Searching for Shadows, page 18
She felt alive.
More than that, she felt like herself again.
After a while, the water began to run cold, and she scrambled to turn it off. She reached for her towel, wrapped it around her body, and stepped out of the shower.
The steam had fogged up the mirror. She swiped a hand over it and studied her reflection. Her eyes were brighter than they had been in ages, her cheeks flushed from the heat and exertion, and... something more.
She liked the way her muscles ached and the heady sensation of power coursing through her veins. She felt strong. And beautiful. Not because of any specific physical attribute but simply because she was rediscovering parts of herself she’d forgotten existed or maybe didn’t know were there in the first place.
This was the reflection of a woman who wasn’t afraid. A woman who was capable and sexy. A woman who knew what she wanted and went for it.
She liked this version of herself.
And she actually was okay.
For the first time in a very long time, she hadn’t been lying when she answered that question.
part two
light
“For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it.
If only we’re brave enough to be it.”
-Amanda Gorman
chapter twenty-two
As the cool, rainy spring slowly warmed into a cool, breezy summer, things stayed quiet.
No more victims.
No more feelings of being watched.
It was almost… normal.
Ash suspected the killer realized he’d lost control during his last kill and went underground to regroup, but the sheriff also didn’t think it was over. Connelly agreed. His Number One Fan wasn’t done yet.
But the quiet days saw Connelly and Veronica falling into a comfortable routine. He’d wake up early to get some writing done— if he was lucky, he could get in a few solid hours before Veronica woke up and the dogs required attention. He was nearly done with the book, and he thought it might be his best one yet. The characters were scrappy and likable. The monster was terrifying and unstoppable. Only problem was he didn’t know how it should end—should it be a happily ever after, or did the monster win this time?
After he finished his words for the day they’d take the dogs for a morning walk in the woods at Veronica’s insistence. She claimed to find it calming, even with a protection detail trailing them.
And he couldn’t deny the change he saw in her. She was calmer. She no longer flinched at the idea of stepping outside the house. She sat out on the back deck every day with a sketchbook, drawing again for the first time in years, filling the pages with sky and sea. The world was slowly expanding again for her, and as much as he hated the circumstances that brought them together, Connelly couldn’t help but feel grateful for this progress. He even managed to convince her to call her Dad daily. He usually stepped out of the house to play with the dogs in the yard when she did, giving them privacy, but he hoped that whatever was broken between them was starting to heal as well.
The afternoons were reserved for practicing Judo. With each passing day, Veronica was becoming more adept at the moves. She was a fast learner, her instinctive grip on the technical aspects of the martial art surprising him.
But then again, Veronica never failed to surprise him.
In the evenings, they’d often find themselves huddled together on the couch, enveloped in soft blankets while they watched movies and the dogs snoozed. He loved those nights—just him and Veronica in a cocoon of warmth and companionship. In those moments, there was no killer, no crazy sorta-ex-girlfriend stalker. Just them, their dogs, and Veronica’s vast collection of cheesy rom-coms that he’d secretly come to love. He enjoyed watching her lose herself in laughter. Her happiness was infectious, and he found himself laughing along even when the jokes were lame.
For those precious moments, the world outside ceased to exist.
And then there were those moments when he found himself just watching her. At the stove, stirring a pot of soup, lips pursed in consideration as she taste-tested the new recipe. Curled up in an armchair by the window, reading or sketching, oblivious to his gaze. Or on one of their walks, pausing to stare at the majesty of a sunrise or the quiet beauty of the ancient redwoods.
Sometimes, when the sunlight hit her just right, he caught a glimpse of the Veronica he used to know—the one with a bravery so fierce and a spirit so untamed, it felt like staring directly into the heart of a wildfire.
Of course, that woman was gone. He knew that. She’d never again be who she was, but he loved watching her discover this new version of herself. He loved that she moved with newfound grace and self-assuredness. He loved holding her each night as she drifted to sleep. And he loved her more each day.
It was all so quietly perfect and couldn’t last much longer. The world was not designed for uninterrupted bliss. It thrived on the chaos, the unpredictability, the sharp edges of existence that catch and cut when least expected. He made his living writing about those blade-like edges, after all, and he could sense one hanging over them like a guillotine waiting to drop.
Then one morning, that guillotine blade came in the form of a defense attorney and a podcaster.
They were sitting on the front porch when the unfamiliar car pulled in, Veronica tossing a ball for Rebel and he reading through his manuscript. He didn’t think much of it at first. With Redwood Coast Rescue pulling double duty as bodyguards these last few weeks, new vehicles were coming and going all the time and he assumed they were just changing shifts.
But then a woman with sleek blond hair slid from the driver’s seat and a man with California surfer looks and a rumpled suit climbed out of the passenger side.
Veronica stopped throwing the ball and moved closer to his side. He closed his laptop and stood, taking her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“It’s okay,” he murmured for her ears alone. “See? Rebel’s relaxed with them.”
