He didn’t want her to come, would rather she stayed safe, but he needed to know the story and the cruiser was bulletproof. “Okay, if you stay in the cruiser.”

  They climbed in and he zipped through town, didn’t hit the lights because he didn’t want to alert the shooter. “Tell me what, where, when,” he ordered, and she complied with only a little shake in her voice.

  “I’m worried about Ace,” she finished. “I didn’t hear him barking. I should have gone in and gotten him.”

  “You’d do him no good if you got shot. I’ll check on him.” Evan berated himself for not staying home this afternoon. Maybe he’d have noticed something.

  When they pulled up, there was a white sedan—nondescript, looked like a rental—parked in front of the next house down. As they approached, it pulled away.

  Cassie was leaning forward. “Got the license,” she said.

  “Good. We can’t know if that was him, but maybe. I’ll look around.” He pulled up close to her back door to provide himself with maximum cover. “Stay low. These windows are bulletproof, but I don’t want to test it.”

  He got out, checked all around her house, his, the one on the other side. Now Ace was barking. A relief.

  He saw footprints dissolving in the sandy mud, behind a clump of bushes at the far side of her yard. He took a couple of photos, eyeballed the trajectory from there to where she’d said her car had been and walked it out. He got lucky and found a slug in the post that held up her mailbox. Another bit of evidence. He checked the area one more time, checked the inside of the cottage thoroughly, with Ace trotting excitedly after him, and then escorted her inside.

  He watched her joyous reunion with Ace while guilty thoughts churned inside him. If he hadn’t been so busy trying to restrain himself from making a move on her, maybe he could have talked to her seriously about the interconnections in the case, figured it out and stopped this from happening.

  He had to stop anything more from happening. He needed to sit down and discuss it all with her, interview Avery, figure it all out.

  About to suggest that they spend time doing that, he looked at her as she leaned back, letting Ace lick her face, and realized how pale and exhausted she looked. Now wasn’t the time.

  “You need to get some rest,” he announced. “Maybe food first.” He opened her refrigerator, found a container with leftover pizza and held it up. “I’ll microwave this for you, okay?”

  “I’m not hungry, but...” She checked the time on her phone. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so yeah. You can help me finish it.”

  “I will, and then you can make it an early night.”

  She frowned. “Don’t patronize me, Evan. It’s not even dark out.”

  “I’m staying here,” he said. “I’ll grab my toothbrush and come back and sleep on your couch. You’re in danger. I’m going to run that plate and get our forensics guy, such as he is, to take a look at your car and the slug I found in your mailbox.” He put the pizza into the microwave. “This guy, whoever he is, tried to kill you. We need to stop him.”

  His words made her snap her jaws together and go pale. “What about Avery?” she asked. “If it’s the professor, then he’s a danger to her as well. I’m going to call her, make sure she’s okay.”

  “Tell her we’ll see about getting her some protection, too. Maybe even have her move into one of the bedrooms upstairs for a bit. Easier to protect you both here, and you can look out for each other.”

  “That’s a good idea.” The microwave pinged, and she stood.

  “Sit down. I’m serving.” He managed a smile. “This is the best you’ll get from me.”

  She ate a piece of pizza and he ate three. Then he went next door to grab a change of clothes and a toothbrush. When he got back she was pressed close to Ace, sitting down on the floor. Away from the windows. She looked shaky and she didn’t stand, and his heart went out to her. He knew what it was like to be shot at, to narrowly escape a bullet. Even for a trained professional, the aftereffects were significant.

  He walked over and sat down beside her, leaning against the couch, on the other side from where Ace leaned against her. “Tough day, kid,” he said, putting an arm around her.

  “Yeah.” She leaned against him. “Thanks, Evan.”

  “For what?”

  “For being there. Staying with me. Helping me try to find this murderer.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” He squeezed her shoulders, brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “We’ll figure it out, Cass. We’ll work on it tomorrow. For now your job is to get some rest.”

  He didn’t think she’d listen, but to his surprise, she nodded and let him walk her upstairs. He waited outside her bedroom while she changed into flannel pants and a T-shirt.

  She sat down on her bed, then crawled in and pulled up the covers.

  “Want me to lie with you until you fall asleep?” he asked.

  Her brows drew together and she sucked in a breath, opened her mouth.

  He spoke first. “Nothing’s going to happen. Say no if you don’t want me to. I just thought it might make you feel safer.”

  She looked into his eyes and then nodded. “Okay.” She scooted over and turned her back to him, and he lay down behind her and spooned her, the covers in between them. Ace jumped up onto the foot of the bed and settled at her feet.

  “He’s not usually allowed to,” she said, her voice a little sleepy, “but it’s a special night.” She reached down and rubbed the big dog’s head, and Ace inched up and stretched out on her other side.

  “I’m not usually allowed to, either,” he said.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “That’s right, and this doesn’t change anything.”

  “I know. Shh. Go to sleep.”

  So he lay there with her in his arms. He was gladder than glad that she trusted him enough to drop off almost immediately.

  It left him to take in the flowery fragrance of her hair and to feel the wiry strength of her body, even relaxed in sleep.

