Lost in Shadows (Lost) Page 6

  He stopped at the bottom on the staircase and turned to her. “Later. I need sleep first.” His hand caressed her hair, coming to rest at the nape of her neck. “No nightmares?”

  His hand was big, the weight of it reassuring. It had been a long time since she had been touched, since she wanted to be touched. Those soft strokes created cascading waves of sensation that made her skin tingle, her muscles tighten. It was both tantalizing and terrifying. She looked into eyes darkened by sleeplessness and eased his strain. “How could I have nightmares with Jebadore on my side?”

  “Exactly.” He squeezed her nape lightly before climbing the stairs. “Wake me in two hours.”

  “I will…not.” She added the latter after he disappeared around the corner. He needed a lot more than two hours’ sleep. He’d watched over her last night; she intended to return the favor today.

  In the den, Jeb had set up a man cave slash operations center. She didn’t have a problem with him getting comfortable, but there would be no explaining it to the keen-eyed Emmaline. The top of the coffee table was buried beneath printed pages. She recognized the screenshot of her online dating profile. Page after page chronicled the life of one Carolina Walker. She crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling naked despite her clothing. Shaking the mouse, the computer screen jumped back to life. The internet browser was open to a search for the psychological effects of crime and abuse. An article from the National Institute of Health had been saved to the hard drive and highlighted. The same article sat next to the computer with notes in the margins.

  “Carolina? You awake?” Mitch’s voice carried from the foyer.

  “Yes. Coffee should be ready. I’ll be there in a minute.” She stared at the paper title, ramming enough key words into her brain that she could find it later. Then she closed the laptop and slid it under the couch. She did likewise with the loose pages. She put Jeb’s gun in his boot and shoved them into the bookcase cabinet with his jacket, computer bag, and portable printer. The man certainly came with baggage. She shook her head, put on a smile, and went to manage her uncle.

  “Good morning, Uncle Mitch. Coffee should be just about ready. Did you sleep well?”

  Mitch had removed the carafe and stood letting the coffee maker fill his cup. “Well enough. You?”

  “Surprisingly, yes. I guess I was exhausted, because I fell asleep quickly.” Quickly thanks to Jeb. “Aren’t you working today?”

  He nodded. “Have a meeting in an hour. Joy said she could come over.”

  Carolina shook her head. “I know how busy she is, especially on Saturday. There isn’t much to do here, plus I need to work some today, too.”

  “It doesn’t seem right, leaving you on your own.” He replaced the carafe and sipped the steaming cup.

  “I like being on my own. If I get lonely, I’ll call Emmaline.”

  “I imagine she’s going to be over anyway. That is one determined lady. She’ll have you shipshape by noon.”

  Convincing Emmaline she didn’t need help was like rolling a boulder uphill. You could do it but one wrong step and—splat—you were right back where you started.

  Mitch cleared his voice. “I’ve been thinking about this ‘boyfriend.’ How long did you say you’ve been seeing him?”

  She backed around the island, retreating under his practiced stare. “N-not long. Seems like only yesterday.” She forced a laugh.

  “When did he get out of the service? Where does he live?”

  She didn’t know the answer to the former, so she skipped it. “Outside Nashville. His family has a farm there.”

  He guffawed. “Your aunt thinks I’m jaded by my years on the job. She could be right, but that doesn’t make me wrong. All my instincts tell me that man is not what he says he is. I know you don’t like hearing it, but it’s better to know what he is now. I’m not saying he’s all bad—hell, it takes a lot of manure to raise a crop—but no matter how good it is, the shit still stinks.”

  She hung her head and nodded. What could she say? Her uncle’s instincts were spot-on. Jeb wasn’t what he said he was. He wasn’t her boyfriend, and he wasn’t staying. Letting her uncle believe she left Jeb would be a small victory she might be able to use in the future. “I do trust your instincts. I’ll break it off.”

  “You’re making the right choice.” He carried his cup to the center island and sat. The back door jiggled. Then it rattled. Hard.