Rebel padded over and bumped her head against the woman’s jean-clad legs for attention. Alfie trotted toward the man and sniffed his shoes.
“Hi,” the woman said with a bright smile as she scratched the spot behind Rebel’s ear that made the dog’s leg thump. “I’m sorry to drop in unannounced but Shane”—she motioned to the man and dog team camping at the base of the driveway—”is my fiancé. And that’s Clue, our dog.”
Connelly looked toward their RWCR bodyguards. It had been Donovan Scott and his border collie, Spirit, earlier this morning, but they must have changed shifts since then. He could admit to himself that he was surprised Shane Trevisano had volunteered for the job. He and Shane had a history that included him getting his bell rung good by the former SEAL, but he supposed that was all water under the bridge now. And he respected the guy. Not many people could live through what Shane had and come out still swinging with a mean right hook.
Some of the tension eased out of Veronica’s shoulders. “Oh. I remember you from Dr. Firestone’s office. Alexis?”
The blonde’s smile brightened. “Alexis Summers.”
Connelly had heard that name before. “The true crime podcaster?”
“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
Veronica nodded toward the rumpled suit. “And you’re Cal, right? RWCR’s lawyer.”
The lawyer’s grin was as dazzling as the southern California sun. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve ever been officially introduced.” He stepped forward and held out a hand in greeting. “Callum Holden.”
Connelly accepted the handshake. “Connelly Davis.”
“I know. I’ve read your books.”
Connelly wondered if there would ever come a point in his career that he didn’t find those words utterly terrifying.
“Thanks,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope you didn’t lose too much sleep over them.”
Cal’s laugh was kind and warm. “Nah, not at all. I quite enjoy being kept up at night by a good book.”
“Surprised you have time to read between all the womanizing,” Alexis said. Her smile stayed firmly in place, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance in her voice.
Cal sighed heavily. “Oh, c’mon. You can’t be mad at me for going on a few dates. Ellie rejected me, remember? She’s made it very clear she wants nothing to do with me.”
“Because my sister has good taste.”
Cal opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, but closed it without making a sound and backed up a step. He seemed to wilt and an awkward silence filled the air with tension.
Veronica moved closer to Connelly’s side and her fingers tightened around his. He took that as a cue to break up this weird little gathering and stepped forward, gently nudging her behind him. “It was nice meeting you both, but if you’re hear to see Shane—”
“Actually,” Alexis interrupted. “We’re here to talk to you.”
The cold hand of dread curled around his heart. “Me? Why?”
“It’s... kind of a long story,” Cal said. “Do you mind if we come in?”
“It’s about what’s been happening,” Alexis added. “The murders? We think it’s connected to something bigger.”
Connelly glanced over his shoulder at Veronica. She squeezed his hand so tightly that he swore he felt his bones shift.
“Uh, how about I meet you in town later this afternoon?” he suggested. “Let’s say... The Mad Dog at four?”
The pair shared a long look, then seemed to come to some kind of unspoken agreement.
“That will work,” Cal finally said. “We’ll see you then.”
They climbed back into the car and pulled out of the drive, stopping momentarily to talk to Shane before leaving.
“I don’t like this,” Veronica whispered.
He turned toward her and folded her into his arms. She was trembling. All the progress she’d made, and it felt like she was back at square one, her fear wrapping around her like a second skin.
“I know,” he murmured, stroking her hair as he watched the car pull out onto the road. Shane glanced their way, his burn-scarred face twisting into a grimace of concern before he gave them a quick nod and returned to guard duty. “I don’t like it either.”
He hated to leave Veronica, but as the day wore on, curiosity gnawed at him. What could Alexis Summers and Cal Holden have possibly uncovered that would lead them here?
Leaving Veronica with Shane and his able canine partner, Clue, he grabbed his jacket and keys. He glanced back at Veronica once more before climbing into his car. She stood there, petite and pale against the backdrop of the front porch, clutching Alfie so tight the poor Papillon looked like he might squirm out of her hold any minute.
“I’ll be back soon. Keep Rebel close and lock the door. Shane’s right at the bottom of the drive if you need anything.”
He waited until her silhouette had retreated into the house before he finally maneuvered his car around on the gravel driveway. He stopped at the end and rolled his window down.
Shane glanced up from the book he was reading. Of course it was one of his. Seemed like everyone in town read his books now that he lived here.
Shane stood and walked over to the car, leaning down to peer in through the window. His burn scars were even more horrific up close. Jesus, what this guy survived...
It was unthinkable.
He wore some kind of plastic mask over his scars, which explained why he’d looked so eerily shiny in the sunlight earlier. “Everything okay?”
“I’m headed to town to meet Alexis and Cal.”
Shane nodded once. “Good.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll give me a heads up what this is about?”
“Nope.”
“Of course not.” Connelly sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Listen, Veronica’s shaken.”
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“Yeah. Can you just... move closer to the house while I’m gone? The porch, if she’ll let you. I don’t want her to be alone.”
