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)
“So why are you here tonight, ‘off the record’?” I start for the kitchen. “I’m going to have tea. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”
“I’ll have a cup if you’re already making it,” he says. His expression tells me he’d prefer something stronger if I had it.
When I return to the living room a few minutes later, Buck’s still sitting with the same erect posture. He almost looks too big for the room. As I hand him the mug, I swat away a stray thought of how nice it is to have a man in my space again, even though the circumstances are troubling.
After I settle into the other chair, he says, “I suspect the black sedan you saw a few weeks ago is connected to the administration building fire. Have you seen the car before or since?”
My skin prickles. “A few times.”
“Have you ever seen the person driving the car?”
I shake my head as I wonder how much to tell him. Though Buck seems earnest, I don’t know him personally, and I’m not sure whether his SEAL connections make him more or less trustworthy. I don’t have much to lose, however, now that trouble’s found me in this little town. I don’t have any other good options, either.
“Do you think the person might be connected to the school?” he asks.
Again, I shake my head. “I think he followed me here from San Diego.”
Buck goes still except for the arch of a brow.
After a deep breath, I say, “On the first anniversary of Tyler’s death, I received a letter at my front door. A plain envelope, no signature or address. It said, ‘A life was taken. A life will be paid.’”
The smallest shudder passes through Buck, but he otherwise doesn’t move.
“At the time, I thought it was some sort of sick joke, or maybe a prank, and I stashed it. It was already a difficult day. The letter didn’t hit me as hard as it might have.”
He nods, understanding.
“Nothing happened for nearly a year. I’d mostly forgotten about it when another letter showed up.”
“What did it say?”
“Your husband made a choice. The debt didn’t die with him.”
Buck’s lips are drawn in a tight line before he speaks. “Did you report it?”
“I called the police and they analyzed the letters. There were no fingerprints, and essentially nothing they could do except document it.”
He nods grimly, and something in the way he listens, like he’s not just sympathizing but already thinking about how he’s going to act on this information, reminds me of the reason I fell for a SEAL in the first place.
“A few weeks later, I came home in the evening, and the house didn’t smell right. Things seemed vaguely out of place. A chair pushed in crooked, shoes lined neatly by the door when I knew they’d been a mess in the morning.
“Nothing was obviously missing, but I found a photo on my dresser. It was a grainy image of me and my son in front of a store. The edges of the picture were burned.”
Buck carefully sets his tea, which he hasn’t even tasted, on the coffee table. His other hand is clenched in a fist.
“I got T.J. out of the house immediately without continuing to search the other rooms and called 9-1-1. The house was clear, with no other evidence to be found. I changed the locks and installed a camera, but when I saw a strange car trailing T.J.’s school bus two days in a row the following week, I started making plans to move.”
“Same black sedan?”
I shake my head. “An SUV. Also black.”
Buck gives a small nod, filing the information away. “When did you first notice something up here?”
“Things were calm the first few months. I felt like I could breathe again. Then, a month ago, another letter was on the doormat.”
“What did it say?”
“Location confirmed. Debt remains.”
“Fuck.” Buck’s curse is quiet, under his breath.
“I reported it to the police department, and they documented it.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I have copies of all three.” I set my mug of tea opposite his and get up to retrieve the letters from the locked drawer of my desk. Buck studies them for a moment, though there’s not much to see except the short lines of typed characters.
“Any signs that someone’s broken in here?” he asks.
“No, but now it only feels like a matter of time.”
“I’ll get you set up with cameras and alarms right away. I have friends just outside of town who work in security.”
I take a sip of the lukewarm tea to soothe my throat, then look Buck directly in the eye. “I was told Tyler died in a training accident.”
He looks back at me, eyes softening ever so slightly at the edges, but he doesn’t say anything.
“That doesn’t seem like the case, does it?” I challenge.