  Carolina retreated as Mitch rose, his eyes to her windows, his hand to the butt of his gun. “It’s Jenkins. Let him in.”

  Obediently, she went out the kitchen door to the mudroom and unlocked the back door. “Morning, Derrick.”

  “Carolina. Good morning, sheriff.” He came into the kitchen and stood there, flowers in his hand. Derrick Jenkins came around from time to time. They sat on the porch and drank lemonade while he told stories of his job. Carolina never quite knew what to make of Derrick. She listened to his stories and smiled at his jokes, all the time wondering why he was there. He never asked about her work or her hobbies. He wasn’t interested. That left one reason: Nate asked him to check in on her. Derrick was kind, but it made her uncomfortable. He often looked at her as he was now…as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there, either.

  “Problem, Jenkins?” Mitch returned to his coffee.

  “No, sir.” He lifted the flowers and then shoved them into her hands. “I saw these in the window and thought they needed Carolina.”

  Flowers. No one had ever brought her flowers before. It was silly how the flowers made her feel joyful. It was like her own personal slice of sunshine. “They are beautiful. Look how happy they are. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Mitch swallowed his last drop of coffee. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?”

  Carolina nodded enthusiastically. She needed them out of the house before she could go to her office and do research of her own. “Go on and catch the bad guys.”

  “Yoo-hoo! Carolina!” Emmaline’s falsetto bounded in through the mudroom.

  Disappointment was an anchor around her neck. “Hey, Emmaline. Come on in.”

  “That’s our cue.” Mitch walked around the center island. “You take care of yourself.”

  Coward, she thought, but kept it to herself. “I will, Uncle Mitch.”

  Derrick rubbed a yellow petal between his fingers. “We’re just a phone call away, Carolina.”

  Emmaline lumbered into the kitchen with a bucket filled with soaps, oils, and polishes. “Good morning, Mitchell, Deputy Jenkins. Are you part of the cleanup crew?”

  “It’s a work day for us, Ms. Emmaline.” Mitch pointed to his badge, proof he had better things to do than wrangle with soaps and the like.

  “Have a good day, Mitchell. You be careful out there,” Emmaline said. “I brought you a few things from my house, just to get you through.” She began unpacking the soft cloth bag she carried in. “What pretty flowers. Let’s get them in water.”

  “You don’t need to do this, Emmaline.” She knew she was wasting her breath, but it had to be said.

  “What are neighbors for?” The older woman stretched tall and pulled an elegant glass vase from the top of a cabinet. “At least something survived.”

  The vase looked like a tulip captured in flawless crystal. There was only one problem. “Where did you get that?”

  “Get what? The vase?” Emmaline held it out to Carolina.

  She backed away as if it would burn her. “That’s not mine.”

  “Of course it is. I washed it and put it on the shelf myself.”

  “But…it’s not mine. Where did it come from?”

  “It was here yesterday. On the counter. It was the only thing clean in the kitchen.” Emmaline filled the vase with water and artfully arranged the autumn bouquet. “There. Nothing makes a home like flowers. I thought I would start with waxing the library floor.”

  “Right. You do that.” Carolina spoke absently without taking her eyes off the vase
. Could it be hers? Walkers had lived in the home for almost two hundred years, which did tend to accumulate things. Even her impressive memory didn’t know every artifact, antique, and trinket in the house. Still, the vase was beautiful. If she had seen it before, she doubted she would have forgotten it. She wrung her hands, daring to contemplate the “what if.” What if it wasn’t a family vase? She needed to talk to Jeb, get his opinion. Ensuring Emmaline was preoccupied in the library, Carolina snuck upstairs with a cup of coffee.

  Jeb lay stretched on top of her covers. He wore black cargo pants, but his chest was bare except for the white bandage she had put on his shoulder. His body had been abused. Long, silvery scars, memories of knives, covered his chest and abdomen. She counted twelve. One dangerously positioned on the side of his six-pack. Then there were three other small welts. She thought they had to be cigarette burns.

  Her hand rubbed an unexpected ache in her heart. “What happened to you?”

