Her son lost his voice on November 19
th
. She didn’t receive the first note until Dec 4
th
. “Two weeks had elapsed, Avery. It never occurred to me there might be a connection between the two incidents.”

Back when she investigated the tragic life stories of the young girls she’d sworn to rescue, she had a knack for seeing things other people missed.

Angry and frustrated, Hannah stared at the contents of her mug. The rich dark brew offered neither wisdom nor consolation. How could she have been so blind to her own situation?

A pat on her forearm startled her, and she recoiled in her chair.

“Sorry, but you were far away. I didn’t have a snowball to get your attention.”

His touch had been nothing but gentle. To see him retract his hand brought a pang of regret. “Reminiscing. That’s all.”

“Hannah, I need to ask you about your grandfather Pike.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the couch, and then leaned forward, as if he were afraid Rory might overhear. “What happened the day he was murdered? It’s very important.”

“Why?” That day was etched into her memory as a turning point in her life—a life that had become too wild to tame. “That was five years ago.”

“I know, but you have to trust me. Please?”

She didn’t know if she could still trust, but the consideration he showed toward small details made her inclined to give him a chance. “You know he’s not my real grandfather, don’t you?”

A gentle smile swept over his roguishly handsome face. “From what I heard, he raised you, and he raised you well. In my book, that makes him your grandfather.”

“Gramp was sick with liver cancer, and he didn’t have much time left on this earth. The week after I moved in, he went snowshoeing in the woods. Alone. It was a beautiful February afternoon. When he didn’t come back, I searched for him. I thought I’d find him lying in the snow, staring into eternity with a peaceful smile on his face…” Tears clouded her vision. “He was laying in the shade of a spruce tree where the creek split in two, his face covered with blood, unrecognizable. Someone had beaten him to death.

“Near his body was a pair of broken snowshoes that didn’t belong to him. His own pair was missing. He’d made them himself, you know, and he’d attached a rabbit paw at the end of each one…for luck. He’d gone into the woods seeking peace only to meet a violent death. Not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, Hannah.” The intensity in his stare suggested this was more than a casual statement. “I read the initial report. At the time, you implicated three people. Would you elaborate, please?”

She hadn’t believed—she still didn’t believe—the native kids to be responsible. Brent had investigated her claims, but he’d come up empty handed. The homes of the kids were searched but Gramp’s snowshoes were never recovered.

“As I approached the creek, I spied three people dashing into the woods. The heftier individual seemed to lean on the other two, as if he had difficulties walking. Come to think of it, they weren’t using snowshoes. They all wore black snowsuits. Before they disappeared behind the trees, the shorter one looked in my direction. The bottom hole of his ski mask was tucked under his chin exposing his mouth and the lower portion of his face.”

His vicious smirk had chilled her bones, overshadowing his other features.
If only I’d paid more attention.

“I swear he was a white man.” Not many aboriginals lived on The Rock. “Did I see any of them kill my grandfather? No, I didn’t. Do I believe they were somehow implicated? Yes, or they wouldn’t have been running away. Do I expect you to believe me?” She shrugged off the rhetorical answer.

“I believe you, Hannah.”

“You what?” Though her eyes had seen the words he’d mouthed, she had trouble wrapping her mind around the idea that he said what she read. “You do?”