Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
His fingers press into muscles at my upper back, then he squeezes my shoulder and releases me, but he doesn’t look away for several more seconds.
“There’s something else,” he says finally, his voice ragged, almost tortured. “This was apart from everything else, purposely shielded from the fire.”
I gasp as he shows me the same photograph I was looking at yesterday morning, only now it’s charred at the edges, as if lit with a lighter then extinguished, like the photo at the house in San Diego. It’s also been marked up with a red pen.
There’s an X through Tyler’s face, and circles around the faces of Buck, Weston, and Calder.
“I’ve always believed he was murdered.” My voice is shaky but not quiet.
Buck lets out a breath and sets the picture somewhere out of my sight. “Tyler died doing the job. It was operational. And someone out there knows it.”
His admission isn’t a surprise, but it’s still huge. It’s a relief for someone to tell me the truth, even though it’s only a broad overview of the truth. It wasn’t a training exercise. He died while he was on a mission.
“I can’t give you details,” he says, “but I can keep you safe. From here on out, you’re covered.”
It sounds good, and I don’t doubt he’s capable, but we’re dealing with a madman.
“That photo was in a box, in the closet,” I tell Buck. “The trident pin was in a jewelry box within the larger box. Someone broke in here while T.J. and I were sleeping, dug through Tyler’s things, and then destroyed them.”
A vein in Buck’s forehead pulses, and even though he’s wearing a mask, I can tell he’s gritting his teeth. “We’re going to make sure it never happens again. Security devices will be in place before you move back in here, and we’ll be keeping watch on you. Are you going to stay at Mae’s?”
“She’s offered. I guess so.” Kira would probably welcome us at their place, but it’s a ways out of town, especially when the roads are bad. “How long until we can live here again?” I ask.
“A week, if restoration moves fast, but that will depend on insurance and what company comes in. Could be longer. Could happen sooner if they seal off the den.”
“Can I take some of our clothes and personal things today?”
“Nothing from this room, but items from the bedrooms should be okay. I did a quick pass, but let’s walk through together to make sure nothing appears to be disturbed on that side of the house.”
I shudder at the thought of whoever did this being in our bedrooms, and am thankful when everything there looks as I remember, aside from some soot. Weston comes in and helps me pack clothes into plastic bags while Buck gets back to work in the den, and when I’m ready, Calder drives me back to Mae’s.
T.J.’s napping in the chair, the TV volume low. I wash all our clothes in Mae’s washing machine to get the smoke out, then, when T.J. wakes up, I help him work on a LEGO set I brought over for him. It’s an older one from his closet, because the one he was currently working on is in the living room, covered in grime, but he’s happy with it nonetheless. I find momentary peace building something that makes sense, where all the pieces fit.
Later, I insist on helping Mae make dinner. After we eat, T.J. watches more cartoons, and I make lists. Things we need from the house, things I need for work Monday, things T.J. needs for school. It’s daunting, but at least I feel like I’m doing something, moving toward some sense of normalcy.
When it’s time to go to bed, T.J. surprises me by heading into the room Mae designated as his. I’m happy to see that he’s feeling secure enough to be on his own for the night. It’s a small victory that’s bittersweet. My little boy is getting more independent every day.
I check on him later, before I go to bed, and watch his chest rise and fall as I wait for my own breathing to even out.
My mind keeps returning to the den. To what was ruined and what was left behind on purpose. Whoever did it wants me scared.
I press my hand to my chest and inhale slowly, with control.
They picked the wrong woman.
CHAPTER 9
WESTON
How is it that an elementary school lunchroom in the snowy mountains looks and smells exactly the same as one in the scorching desert?
Moon Ridge is so different from the Phoenix suburb where I grew up, yet the complex aroma of pizza, spilled milk, bleach, and damp mops hits exactly the same as it did a few days ago, and exactly the same as I remember from twenty-five years ago.
God, has it really been a quarter of a century since I was an elementary school student? It’s hard to believe, even though sometimes it seems like much longer.