Page 23 of Fragile Sanctuary

“You have to talk about it sometime,” Shep said carefully. “You don’t, and it’ll eat you alive.”

“Shep,” I growled.

“It’s been over two years, and you won’t even say her name.”

The lasagna I’d eaten felt like a brick in my gut. “Now’s not the time.”

“Then when is?” Shep pushed. “Tell me, and I’ll make a goddamn appointment. Because I don’t want to keep watching my best fucking friend fade away.”

I snapped my mouth closed.Hell.An ugly stew of guilt and rage swept through me like vicious waves on a stormy sea. My throat worked as I struggled to swallow. “I can’t go there. It’ll kill me.”

Quiet swirled around us, only broken by the occasional rustle of leaves. Finally, Shep spoke words I knew he’d picked carefully. “I’m scared that if you don’t talk about it, it really will kill you one day.”

I didn’t say anything in response. Because I knew the truth. If I opened the door to that place where I’d locked it all away, it would be the thing to truly end me.

I took a swig of my ginger beer, hoping like hell it’d settle my stomach. “Worked up a plan for the Victorian.”

Shep stared at me for a long moment and then sighed. “Walk me through it.”

The slightest fraction of pressure left my chest. “We start in the library and fan east. We need to stabilize from the bottom up.” Shep already knew this. We’d worked enough fire-restoration projects for him to know more than the basics, but I was desperate to talk about anything but the subject he’d tried to broach.

“Sounds good. We’ll have our full crew tomorrow. What do you want ‘em on?”

My breaths weren’t quite as painful, and it no longer felt like each inhale was wrapped in barbed wire. “Let’s clean out the downstairs.I’ve got fresh N95 masks for everyone. Dumpster’s supposed to get there between noon and one.”

Shep nodded, his gaze locked on the horizon. “I’ll make sure everyone’s there at one.”

“Thanks,” I said. But it was so much more than just gratitude for getting our crew there. It was for all the things I couldn’t say and couldn’t touch. I just hoped like hell he knew it.

Branches slappedmy arms and face. The hits stung, tearing at my skin. I felt wetness on my cheek. Blood.

But it didn’t matter. I pushed my body harder, my muscles straining and lungs burning. My feet slapped against the dirt path. The occasional rock or root stabbed my shoes, footwear that wasn’t cut out for trails and meant for an office.

I skidded to a stop as I broke into a clearing. A massive oak tree stood in the center of the space. The trunk was wide and gnarled, and curved branches sprouted from it, moving every which way. But I could barely take any of that in.

My breaths came in quick pants, but I only knew that because I felt the rise and fall of my chest. I couldn’t hear anything over the blood roaring in my ears.

A woman’s body was slumped against the tree. Her head lolled to one side, blond hair covering her face. But I saw the telltale rope peeking out from under that fall of hair.

My stomach roiled, but I forced my feet to move—feet clad in those ridiculously expensive loafers I got for a damn book signing. Each step wound a cord around my throat as if I could feel what the woman had. But it wasn’t even close.

Her feet were bare but not dirt-covered. He’d killed her elsewhere and brought her here. All so he could play his goddamn game with me.

Ragged breaths tore from my throat as I bent. I needed gloves, my team…but I didn’t wait. Couldn’t. I had to know.

I was going to hell for praying it was someone else. Anyone but mysister. And what did that say about me? That I was no better thanhim. A monster. Because whoever this was, she was someone’s daughter, sister, friend. Maybe even someone’s wife and mother.

I reached down, my hand trembling like a rookie seeing his first stiff. I swept back the pale blond locks.

And my whole world shattered.

I jerked upright, the sheet clinging to my damp chest as my lungs heaved. A breeze picked up through my open window, bringing in cold mountain air. But it didn’t do a damn thing for the fire racing through my veins.

The image was still fresh. Too real. Because it had been.

Greta’s face leached of all color. Her blood spilled all around her.

I shoved the blankets back and stalked out of bed. I needed to breathe. My feet pounded the rough-wood floors of the cabin as I crossed the loft and hit the stairs one by one. Unlocking the front door, I hauled it open.

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