  This wasn’t easy, but it was heaven. He wished it could go on and on.

  But it couldn’t. Once she was breathing regularly, Ace snoring beside her, he eased out of the bed, dropped a kiss on her cheek and walked downstairs.

  He felt a momentary gladness that he’d kept it platonic, just creature comfort. But that didn’t last long.

  So he was managing the part of his promise to Josh where he didn’t seduce Cassie. But he was failing utterly at his promise to protect her.

  A failure that wasn’t unexpected, but was devastating all the same.

  Cassie’s refrigerator was like a magnet, because when he’d found her the pizza, he’d seen what else was inside.

  A box of wine.

  He walked over there, opened the door. Lifted the box and realized that it was nearly full.

  He pulled it out and reached into the cupboard for a glass. He bypassed the wineglasses for a bigger water glass. It would hold more, and if anyone saw him, they wouldn’t immediately know what he was drinking.

  He put the box on the counter. Held the glass under the spigot.

  Don’t do it.

  The voice of his AA sponsor echoed in his head. We’re all a drink away from the gutter.

  But Evan had never been in the gutter, not exactly. He’d always held some kind of a job, had never lived on the street.

  You ruined your marriage and your chance to be a father.

  But now he was bonding with Oliver. They’d bonded over beers two days ago, and he hadn’t even been tempted to overdo it.

  This day had been tough. This situation, staying with Cassie, dealing with his feelings for her, his worries about keeping her safe—his worries about Oliver, too, for that matter, and now for Avery—all of it was stress of a different kind than he was used to. It was interpersonal stress, relationship stress.

  He’d faced down criminals on his job, risked his life. Had served active duty in the Middle East and been known for his steady head in a crisis. Things didn’t scare him the way they scared other people.

  Whereas this stress, much less on the surface, was different. This chipped past the ice around his heart, made him vulnerable in a different way, not physical, but emotional.

  The interpersonal stuff was exactly what he didn’t know how to handle. What he’d never seen his parents handle well. In the family where he’d grown up, emotions had gone from zero to throwing bottles and ashtrays in a matter of seconds.

  And yeah, he’d escaped to Josh and Cassie’s house, where he’d found a far more stable adult in their mother. But even that had been different from what he was facing now. After Josh and Cassie’s dad had left, Cassie’s mom had withdrawn rather than getting involved with a man, until she’d had a whole lot of time and therapy.

  His glass still in his hand, he walked away from the wine box and sat down at the kitchen table.

  Here was yet another reason he couldn’t dream of making something out of his feelings for the woman sleeping upstairs: he didn’t know how. Didn’t know how to do the softer things a woman required.

  Didn’t know how to handle conflict when it came up, other than through a bottle. That was what had led to the end of his marriage.

  He’d never thought to feel anything strong for another woman. He’d thought his basic urges could be satisfied through the willing women he occasionally dated, who didn’t expect anything and didn’t give anything beyond the physical. There were plenty of those around, and he’d gotten this far without hurting anyone, that he knew of, since his ex-wife.

  But it had paled. The women willing to take that route weren’t that interesting to him anymore.

  Yet, a woman like Cassie wouldn’t be willing to go for a quick bed and done. She had heart, and depth and she could love. That was what he wanted now, he realized.

  That was what he couldn’t have, because he didn’t know how and because he destroyed any heart he touched. He was damaged, damaged by genetics and upbringing.

  He stood again, walked over to the wine box, brought it to the table. Held his glass under the spigot and filled it to the top. Stood to put the box back in the fridge—it was still pretty full, good—and then decided it probably wasn’t worth it. He’d just go for more once this glass was done.

  Save himself some steps.

  He sat back down, lifted the glass of wine and sniffed it. White Zin wasn’t his drink of choice, but it would go down easy and do the job.

  Do the job. The job of sending him right back onto the path he’d been on.

  Because yeah, he’d never hit rock bottom, but he couldn’t do police work if he was drinking. Once he started, he wouldn’t be able to make it eight hours without a drink, not to mention the aftereffects of a binge. A small-town officer couldn’t call in sick; not often, anyway.

  Still, what was his job compared to the pleasures of a good drunk?

  There was a sound upstairs, a loud thump. He shoved the glass and box aside, spilling some, and ran up, gun out.

  Ace paused in the act of turning in circles, looking up at him, head tilted. When Evan didn’t say anything or move closer, the big dog turned twice more and settled onto the floor with an audible sigh. And a thump.

  So that had been what he’d heard: Ace jumping off the bed.

  Cassie was still sleeping. She’d shifted to lie on her back. Her hair was a tangle and the T-shirt she wore had ridden up, showing a few inches of pale, slender belly.

  He swallowed against a sudden dryness in his throat, then shoved his gun into his waistband.

  Even though he could never have her, this woman meant the world to him. If he took a drink, he’d take another, and more and he’d be even more useless than he already was as a protector.

  He pulled the sheet up to cover her.