A smile tipped up the corner of Shane’s mouth. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”
Connelly opened his mouth to ask why not, but was interrupted by the convoy of vehicles pulling into the driveway. He recognized Zak’s truck and Donovan’s motorcycle. A Ford Bronco came next with Pierce St. James behind the wheel and Sawyer and Zelda in the passenger seat. The last vehicle was a Toyota Tacoma driven by Rylan Cross.
He climbed out of his car as they all pulled up into the yard. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”
Donovan slowed his bike and killed the engine. Spirit sat behind him in a matching helmet, her paws up on his shoulders and her tongue spilling out of her mouth in a happy doggy grin. He flipped up his visor. “Veronica won’t come to therapy, so we’re bringing therapy to her.”
Zak leaned out his truck’s window. “She’s about to get an unprecedented dose of friendly intervention.”
Connelly frowned. Was this the right time for an intervention? He cast his gaze back up the driveway to the house, but found only darkness staring back. No silhouette. Veronica had retreated fully inside.
“She’s not going to like this,” he muttered.
Donovan shrugged. “Good.”
Connelly rubbed a hand over his face, feeling a headache starting to pound at his temples. This was a disaster waiting to happen. Veronica was still fragile. The last thing she needed was to be forced into something she clearly wasn’t ready for.
“Look,” he started, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”
Donovan swung off the motorcycle and took off his helmet, revealing his close-cropped dark hair and the scars slicing across his skull from the injuries he’d sustained while a Marine. His grin was wide as he slapped Connelly on the back. “Relax, man. We’ve got this.”
“Just trust us, okay?” Zak added. “She needs this push.”
Connelly stared at the motley crew in front of him with apprehension. Each man wore an expression of resolute determination, their camaraderie tangible in the cool evening air. He knew they all cared for Veronica in their own way, but… Was this the best way to show it?
“Just... don’t push her too hard,” he finally said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
“We’ll be gentle with her.” Zak nodded toward the road. “Go talk to Alexis and Cal. You want to hear what they have to say.”
chapter twenty-three
What am I supposed to do now?
Veronica leaned against the door and stared down at the dogs. Alfie wagged. Rebel looked toward the window.
“I know, girl.” She bent down to rub the dog’s big head. “I already miss him, too.”
After Connelly’s constant presence in her life for the past few weeks, it felt achingly empty without him.
How had she ever lived with this silence?
A sudden knock at the door made her jolt. She whipped around to peek out the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to see a fleet of cars parked in front of the house. And a group of men in her yard.
Zak. Donovan. Sawyer. Pierce.
Her guys.
And all of their dogs, too. Zak’s mischievous Ranger. Donovan’s bundle of energy Spirit. Sawyer’s seeing-eye dog Zelda. And Pierce’s mop dog Raszta with his dreadlocks held out of his eyes in a jaunty ponytail.
Her heart warred between panic and excitement for several beats. God, she’d missed them all.
Shane and his scruffy dog, Clue, walked up from the base of the driveway with a man she didn’t recognize. He was the only one without a dog. Colorful tattoos covered every inch of skin on one arm. His other arm was a prosthetic.
That must be Rylan Cross, the new trauma counselor. Dr. Firestone’s replacement.
The panic won out with a sudden swell of fear. It was like a physical weight pressing down on her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. She inhaled sharply, trying to fill her lungs against the mounting pressure, and shrank away from the window.
Another knock rattled the door.
“Veronica?” Zak’s voice, muffled by the wood, did nothing to ease her growing panic. “Can you open the door?”
“We just want to talk.” It was Donovan this time, his voice as gentle as she’d ever heard it.
She glanced at Rebel and Alfie, both sets of eyes concerned and watching her. But Rebel wasn’t on alert, wasn’t growling, and her fur lay smoothly along her spine. If the dog wasn’t concerned, there was no reason for Veronica to be. Besides these guys were... well, not friends. She didn’t have friends anymore beyond Connelly. But they were acquaintances and she trusted them as much as she was able to trust a man.
Which really wasn’t a lot.
She first started attending the Paws for Vets group sessions at Dr. Firestone’s suggestion as exposure therapy to help her trust men again. But sitting there every week, listening to their stories, had only served to ignite the flames of her anxiety. Every tale, every scar, every sleepless night they shared only reinforced her fear—that men were only ever one step away from becoming monsters.
Taking a deep breath she moved to the door, cracking it open just enough to see the gathering on her porch. “What are you doing here?”
“Since you haven’t been able to come to us, we decided to come to you,” Zak said.
“We’ve missed you,” Sawyer added and Pierce, unable to speak due to the injuries he sustained in the military, nodded in agreement.
“They’ve been worried about you,” Rylan added, stepping forward. He had beautiful hazel eyes, earnest and kind, but they sent a shiver down her spine. Those were the eyes of a therapist, trained to dissect and analyze. And he wasn’t Dr. Firestone. She’d never be able to open up to this man like she had with Dr. Firestone. The thought of trying churned her stomach.
She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”
