Page 46 of Fragile Sanctuary

I shook my head. “Better if you don’t give him a taste of the good stuff. He could get used to it.”

“A little of the good stuff never hurt anyone.”

Not unless you lost it.

As if sensing my shifting mood, Rhodes turned to the flowers. “I already prepped the pot with gravel at the bottom and a good, rich soil. Now, we just have to create space for these babies.”

I picked up the small shovel that Biscuit had dropped. “How many holes do you need?”

“Three,” she instructed.

I got to work moving the soil around to create homes for the poppies.

Rhodes leaned forward, examining my work. I felt her more than I saw her. The shift in the energy in the air, the scent of sweet peas teasing my nose.

“You’re pretty good at that,” she said.

“Done it a time or two.” Whenever my mom had badgered me into it. Maybe I would’ve done it more often if I’d known I’d lose her and my dad along with Greta. My mom wasn’t six feet under, but she might as well be for all she wanted to do with me.

Rhodes didn’t press with questions; she simply placed one of the poppy plants into a hole I’d created. With gentle fingers, she pressed them into the soil, covering their roots with some excess.

“No gardening gloves?” My mom had been religious about wearing them, never wanting the dirt to stain her fingers.

Rhodes shook her head. “I can’t feel what I need to with gloves.”

I frowned as I watched her place the next two bundles of blooms. “What do you need to feel?”

She shrugged, the action sending some of that wild hair into her face. “The give of the soil. Whether there’s resistance or not. If the plant works where I’m placing it.” A small smile played on her lips. “Might sound woo-woo, but I swear the soil talks to me. There’s an energy to it. I never want to miss what it tells me.”

Rhodes lifted her head, brushing the hair out of her face and leaving a smear of dirt behind.

I lifted my hand without conscious thought, my thumb swiping across her cheek. “It is fucking woo-woo. But it’s you.”

Our gazes locked, and those golden flames swirled in her mossy green depths. Rhodes’ breath hitched, making her chest rise as her lips parted.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I jerked my hand back as if I’d been burned. I didn’t think I’d ever gotten to my feet faster, and that included when a suspect unexpectedly started shooting at my team. “I gotta get home.”

I expected to find rejection, even hurt in Rhodes’ eyes, but there was something entirely different. Understanding. She just smiled easily and inclined her head toward the pot. “Don’t forget your poppies. They need full sun. Water them about once a week. You can stick a finger in the soil to see if it’s dry.”

I didn’t waste my time arguing with her. I didn’t trust my restraint. I just bent, grabbed the pot, and took off for my truck without so much as a mutteredthank you. God, I was an asshole. But what else was new?

I tooka pull of my ginger beer and glared at the pink flowers on my porch steps. Having them there made me realize just how devoid of color the rest of the cabin was. It had come furnished but without linens. Apparently, everything I’d bought had been in shades of gray. Even the damn Adirondack chair I was sitting in.

Forcing my gaze away from the accusatory blooms, I returned to my crossword. It wasn’t cutting it today. I’d gotten too many tooeasily. Five-letter word for pirate’s woman. Really? Wench wasn’t exactly a stretch.

I shifted in the chair, setting down my bottle. Rho’s face kept playing in my mind—such light, even though she’d walked through so much darkness. What was it that allowed people to keep that light? Whatever it was, it was clear I didn’t have it. But it only made me more curious.

It also made me realize why people called her Rho. Rhodes, as pretty as the name was, was too formal. Too, fancy. Rho felt more salt of the earth. Moreher.

With an annoyed grunt, I dropped my crossword book and pen to the ground and reached for the laptop on the table next to me. I flipped it open and signed into my virtual private network. The bureau had some of the best hackers in the country on their payroll, and I’d picked up a thing or two from them over my years there. I wished like hell I’d heeded their warnings back then, but I took it seriously now.

You left breadcrumbs in your wake every time you ventured onto the internet. Now, I made sure the path I left could never be traced back to me.

Opening a browser, I typed infire, historic home, Sparrow Falls, Oregon. A slew of articles populated the screen, and it didn’t take me long to find one that hit.

Stirling Family Killed in Blaze.

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