Page 20 of Special Agent Anastacia

Laughing, Nash held his hands out in front. “Yep. Got it.” He stepped back. “Goodnight.”

“Night.” Ana kept it short and sweet before heading to the loft above. Still shook that he’d gotten his way so easily, nonetheless, she did feel slightly better for not being alone in the spaciousplace. Once undressed and foregoing her usual choice of being naked over PJ’s, she pulled on a lightweight pair of shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, thankful that they had air conditioning.

Once she’d done her regular nightly routine, brushing out her thick blonde curls to where they haloed her head and cleaning her teeth, she added some moisturizer to her smooth skin and headed for her bed.

No sooner had she positioned her pillow and got comfy, her eyes flew open, and her brain began to unravel. Thoughts scattered like leaves in a windstorm, swirling everywhere, making sleep impossible. Finally, after an hour of tossing and turning, she slipped from her bed and looked out her door to make sure the way was clear.

Seeing only the under-counter kitchen lights glowing, she tiptoed downstairs, heading through the living room area for the liquor cabinet.

Other times when she found sleep evading her, she would often meet up with her father suffering from the same insomnia. They’d sit together and sip on her dad’s favorite expensive whiskey, discussing deep topics about life and dreams that seemed possible to talk about in the dark closeness they shared. During those precious times, she’d let the explosions in her belly soothe the wildness of her nature. Only then could she relax enough to be able to close off her mind and eventually get some rest.

No sooner had she poured a drink, a voice from the far end of the room startled her. “Can you make that two?”

Stiffening, knowing she’d tried to avoid just such a situation, she released a long sigh of frustration. “What are you doing up?”

“Heard a noise.”

“Then you must have the hearing of an animal because I was quiet.”

“Yeah. I’m like a Doberman, my hearing has always been good.”

“Makes sense. A slobbering, big-nosed dog. Suits you.”

“Hey, Doberman’s don’t slobber. And you’re not funny.”

“Am so.” While she bantered, she poured a second drink and reached over to pass it to him. That’s when she realized her lack of clothing might be an invitation she had no intention of making.

Sauntering over to the sofa, she picked up the light fuzzy throw and sat down with it held casually on top of her. Hoping that by ignoring him, he’d take the hint, she was disappointed. Instead, he sat down beside her wearing a grin that spoke volumes about her thinking she’d fooled him.

“This is nice. Just the two of us. Together. After a hard day at the office.”

“Shut up.” She made a face at him to take away the harshness from her reply and leaned her head back against the couch. “Listen to the quiet. That’s what I love about this cabin.”

“Me, too. I had a place not far from here and it was the same peaceful setting.”

“You had?”

“It burned down earlier this year. The Mountain Fire devasted thousands of acres and is still on the move. One of our guys explained it as trying to put out a blowtorch with a squirt gun. The Santa Ana winds had gusts up to 80 to 100 mph, and fueled by abundant grass and scrub, it created a perfect storm.”

“I’m sorry. About your home I mean.”

“It happens. And mine wasn’t the only one. Many of the others had families. I’m just a single dude.”

“Still. It was yours.”

“Yeah.” He sipped his drink, sighed, and kept his gaze on his hands.

Unwilling to let him dwell on what couldn’t be changed, Ana leaned his way. “What’s your particular job? Hanna said your mom told her you were a firefighter.”

“That’s right. I work with an Interagency Hotshot Crew, which means we’re front liners working on constructing fire lines, handling control burns along with tactical operations, and pretty much fighting the monster in the best way we can with the supplies we have.”

“You make it sound easy. It’s one of the toughest jobs out there.”

His side nod of agreement gave credence to the remark but with the underlying, unspoken phrase following…it-is-what-it-is. She waited and he finally added.

“Okay. So… it’s hard work. But without us, folks’d loose a hell of a lot more than we do now. Kinda like the way cops stop the crazies from taking over.”

“Except ‘the crazy’ we have running around this place seems more like a ghost. We have nothing on the guy except that his MO is to shoot people in the chest. From Lew’s scene at the store, we were able to determine that one of the guys was a white man with a tattoo on his wrist. Turns out that kinda describes the dead man we came across with Sadie’s body.”

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