  Then he walked downstairs and emptied the glass, and then the entire box of wine, into the sink.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON AVERY was at Lighthouse Lit, shelving a box of new fantasy novels. Taking her time, thinking about whether she could afford a couple with her employee discount. She and Aiden had devoured fantasy novels throughout childhood, and he was still big on them. Sometime during high school, Avery had gotten away from that kind of book, going for more suspenseful, real-world thrillers.

  Now, though, she felt the need to escape from the everyday world. Especially when it contained not only a lot of responsibilities, but also a creepy professor who seemed to be stalking her again. One who’d shot at poor Cassie right in front of their houses.

  She’d talked to Evan, shared what she knew about Halofax, and he’d taken down all her information and told her the police had their eye out for him, too. Evan had suggested that she move into Victory Cottage with him and Cassie, but no way. For one thing, she’d just gotten out on her own, and she wasn’t about to give up her freedom.

  For another, she could tell there was something going on between Evan and Cassie. So even though he’d explained that his own move into Victory Cottage was about protecting Cassie, who’d witnessed a crime, Avery didn’t want to be the third wheel.

  She was a strong woman. She’d be fine on her own.

  Oliver walked into Lighthouse Lit, and just looking at him lifted her spirits. What was that all about?

  She didn’t need to be so happy to see him. But ever since their visit to Bayshore last week, she’d felt warm toward him. Warmer. Not just in a physical spark kind of way, although that was there. Now that he’d let down his cocky, arrogant mask, she actually liked him as a person.

  He went to the counter and spoke to Mary, and Avery abandoned all pretense of working and just watched him. She really needed to get off his dad’s payroll, because the babysitting Evan had asked her to do didn’t seem right, now that Oliver was a friend. No one needed to pay her to be with him; she wanted to be.

  She’d kind of hoped he was here to see her, but Mary led him over to the nonfiction shelves and they stood there, talking, Mary showing him several books. Then Mary gestured toward Avery, so she had to smile and wave and pretend she hadn’t already been staring at them.

  Oliver actually looked a little embarrassed, which made her curious. She shelved the books in her hands and then walked over. “Shopping?” she asked him. “Mary knows every book in the store. She’ll help you find whatever you need.” It wasn’t just flattery, either; the older woman was amazing, seeming to have a photographic memory for books.

  Mary patted Oliver’s back. “Let me know if you have questions or need more recommendations. Like Avery said, I’m full of them.” She smiled at Avery and headed toward another customer.

  “So what’re you reading?” she asked just to make conversation.

  He sighed and held up the two books in his hands. “Careers in the Trades and If College Isn’t for You.”

  “Really? That’s awesome.”

  He shook his head. “I’m just thinking about stuff. Never really thought about not going to college until lately.”

  “Now’s a good time to figure out careers. Most people our age are still working on it.”

  “People will think I’m dumb.”

  “Who?”

  “You? My mom?”

  “Not me,” she said. “Anyone who does an honest day’s work gets my respect. That’s how I grew up.” She tilted her head to one side. “You need to come hang out on the docks with me sometime.”

  “How about now?” he said with a little of the old cockiness in his voice. “I’ll buy you an ice cream cone on the way.” He lifted his eyebrows up and down, teasing her.

  “Well...” She pretended to hesitate, knowing she was going to say yes. “I get off in half an hour.”

  “It’s a date. I’ll run over to the bank machine and be right back.”

  “I have money,” she said.

  His mouth twisted to one side as he shook his head at her. “No way. I’m the guy. I’m paying.”

  She rolled her eyes a little, but secretly, she liked that. Mike had let her pay her own way, on the few occasions when they’d gone out.

  By four o’clock they were strolling toward the docks, drinking Goody’s chocolate milkshakes. She’d explained to Oliver that you had to start there, with a shake. That was Goody’s specialty, and as soon as he’d tasted it, he’d agreed.

  The day was warm enough that Avery tied her hoodie around her shoulders, the sun hitting her face like she might actually get some color. There was always a breeze off the bay, but today it was soft, not sharp.

  She wondered what he thought of this part of Pleasant Shores. Houses of various types, from big, sprawling two-stories to trailers, were across the street from the water, most matched up with docks and fishing shacks by the bay.

  Where the road curved in, there were a few trailers on the water side, including Avery’s family home. They’d survived there for years because their place sat on a little raised bluff, which gave some protection from storm waves.

  Of course, Oliver had seen the place before, when he’d helped her move, but he hadn’t paid attention. He’d been so hungover that she was sure he hadn’t taken notice of much except how rotten he was feeling.

  She felt funny about showing her family’s home to Oliver. It was clear from his car and his clothes that he’d grown up richer. “Did you ever see the inside of a trailer?” she asked him.

  “Honestly? No.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed, though.”

  “Your dad’s been to our place. How are you guys getting along, anyway?”

  “Better, since he’s staying over at Victory Cottage. Says it’s to protect Cassie, but I think they’ve got a thing.”

  “Protect her from what? I mean, I heard about her brother, but why did things get more serious now?” Avery was pretty sure Cassie wasn’t the type to get jittery over nothing. “I hope she’s okay.”

 

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