Page 30 of Tangled Past
Chapter Eleven
By the time the perimeter sweep was done, Asa’s fingers burned from the cold.
The snowstorm had settled into a steady, relentless fall of thick flakes spinning under the porch light, collecting on the railing and the narrow lane, softening the world into a blur of white and shadow. The cottage on the west bluff looked pretty from the outside, the kind of scene tourists used for Christmas cards.
It didn’t feel pretty. It felt like a target.
JT finished checking the back corner and trudged up the porch steps, boots shedding snow. “The fence line’s intact,” he said. “No footprints except ours. Trees are far enough back. I don’t love it, but at least a shooter would have to work for it.”
“Work isn’t exactly a deterrent for this guy,” Asa said, scanning the darkness beyond the property.
JT huffed a breath. “I’m choosing to believe even psychopaths appreciate a challenge.” He jerked his chin toward the lane. “Will’s still parked at the top. He’s rotating a patrol car every few hours, but he’s staying put until morning.”
“Good. If the killer wants to get near the house, he’ll have to find his way past Kelly or circle through the woods. Either way, we’ll hear him.”
JT eyed him. “When was the last time you slept?”
Asa glanced at his watch. “Define slept.”
“That’s what I thought.” JT clapped a gloved hand on his shoulder. “Rachel has Maya drinking decaf coffee and pretending to eat. Go inside before you turn into a snowman and join her. I’ll take the first outside rotation with Will. You get warm and try not to brood all over her.”
“I don’t brood,” Asa said.
JT snorted. “You’re brooding right now.”
“Go bother Will,” Asa told him, but a corner of his mouth lifted at JT’s ribbing. He liked the founder of Hope Island Securities a lot. The two had quickly formed a friendship that Asa hoped would prove lasting, no matter the outcome of this case.
JT headed down the lane toward the patrol car, whistling something off-key just to prove he wasn’t rattled. Asa watched until Will Kelly leaned out the window and flipped JT a mock salute, their silhouettes briefly illuminated in the cruiser’s light. Then Asa turned and opened the cottage door.
Warmth hit him like a wall. So did the smell of grilled cheese and coffee and woodsmoke. Rachel stood at the tiny stove, flipping a sandwich in a pan, her hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of her neck. Maya was on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs, both hands wrapped around a mug.
She looked up when he stepped in.
For a moment, the tightness in his chest eased.
“You’re freezing,” she said. “Your face is actually blue.”
“Adds character.” Asa shut the door behind him and stomped snow from his boots.
Rachel glanced over. “Any new footprints? Creepy snow messages? Shadowy figures holding knives?”
“Nothing yet,” Asa said. “JT’s with Will at the road. Perimeter’s clear—for now.”
“Good.” Rachel slid the sandwich onto a plate and cut it in half with unnecessary precision. “Then you can sit and eat. Yes, that’s an order.”
“I’m more hungry for coffee than food at the moment.”
“Asa.” Rachel handed him the plate. “If you fall over from low blood sugar in the middle of a crisis, I’ll never let you live it down.”
He took the plate because arguing would waste more time. “Fine. Half.”
She smirked. “That’s progress.”
Asa moved to the couch and sat on the edge near Maya, careful to leave enough space that she didn’t feel crowded but close enough to see her face. She’d tucked her legs under the blanket, socks mismatched, hair still damp from a shower she’d taken earlier. Her eyes looked too big in her pale face, but there was a steadiness there that hadn’t been present at the barn.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
She shrugged one shoulder, fingers tightening around the mug. “Measuring my success by how many breaths I take without wanting to throw up.”
