Lost in Shadows (Lost) Read online

  She turned her head, looking at him without blinking. “The vase isn’t mine.”

  Whatever she was saying, he wasn’t getting. “Whose is it?”

  “I don’t know. Emmaline said it was on the counter yesterday when she was cleaning. Walkers have been living in this house for generations. I keep hoping it’s a long lost treasure that was overlooked in a dark corner.”

  Her transparent face told him she didn’t think that at all. “I’ll sweep it for prints.”

  “Emmaline washed it.”

  “Carolina, are you sure it didn’t belong to your mother? Or, I don’t know, a grandmother or aunt?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.” Her quiet voice exposed her self-doubt. She fingered the petals again.

  “Do you want to throw it out?”

  She stared at the bouquet. “It is pretty. More so with the flowers. It would be silly if I throw away an heirloom because I don’t remember it. There are so many things in this house…it’s possible that I never noticed it.”

  He transferred the flowers to a tall drinking glass and poured out the water. He inspected the vase but didn’t find any labels or distinguishing marks. He took a picture to research later and set the vase in the mudroom. With it out of sight, Carolina’s shoulders relaxed. She added water to the flowers, her thoughts still far from him. The way she touched the petals piqued his interest in “the friend.” Professionally, of course. “The flowers were from a friend of Nate’s? How good of a friend?”

  She shook her head, her eyes coming into focus. She abandoned the bouquet for the coffee pot. “High school. He stops by every now and then. Derrick is a deputy under my uncle.”

  A mug was set in front of him with a big picture of a hairy, unhappy cat. The caption read “This is my morning face.”

  “Do you take cream or sugar?”

  “Black.” A box sat on the floor next to the basement door. It was the one and only thing not in a proper place. “What’s in the box?”

  “The rest of my mother’s china. I’m going to take it down to the basement. It looked, well, pathetic to have the few remaining pieces on those big shelves.” She opened the refrigerator. He got a nice view of her posterior as she bent over. “I can do eggs for you or a sandwich. Emmaline brought some nice roast beef.”

  “Roast beef.”

  She set the needed ingredients on the counter and started on the sandwich. “It really did clean up nicely. Emmaline was a godsend. Those men were pigs.” She pointed at him with a butter knife. “Do you know I even found their garbage in my flower beds? They just tossed those water bottles without any consideration.”

  He reached across the island, stilling the waving hand. “You have the water bottles?”

  “I threw them away, of course.”

  “Where?”

  “The garbage can in the garage.”

  He shoved off the stool and out the door. He had them. All he needed was a little luck—a print, spit, a bite—and he had the bastards.

  “Why are you flying off the handle?” Her voice followed him from the house.

  “Don’t you watch TV like the rest of America? Evidence. Those water bottles could have the suspects’ literal and genetic fingerprints on them.”

  “Here. Let me open the door.” She caught up with him, running on her bare feet across the chilly pavement. She tapped a code into the keypad, and the nearest garage door rolled open.

  The large garage held two cars: a yellow Camaro and a nondescript silver sedan with a rear window missing. The third port was empty and allowed ample access to the large garbage cans.

  “They should be in the top bag. They were the last things I put in.”

  He opened the tie to find the bottles sitting there, just waiting for him. The centers were smashed, as if squeezed; the ends were intact. “I need a plastic bag.”

  She went to a small cabinet in the corner and handed him a common grocery bag.

  “Thanks.” He turned it inside out, captured the three bottles, and then flipped the bag, trapping the bottles inside.

  “Should I call my uncle?”

  He smiled slyly. A year ago, heck, six months ago, the answer would have been yes. As sheriff of his own home county, he thought there was a special place in hell for renegades who played outside the order of the law. But he wasn’t the sheriff, he was an entrepreneur who had his own resources. No, the evidence wouldn’t be admissible in court but right then, he just didn’t give a damn. “I’ll take care of it. Is the offer for a sandwich still on the table?”

