Page 94 of Now and Then

Chris shifts again, scanning the property. “Are you protecting them?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Protecting? You think we’d still be living like this if we were protected?”

“Then help us understand what we’re dealing with,” I say. “Give us the information we need and we can keep you safe.”

Bill stands and steps off the porch, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You can’t protect us.”

Warning bells go off in my mind. “Maybe not,” I say. “But I can make sure they don’t keep using you.”

“We’re just trying to stay alive,” Jack adds quieter.

“The people running it?” I ask.

Bill’s eyes meet mine fully for the first time. “They don’t care who gets caught in it.”

The words hang between us, more warning than threat. I study the men for a long beat.

“When’s the next movement?” Chris asks.

Jack hesitates. Bill closes his eyes briefly.

“Two weeks,” Jack says. “Late. They move after sundown.”

“Where from?”

“I don’t know, man.” Jack shrugs and shakes his head, fingers twitching at his side.

Lie.

I nod once.

“You hear anything else,” I say evenly, “you call me. Before this gets worse.”

Bill’s jaw flexes. “It already is worse.”

I hold his stare, then step back. Chris and I head toward the SUV. As I open the door, I glance back. Jack’s already retreated inside, but Bill remains rooted in place.

Gravel crunches under my tires as I pull away. In the rearview mirror, Bill’s standing next to the porch watching the storm rolling in. Like he’s daring it to take him away.

19

Sutton

“You’ll notice the large eat-in kitchen has recently been renovated,” I say, guiding my clients around a three-bedroom bungalow.

I should have thought about what it would mean to jump right into a full-fledged remodel while being slammed at work. The girls in the office help with paperwork, but the showings are my bread and butter—early morning listings, back-to-back home tours, and clients who want answers yesterday. Add contractor calls and design decisions and party planning on top of that, and I’m running on fumes.

Just thinking about the remodel brings a sense of pure panic, but there’s also an excitement.

Hunter’s house has been surprisingly straightforward, and planning the open house has gone smoother than expected. Easton thinks we’ll be ready to show the house late fall.

That timing works perfectly. House sales are low during the holiday months, which means I won’t be running all over the valley for showings. And after people spend a few months cooped up in the winter, remodeling plans tend to brew.

“Wow, this is gorgeous,” Jane says. Her daughter, Bella, runs ahead to check out the backyard.

“Look, Mom, we have our own yard!”

“Yep,” I say, gesturing out the window. “And if you look out there, you can see a walking path that winds all through the neighborhood. A perfect route for bike rides.”