  Jeb snored lightly. He rolled in his sleep, and his breathing became silent, his bare back exposed as he wrapped his arm around her pillow. Three wicked lashes reached from his left shoulder toward his right hip. She was glad she had taken the time to tend to his wound last night.

  Emmaline called her name. She rolled her eyes and set the coffee down. She’d have to tell him about the vase later. She tiptoed out before Emmaline came looking for her.

  An hour later, Carolina tied the last bag and hauled it to the garage. In the bright morning sun, something sparkled from behind the trellis Jeb had climbed up the night before. She squatted down and pulled the clear plastic wedged amongst the vines. A water bottle. She hunted then. It wasn’t very hard. Where would sloppy, disrespectful men throw garbage? She found two others behind the shrub under the kitchen window.

  She was done with cleaning. “We’re calling it a day,” she announced to Emmaline from the library door. “Good lord, this room should be in a magazine.” Everything was not only in its place…it looked happy to be there. The floors sparkled in the morning sun, adding a third dimension to the parquet pattern. It was again a place for curling up in front of a fire with a good thick book.

  “This has always been my favorite room. Your mother and I would sit in here just talking and laughing.” She looked around, nodding. “She would approve.”

  “She would approve of the room, not the way I let you work. We are done. All that is left is my office, and I’ll tackle that one piece of paper at a time.” She knew Emmaline would help, but her friend respected that Carolina was particular about her work space. Help was appreciated but declined.

  “You let me know if you need anything. I’m going out later to pick up my car and then will check on Mary again, but I’m just a phone call away.”

  Carolina hugged her neighbor. “Thank you.”

  Finally alone, Carolina ran to the den and searched through the mishmash of papers for that one article. She read the abstract, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

  Victims of crime can exhibit psychological and physiological repercussions for a prolonged period after the inciting incident. Crimes do not have to be violent to result in such repercussions.

  The formal and detached language brought a funny metal taste to her mouth.

  Intimate relationships suffer as avoidance symptoms reduce a victim’s interest in activities. Her last intimate relationship was back in D.C. She’d ended the affair weeks before quitting her job and returning home. She didn’t see what the break-in had to do with her dating record. As feelings of detachment increase, this aspect of quality of life can suffer significantly.

  Lower levels of social support are associated with increased levels of emotional distress. Jeb had scrawled a note in the margin. “Dismissal of stalking incidents undermine confidence, sense of reality. Mother/father dead. Nate overseas/dismissive. Walker/dismissive.” That was her whole support structure in a nutshell.

  Individuals learn to avoid situations, places, and other triggers that remind them of the trauma. She frowned, taking exception to the characterization. A note in the margin disagreed. “Conference calls, emails, texts, etc., provide a technological gatekeeper between Carolina and the world. Desensitizes world—removing smells, sounds, feelings, broader sights.” She controlled the ambient environment, but it just meant she liked being comfortable. She wasn’t avoiding anything.

  Victims who continually avoid feared situations are unable to learn new associations between feared stimuli and positive/neutral stimuli. Feared and positive stimuli. Instantly, she relieved those warring feelings when Jeb touched her. While butterflies took flight, she was terrified and wanted to run and hide. She wasn’t avoiding. She practically screamed the words in her head, and yet tears were blurring her vision. Wiping at her eyes, she focused on the page.

  They may become housebound.

  …

  A high-pitched, industrial hum and an off-pitch rendition of “9 to 5” pulled Jeb from a dreamless sleep. He wondered if Mitchell Walker was still in the house. Carolina would not welcome another head-butting, chest-thumping session between him and her uncle. He had no interest in adding to her distress. He picked up his watch from the night table. He’d slept three hours. Walker would be long gone. Soon, it would be just him and Carolina for the day.

  He liked her. Everything about his army buddy’s sister was downright appealing. Who had a face like that, with lips that begged for a man’s attention? And all that hair. He wanted it wrapped around his hands, draped over his body. He hadn’t seen her body but knew she had curves. He found her to be smart and funny. Just thinking of her sass made him grin.