  He let her go ahead to the house, dialing his phone as he crossed the trim yard. “Finch, I do have something for you. Send a courier.” He gave the address and shipping directions. Jeb took his time securing the bottles and leaving the now-sealed package where Finch’s courier would retrieve it. It would take time—everything took time—but he would know who had been in Carolina’s house. He ran back inside, feeling like luck might just be on his side.

  She waited with one hip cocked, a plate with the promised sandwich in one hand and a smile that said she was up to something. “Did you get lost?”

  He shook his head, clearing it. “Where?”

  “In the backyard. You were out there for at least five minutes.” She turned and walked up the front hall.

  He grabbed his cat mug of coffee and chased after her. “I had to take care of something. Where are you going with that?”

  “I thought I would use this tasty little treat to bribe you.” She tossed a beckoning glance over her shoulder as she turned up the stairs.

  He took the bait and followed to her upstairs office. After moving the empty file cabinet to the new location, he sat cross-legged on the floor. The wall-to-wall carpet was covered with two inches of paper and manila files that belonged in the tall filing cabinet. Carolina hummed softly as she sorted through the papers and recreated her filing system.

  He alternated between eating and sorting. He pushed aside papers he had no idea what to do with, preferring to consider the woman sitting across from him. “You have quite a list of admirers on the dating site.” When her gaze snapped to his, he kept his face calm, matter-of-fact. He could practically hear her heart racing. “Have you met many of them?”

  She sat stock-still for a moment and then resumed sorting. “I haven’t met any of them in person. A few emails, fewer phone calls. No dates yet.”

  “Why not?” He knew she’d been asked out more than once. “Any man would be lucky to go out with you and stupid not to try.”

  She froze again, just for an instant but enough that he saw. She was very uncomfortable talking about this part of her life, but he needed the information. Again, she resumed sorting. “I’m fussy.”

  That was all the answer he got. “Were any of them aggressive? Overly interested? Insistent?”

  “I wouldn’t say anyone was overly anything.”

  He bit into the sandwich, hoping the protein and carbs would bolster his system. He was running on empty and the day was just starting. He had to have many more uncomfortable conversations with her. Although she sat still, her body was in constant motion. Her right hand picked up a paper, her eyes glanced at the top, she bit her lip, the paper went into a pile. Her left hand picked up a paper, she looked at the paper, she ran her tongue over her lip, the paper went onto a different pile. She repeated the process until there was a stack for each letter of the alphabet.

  She stopped with paper in both hands and glanced at him as he watched at her. “What?”

  He liked having her laser-focused intent on him. “You have a great mouth.”

  A slow, sexy smile grew. “I do?”

  “Absolutely.” He held his face still, giving away nothing more. Instead, he picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it. “Where is the T pile?”

  She pointed to a stack on the left, the grin still on her lips.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He tucked his chin and sifted through a few more
papers. He found a blank page, crumpled it up, and threw it at her. She laughed when it bounced off her nose, then she caught it and winged it back at him.

  “Nice arm. You pitch much?”

  She rocked back and forth with sass. “Just story lines.”

  He cleared the pages around him. Her foot kicked at his. His mouth twitched but he kept his chin down and looked at the papers, sorting them by client name.

  E. Baldwin. C. Smith. T. Walters. D. Swartz.

  Carolina kicked at him again. “Gotcha,” she said and choked on a laugh when he retaliated.

  A. Campbell. He closed his eyes

  “Gotcha, chief.” The voice belonged to a lost, drowning man. Adam Campbell, a young kid from a good family, had a fast smile and miles of attitude—not so different from Jeb’s own kid brother. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t do anything to stop the images flooding his mind. Trapped in something too intense to be called a nightmare, he watched again as a younger, cockier version of himself sent the kid out on what should have been a routine patrol. The kid winked. He said, “Gotcha, chief,” and then choked on a laugh when Jeb kicked him in the ass.

