Page 38 of Silent Bones
Noah shifted uncomfortably. “But we still have the food, and—” He caught the flash of frustration on her face and held up a hand. “Sorry. That was out of line. You’re right. Can we start again?”
She didn’t speak for a beat. Then she nodded once.
He reached back into the basket and pulled out a container. “Roast chicken sandwiches. From Darcy’s place in town. And some kind of fancy couscous I don’t know how to pronounce.”
Her lips twitched. “You’re not going to try to make me eat on one of those floating snack boards, are you?”
“Only if you insist.”
They shared a small laugh, the tension breaking just slightly.
But as they ate, Noah knew the wall had gone up again. Whatever progress they’d made over the past few weeks, if it could be called that, was fragile. Since the incident months ago when someone had taken that damning photo of him passed out on her driveway, she’d become more guarded. Less open. Letting him in only in carefully curated pieces.
Mostly her bedroom.
In there, the relationship was undefined, somewhere between curiosity and comfort. Friends with benefits. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. But the line between affection and suspicion was never far behind.
And as much as he told himself to back off, to enjoy the night and the stars and the strange peace of the lake, Noah Sutherland wasn’t built for pretending. Not when there were still too many questions. Not when the woman across from him knew more than she was saying.
Not when every instinct told him that Luther Ashford still had his hooks in everything.
Including her.
10
It was grinding. The shrill buzz of his phone dragged Noah out of sleep. For once, his evening with Natalie hadn’t ended up in bed. Today he slept alone. “All right, all right…” he muttered, hand slapping at the side table. Only it wasn’t there.
He fumbled down to the floor, face-down on the hardwood, and swiped to answer. His voice was still hoarse. “Yeah?”
“Aye, laddie. Good news. We found him.”
Noah rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Who?”
“Who do you think? ATV guy. Malcolm ‘Mack’ Hawkins. Bastard’s been living like a damn ghost. But we nailed him, off-grid cabin tucked past the far end of the lake.”
Noah sat up straighter. “You’ve confirmed he’s there?”
“Oh aye,” McKenzie said. “I’ve been observing his naked ass for the last half hour.”
Noah blinked. “McKenzie?—”
“Through binoculars, ya pervert. Get your mind outta the gutter. Our lad’s into the full Mother Earth routine—cold plunges, mud smears, probably about to dig a hole and plunk his junk in the?—”
“Jesus, stop. That’s enough. Where are you?”
“I’ll ping you the coordinates. Bring me some coffee. And maybe bleach for my retinas.”
The call ended. Noah lowered the phone and stared at it a beat longer than necessary.
For a moment, he just sat there, letting the early light creep through the curtain slits. The smell of lake water drifted faintly in through the cracked window. The house was still. Silent.
His thoughts drifted to his kids, he should’ve been camping with them this weekend.
They were with Kerri now, his late wife’s sister over in Ticonderoga. Kerri and her two kids had always been a safe harbor. So had Gretchen, who had gone with them. But no matter how grateful he was, it never stopped the guilt from creeping in. Every time he leaned on them, it felt like he was admitting he couldn’t carry it all.
He pushed up from the bed, stripped off yesterday’s clothes, and stepped into the shower.
The hot water washed away some of the ache in his shoulders. He was toweling off when the knock came.