  He retrieved his pack from under the window and went into the bathroom to clean up. Clean clothes didn’t replace a shower, but they helped. He pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.

  “Where the hell are you?” Landon Finch, lawyer by training and a shark by nature, had legendary skills in negotiating deals and maneuvering red tape. He had helped Butch out of trouble last spring and from that was inspired to start Chameleon.

  “Didn’t you wake up pissy. Too much celebrating last night?”

  “Ughh. Some sexy little thing challenged me to shots. I don’t know what kind of backwoods moonshine you boys brew down here, but I woke up naked and alone in a bathtub.”

  Jeb laughed out loud. “Tell me it wasn’t mine.”

  “No, it wasn’t yours. It was Tom’s. His ‘date’ woke me up this morning with a scream that cut through my head like a frickin’ chainsaw. Christ, I need coffee. So where the hell did you disappear to?”

  “I got a call from an army buddy. His sister is in trouble.”

  “A client?”

  “Pro bono.”

  “We don’t do pro bono.”

  “We do now.”

  “Shit. If you’re spending my money—”

  “—our money.”

  “—on some ugly stepsister, I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Jeb snorted. They both knew if push came to shove it was Finch who was going to get shoved, likely through a wall.

  Finch grunted in mock frustration. “Pro bono stupid ass shit.”

  “Where’s that silver tongue you always brag about?”

  “Stuck to the roof of my mouth. I need water…and pain killers.” A door opened. “Yes. What’s her story?”

  Jeb paced the room, rolling his shoulder, testing it. “A team broke into her house night before last. They trashed the place—emptied kitchen cabinets, tore shelves off walls.” Jeb gave his partner the little he knew, the bit he suspected, and the load he didn’t know.

  “I see. Nothing is missing? What do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing yet. I need to find out what they are after before they try again.”

  “How do you know they didn’t get it?”

  “Why trash the house? The whole thing feels amateurish. It takes a lot of time and energy to make this much of a mess.”

  Finch didn’t say anything. This end of the business belong
ed to Jeb. Finch found the clients, wrote the contracts, smoothed the way for things to happen. Finch whistled between his teeth. “She’s gorgeous, right?”

  “Drop-dead gorgeous. But she’s more than that. She’s smart and brave and resourceful.”

  “Oh shit. You’re hung up on her.”

  Jeb shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “She’s a client.”

  “She’s not paying you. At least money.”

  The inference pissed off Jeb. “Just shut your fucking mouth.”

  Unimpressed with the show of temper, Finch laughed as he hung up.

  Jeb slammed the phone on the table. “Fucking idiot.”

  Chapter Four

  “I hope you’re not talking about me.” Carolina stood in the doorway, in the same clothes she’d worn the day before.

  “What do you have against the word ‘idiot’? It best describes my soon-to-be deceased business partner.” Jeb swept his gaze over the face that looked more worn than he remembered. Her eyes were puffy. “Were you crying?”

  She spun away, shielding her face behind a screen of hair. “Come on downstairs. We’re alone. I don’t expect Emmaline or Uncle Mitch back. I’ll make you something to eat.”

  “Sold.” He hurried after her, denying her the distance she attempted to create. He put his hand on her shoulder because he saw the pain in her shadowed eyes. He found he had a growing need to touch her and was pleased she didn’t object. In fact, she drifted closer to his body, brushing against him as they walked.

  Looking into the parlor, you would never know what had happened fewer than two days ago. The dining room looked sad with empty shelves stretched wide in invitation. The kitchen had been scrubbed to a shine.

  “Y’all got a lot of work done.” Jeb sat on a stool. The island was clear except for a tall vase with flowers erupting from the top. “These are new. Emmaline?”

  She shook her head, her attention far from him. “A friend of Nate’s stopped by.”

  He made a mental note of the way she looked at the flowers. He didn’t like the way her fingers kept touching the petals, a sensual, intimate stroking. He looked at her face, to determine her relationship to this friend. There was no intimacy in her puzzled expression. Something was off. “Is everything all right?”