  …

  Carolina wadded up a ball of paper and glanced at her target. She threw the missile, her smile fading when it struck his cheek but garnered no reaction. Jeb sat still, too still. Sweat dotted his brow.

  “Jeb?” She called quietly, but he didn’t react. Not even a blink. What could he have seen on that piece of paper that made him completely space out?

  Nate had once unintentionally mentioned nightmares that stemmed from his time deployed. Could something have triggered Jeb?

  She crawled the few feet separating them and began talking gently, softly. “You are Jebediah McCormick. You are in Bowling Green, Kentucky. It’s Carolina Walker.” The dilated eyes remained unfocused. Understanding it was dangerous, she pressed closer. He needed her. Wherever he was, he needed her, and she wasn’t going to turn her back on him. “I’m here with you. You aren’t alone. Come back, Jeb.”

  Pain tightened his face. He was a big man, trained and skilled, and she prayed she was doing the right thing. She leaned forward and touched him. A feather-soft whisper of fingers brushed the corner of his mouth. “Jebediah. Come back to me.”

  He held still as she drew her fingertips across to his jaw. She hoped real sensation would usurp the imagined. She cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs, enticing him back. She just went with the magnetic pull of this man who needed her. Her fingers played in the stubble before climbing to his ears and dancing through his black hair. It was short, too short to fist, but she loved the way his hair felt when she ran her fingers through it. “Jeb.” Changing tactics, she tugged on what hair she could grasp.

  He sprang into action. He grabbed her hands and took her down to the floor, hard. He held her wrists, squeezing too tightly, as he covered her body with his. Dazed eyes locked with hers.

  “You’re safe with me, Jeb,” she said from beneath his heaving chest.

  She knew the moment he was fully back in reality, because he sprung away from her. “Fuck me. Did I hurt you?”

  She sat up, bereft at the loss of his body heat, self-conscious about her own behavior, worried that he would reject her. Still, she reached out to him. “Of course not. Of course you didn’t hurt me.”

  “Oh God. What kind of a son of a bitch am I?” He sat on the floor, abhorrence bleaching the color from his face. “God. I could have killed you!”

  “No. Absolutely no. Look at me, Jeb.” She reached for him, but he scurried backward as if his touch would hurt her. “Don’t run from me. You never have to run from me.”

  His back came up hard against the window seat. His eyes were wide, afraid for her. “You don’t know what I could have done.”

  “I’ll admit it was intense.” She crawled over and curled against him. “And a little scary.” His arm came around her instantly. She tilted her chin up. “A kiss will make it better.”

  He bowed his head and brushed his lips over hers with exquisite gentleness.

  “Thank you, Jeb.” She sighed contentedly, drawing him closer and offering acceptance. “I feel much better.” She shifted, drawing his body around hers.

  Slowly, his head dropped until it rested on her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. “Better than better.”

  She sat still, holding him as he drifted into sleep. She understood the necessity of a nap at times like this. The human equivalent of a reboot. Once she was sure he was well and fast asleep, she guided his body to the floor. He stirred, turning onto his stomach, but didn’t wake. She stripped her heavy sweater, rolled it into a ball and gingerly placed it under his head. On silent feet, she ran into the adjacent bedroom for a blanket and draped it over him. His feet stuck out the end.

  She continued sorting the pages into piles. Repeatedly her gaze returned to him. She couldn’t help but imagine the stuff his nightmares were made of. She’d seen his body. He had lived through things she…well, she couldn’t imagine.

  He awoke an hour later, inhaling and stretching his body, drawing her attention.

  “There you are,” she said in a singsong voice to show how she wanted him there. Confusion darkened his gray eyes. She didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable about what happened, so she kept her smile bright. “I’m surprised you didn’t sleep longer. You slept only those few hours this morning.”

