Page 36 of Tangled Past
Of course, he did. “Are you . . .” She cleared her throat. “Are you staying?”
“Just try and get rid of me.” He glanced at the upholstered chair near the window. “I was going to commandeer that. Assuming you don’t mind having a grumpy watchdog in your peripheral vision.”
“I mind the ‘grumpy’ part,” she said with a giggle.
His gaze warmed. “I can work on my attitude.”
“You don’t have to stay in here,” she said, though the words tasted like a lie. “You could be more useful in the living room or outside.”
“Outside, it’s Will and JT with a clear line of sight,” he said. “In here, it’s you—currently on the killer’s top priority list. Guess where I’m picking?”
Her throat tightened.
“You can say no. If you’d rather have space, I’ll park myself in the hall.”
“I don’t want space,” she blurted.
His brows twitched up.
She swallowed hard. “I mean . . . I don’t want to be alone with my brain. Not tonight.”
“Then we don’t let that happen.” He picked up the chair with a soft scrape and moved it closer to the bed, angling it so he could see both her and the door. The movement was efficient and practiced. He set his phone on the windowsill where he could reach it in a heartbeat. The lamp sat between them, casting its warm glow around the room. Outside, the wind rushed around the house, making the branches tap along the side.
Maya exhaled slowly. “I prayed,” she blurted.
His eyes caught hers. “Yeah?”
She felt suddenly foolish, but the words wanted out now. “I don’t do that much. I used to. With Ruth and Samuel. At church. At meals. It felt like . . . breathing then. Now it feels like trying to remember steps to a dance I never really learned.” Her fingers tightened in the blanket. “I asked God not to let this be for nothing. Not to let you or the others get hurt because of me. It probably sounds stupid.”
“Not even a little.”
“Do you pray?”
“Sometimes. More lately than I used to. Less polished than the Sunday-school version. More . . . ‘Lord, I’m out of my depth. Help.’”
“That’s pretty much what I said.”
“Then you’re in good company,” he said. “I don’t think He’s grading us on eloquence.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Do you really believe He’s in this? Because right now it feels like the only person writing this story is the man trying to kill us.”
“God hasn’t walked away, Maya,” Asa said. “He was in that barn the night my dad died, even if I don’t understand why He let any of it happen. I believe He was with Ruth and Samuel the day they took you in, and I believe He’s here now, in this very ugly safehouse with terrible plywood and surprisingly decent grilled cheese.”
A laugh snuck out of her, unexpected and small. “You make it sound possible.”
“That’s about all I have most days. The possibility that we’re not alone. That justice means something more than us white-knuckling our way to the finish line.”
The word justice rippled through her. She looked down at her hands. They weren’t shaking as hard now. “When the shots started, I didn’t see the safehouse. I saw the barn.”
He nodded. “You said it sounded the same.”
“It did. The crack. The way everything seemed to slow. I could almost smell the hay again.” She swallowed. “I remembered something I hadn’t before.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, attention sharpening. “What was it?”
She closed her eyes, letting the memory unspool. “My knees hurt because I’ve been crouching for a while. My rabbit’s fur is wet from the rain. I can hear my mom’s heartbeat because she held me so tight. It’s loud in my ears.” She drew a breath. “I hear the door, then the chimes, only they go silent quickly as if he deliberately silenced them. She tells me to stay as still as possible.” Her fingers were knotted in the blanket. “He moves closer, his boots are scraping along the floor. I can see them. Dark, scuffed, wet around the edges. He passes the bale where I’m hiding, and I think if I reach out, I could touch his leg.”
Asa’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
