Isaac thought she’d leave with just a perfunctory thank-you. He knew she probably wasn’t pleased they’d met up again after so long. But she turned back at the last moment, eyebrows gathered as she studied his wound.
“I’m really sorry you got dragged into this,” she said.
Dragged… He managed a bitter smile as the door closed behind them and wondered what she’d think if she knew how panicked he’d been, how hard he’d pushed himself to reach her.
He had a hole in his chest to prove it. But she’d be surprised to learn there’d been any kind of personal involvement in what he’d done—so surprised she’d never believe it. Neither would she believe how completely she held his attention whenever she was in the same vicinity.
Or how many times he thought of her even when she wasn’t.
Jeremy was shaking when he got home. After parking in the garage next to his father’s old Jeep, he hurried into the house and charged down the stairs to his room, where he closed and locked the door.
“Hey, the village idiot’s back! Where’ve you been?” His father had heard him come in; the noise had brought him to the top of the stairs. Rarely did he venture any closer these days. Jeremy had gotten too big. But that hadn’t always been true. He used to show up all the time, usually with his belt off and at the ready.
“Watching the fireworks.”
“I didn’t see you at the show.”
Trying to shut out the memory of how easily Claire had fallen when he pushed her, he sat on his unmade bed and dropped his head in his hands. “I was there,” he said through his fingers. “Where else would I go?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“I was there,” he said again. Then he waited to see if his father would come down and bang on the door, because if that happened, he’d cry, and crying would only make his dad yell and say bad words. You’re a f**king giant! Quit acting like a little girl!
Maybe he did act like a girl sometimes, but he couldn’t help it. Had he hurt Claire? And who’d been holding the flashlight in the forest when he came running out of the studio? Someone had been there. Had he been seen?
He supposed he’d find out soon enough if someone from the sheriff’s department showed up.
The creak of footsteps overhead told him his father had left the opening to the basement and was going about his business. Hopefully, he’d get into bed soon. Don liked to ramble around and watch TV for most of the night. Since he’d gone on disability, it wasn’t as if he had to get up for work. But Jeremy liked it better when the house was quiet…?.
The clock ticked loudly on his desk. Jeremy counted those ticks until he thought he’d go mad. He kept wondering if he’d hear a knock at the door. But no one came.
Slowly his heart rate returned to normal. Everything would be okay. He hadn’t meant to do any harm. It wasn’t his fault that she was so small and he was so strong.
When he was fairly confident his father wouldn’t bother him again, he lay back and started rattling off all the numbers in his head. He was good with numbers. They calmed him. He could remember any number anyone ever told him. It made his father proud, and made him feel smart.
But that was the only time he ever felt smart.
382-24-6832… 406-385-9472… 406-269-2698… 12/24/89…
Why had Claire lied when she’d been asked why she’d gone to the cabin?
Now that Isaac was all stitched up and everyone was gone, he couldn’t help being curious. Those files had to be important or she wouldn’t have been so evasive. Neither would she have driven out to the cabin at night, in the middle of the Fourth of July celebration, knowing she’d have only the benefit of a flashlight to retrieve them.
Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t remain a secret for long. Surely she had to realize that. As soon as the sheriff left her in her sister’s care, he’d head over to the studio to see what he could find. What did she think—that he’d wait until morning? That she’d have an opportunity to recover those documents herself?
Knowing Myles King, Isaac doubted he’d hold off. Given what’d happened to Claire’s mother, the sheriff would dust for prints, check for tire tracks, do all he could to figure out who’d followed her to the studio, and why. And he’d do it as soon as possible, hoping that his efforts might also shed light on Alana’s disappearance—or at least convince everyone there was no connection between the two incidents.
Gingerly pulling on a clean T-shirt, Isaac decided to go back and get the files Claire had dropped. If he hurried, he should be able to get in and out without anyone being the wiser. What with the twenty-minute drive each way, helping Claire into the house and explaining to Leanne, it would take Myles at least an hour to get back. Isaac just had to dodge the deputies Myles had promised to send for her car.
Maybe she wouldn’t thank him for helping her, but he felt he owed her for letting her down all those years ago. He’d been an ass. Even he had to admit it. But there was something about her that brought out the worst in him.
Of course, she’d had her revenge. He’d had a long time to regret what he’d done, a long time to miss her. Although he’d made love with plenty of other women since, including several from around here, it had never been the same. And then there was the torture of one particular memory that didn’t go quite that far back…?.
He’d been tracking a moose in the Cabinet Mountains southwest of Libby, hoping to get a few good shots for a magazine called Montana Wilds, when he came across Claire and David camping out in the woods. They were newlyweds at the time and probably too poor to do any more than borrow Claire’s stepfather’s Winnebago to get away, so he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t gone farther from home.
He was surprised, however, that of all the campers in the Chain of Lakes area he had to stumble on them. What seeing them together had done to him came as an even greater shock. They hadn’t heard him—they were far too engrossed in each other. He’d stood right where he’d emerged from the woods, only partially concealed by the trees, and watched David kiss and fondle his new bride as they made breakfast.
The sight had made him sick. And when he’d finally managed to clear his throat so they’d know they weren’t alone—he refused to slink off as if he’d been spying on them—Claire had angled her head to see around her husband’s shoulder. Embarrassment had registered on her face, but something else, as well. The look in her eyes told him she recognized the envy he was feeling.