  He sat up and rubbed his face. “I’m sorry…about…”

  She sat down on the floor next to him, her voice gentle and nonchalant. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It happened. We handled it.”

  He shifted uncomfortably, refusing to meet her gaze. “I’ve had problems, nightmares mostly. I saw somebody, but you know, I haven’t told anyone.”

  “Not your family?”

  He shook his head. “They know something isn’t right. Between Butch, Katie, and Tom, I’m hardly ever alone, even when I want to be. It helps.”

  “Family takes care.” He still fought his demons, she thought. “I know a little about post-traumatic stress disorder. I helped research a book last year. You don’t have to explain, Jeb. Not to me. Not to anyone.” As she said the words, her mind returned to the article he had printed with all of her flaws.

  “You deserve an explanation.” He looked at her with shame in his eyes.

  She popped to her feet. “I don’t want one.” She made the declaration louder and more firmly than intended. “I have my own issues, Jeb. Idiosyncrasies more than problems, I like to think. Here, in this house, with me, there’s no reason to hide.”

  He watched her with those stormy eyes as if deciding if she was being truthful.

  She dropped to her knees and looked into his eyes. “Here, being a little crazy is just fine. Heck, it’s even normal.”

  His gaze slid from hers, but he nodded. “Looks like you finished the job without me. The carpet is blue. Who knew?”

  “It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” She tugged at his shirt, now stained with dried sweat. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? Go take a shower and I’ll get you some of Nate’s clothes. They might be a little small but they’re clean. Do you want something more to eat? I didn’t expect that those few slices of roast beef would hold you for long.” She climbed to her feet and offered a hand to him. “I’ll place an order with the grocery store, and we’ll get some real food into you.”

  He let out a long sigh and took her hands. Coming to his feet, he pulled her close. “Let me take you out.”

  She pushed back from him, her chin tucked against her chest. The idea of going out was massively unappealing. She currently owned one pair of pants and one shirt she was willing to wear. She would be on pins and needles in a crowd. Cooking in her clean, familiar kitchen sounded much nicer. “I can make us something. Anything you like.”

  “Let me take you out. You’ve had a rough few days. Let me spoil you a little.” He followed her step for step until her back was against that filing cabinet. “What is y
our favorite restaurant? You have one, don’t you?”

  She looked at her sock-clad feet. “There’s this one restaurant Nate and I went to when he was home…”

  “Then we’ll go there.”

  Les Chevaliers was posh and elegant. It was also crowded and noisy, and every stranger could be the one who stood over her while the books rained down.

  He tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear. “You look like you’d rather jump out the window than go out with me. Am I that bad? I mean, if you don’t want to be with me, I understand. After that little display of mine, I don’t blame you.”

  Irritation flared. She grabbed his wrist and held his gaze. “There is nothing wrong with you.” She looked away, laughing derisively. “It’s me. I’m such a hypocrite. I tell you to be yourself, but I’m afraid to do the same. I don’t want you to think less of me.”

  His fingers lifted her chin. “There’s nothing you can say that will change what I think of you. Tell me.”

  “My clothes. I really can’t stand the thought of wearing them after those bastards, pardon my French, touched them. I feel filthy just thinking about it. I want to burn them all. I can’t go out in these clothes. I’ve been in them since Thursday.”

  He nodded, lips pursed. “Your French is just fine, but I wondered why you wore the same T-shirt and pants as yesterday. New plan. We’ll go shopping, then to your favorite restaurant for a late dinner where we’ll figure out who did this. We’ll pack up your old clothes and donate them. To anyone needing them, they’ll be a blessing. Blessings trump curses every day.”

  “Let’s get that shower started.” She walked out of the room, away from him, under the guise of retrieving a clean set of towels from the hallway linen closet. She set the towels on the long vanity and started the shower. Only when she went to leave did she realize she was trapped. He stood in the doorway, showing no intention of letting her out.

  “You don’t like my idea. Tell me why. Help me understand.”