Page 253 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“Anytime. I’ll make some time to dive into the shed tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it.” Nate turned to leave and stopped. “Bob, do you have somewhere to eat on Thanksgiving?”

He nodded. “Bess and Jillian asked me over. I’m planning on picking up one of Molly’s pumpkin pies—already have it on order.”

“She makes a mean one. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Nate sent Buzz and his crew another wave and walked outside, heading for the Tahoe, but kept going, moving past his vehicle when he heard Lucky whining in the back of Bob’s truck, bathed in one of Sanderson’s iconic old-fashioned streetlamps. “Hey, buddy,” he said, approaching the ancient pickup, giving the dog an affectionate rub. “Hey, boy. You’re a good dog.” He accepted Lucky’s kiss and chuckled as he stepped back. “Thanks. Bob should be out soon.” He took a step to walk away and stopped dead when a large streak of bold blue paint in the back corner of the bed caught his attention—a very similar if not identical bold blue that had been spray painted on the Johnstons’ shed door. He hurried to the Tahoe for his flashlight, came back, and studied the smudged, dried paint—as if someone had made a mess and tried to wipe it up.

He gave Lucky another absent rub as he shut off his light and walked back to the Tahoe. He got in, watching Captain Bob chatting with Jasmine through the big picture window. Nate sat where he was, recalling how unsettled Callie had been after her ride home with Sanderson’s ferryboat captain. “What if he knows what happened to her? What if my dreams are memories and he’s the shadow man?”

Nate clenched his jaw as he gripped the steering wheel. He’d chalked up Callie’s reaction to residual fears after the previous night’s incident. He’d assured her Captain Bob couldn’t have been the dark figure from her nightmare, but how could he dismiss the blue paint in the back of Bob’s truck? Bob’s house was on the outskirts of Brewster’s Forest—probably no more than a mile and a half from the Sandersons’ old cottage. But Bob had been the ferry’s captain on July 4, 1995. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check his facts again. Nate had thirteen hours to fill in his empty timeline. Surely at some point Bob could have found a few minutes to slip away that day.

He turned over the engine and started home on his first night off in days. Instead of thinking about an evening alone with Callie, he was trying to figure out how he could get a look around the captain’s place without coming off as suspicious.

~~~~

Callie pulled dinner from the oven and smiled as Nate parked in the driveway. She picked up the lighter and walked to the table, setting the wicks on the pretty white tapers to flames. Nate finally had an evening off and they were going to enjoy it. Last night they’d had a few hours together, but he’d fallen asleep before the movie she selected had hardly begun. Tonight they were having roast beef and vegetables. Then they were going up to bed, where she planned to rub his shoulders until he relaxed—then the rest of him. Her smile bloomed into a grin when his key turned in the lock and he walked inside. She stepped into the short hallway, wearing a sheer black bra and panty set and one of his white button-downs mostly undone. “Hello, Sheriff.”

His eyes widened as he returned her smile, trailing his appreciative gaze down her body. “Hello, sexy.” He hung up his jacket, took off his holster and radio, and set them on the entryway table. “What’s the occasion?”

“A celebration of your night off.”

He wiggled his brow. “Count me in.” He walked her way and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You look amazing.”

She hooked her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him. “Thanks.”

“What smells so good in here besides you?”

“Roast beef and vegetables.”

He groaned. “That sounds awesome.”

“It should be—our whole night.” She leaned in again, nipping his bottom lip with her teeth. “After dinner, I’m going to give you a massage. Your shoulders and back,” she said quietly as she held his gaze and let her hands wander over his butt.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the counter. “The food’s out of the oven?”

“Mmm, but the meat has to rest.”

He took her hand and rubbed her palm against his erection. “Mine doesn’t.”

She laughed.

He flashed her a grin before it faded and he gripped her ass, bringing her against his jeans. “Am I going to ruin your plans if I take you over to the couch?”

“Dinner might get cold,” she whispered, trailing kisses down his neck.

“We wouldn’t want that,” he said, walking her backward anyway.

She pulled off his shirt, running her palms over his firm pecs and washboard abs. “No, we wouldn’t.”

“But maybe just for a second.” He gave her a gentle shove to the cushions and followed, standing on his knees in front of her.

“For a second,” she conceded, biting her bottom lip as she smiled.

He moved his hands up her thighs, sliding her panties aside, and pushed his fingers deep.