Page 106 of Hold Your Breath
Since she’d conceded the point, he tipped his head back against the seat. In short order, he began to snore quietly. Even though she knew it was probably a short-term symptom of her current ecstatic condition that he was alive, she reveled in the sound. It was a clear sign that he was breathing. If he’d dozed quietly, she probably would’ve had to poke him every so often so he’d swear at her, proving his non-deadness.
Grinning, she pointed the truck up the north side of Lever Pass. Callum was alive, and they were going home. Rule Number One…accomplished.
* * *
Once they arrived at Callum’s house, he blearily stumbled to the loft. Shortly after he collapsed on the bed, the rhythmic snoring began again. Left to her own devices for the afternoon, Lou decided to spend some quality time with the whiteboard. It had been neglected since the incident under the ice. It also took her mind off memories of that night, and the question that kept repeating in her mind—why? Why had Brent tried to kill her? What had pushed him from being a slightly unstable ex-boyfriend to a completely off-the-rails stalker and murderer? The questions looped through her brain, making her nervous and potentially weepy, so she seized on the distraction of their murder board.
She couldn’t stop staring at HDG’s name. Willard Alan Gray. It still seemed foreign to her, as if her brain couldn’t wrap around the idea that the bloated, headless corpse had been a person, someone’s son and friend. Giving her head a shake to force herself to focus, she picked up an orange marker and found an empty space on the board.
After writing his name again, she listed everything she could remember Chris telling them about Willard. She jotted downlived aloneandhow long?to remind herself to ask Callum once he woke. Although he never gossiped, Cal seemed to know everything about everyone in Simpson.
Baxter Price, Army buddywas the next item she listed. Under that, she addedemailed/called. It could be important that Willard had communicated with the outside world, even if it was through the Internet and phone. She was having a hard time imagining how a hermit could enrage someone badly enough to lose his life and his head over it.
“Willy,” she muttered, tapping the cap of the marker against her bottom lip. “Who’d you piss off?”
She wroteprotested nearby home developmentand then took a step back to eye the words. Leaning back toward the board, she addedunsuccessfullyto the front of the phrase. His protests could’ve been annoying to someone or some company, but the development was built. His city planning complaints had been brushed off like a pesky but ineffectual fly.
Glancing at the area of the whiteboard dedicated to the motorcycle club, she frowned. As tenuous as the connection between Willard’s protests of the new development and his murder seemed, there didn’t appear to beanylink between the reclusive loner and the MC.
She tapped her marker tip next to Baxter’s name, leaving several orange dots. Talking to Willard’s friend was next on the agenda. First though, she thought, capping her marker and tucking it away with the rest, was making dinner. And then maybe a nap with the not-dead guy sawing logs upstairs. The last thought made her smile. Since Lou wasn’t sure how long Callum was going to sleep, she decided to take a modified page out of his book and fire up the Crock-Pot. Finding ground beef in his freezer was easy, not only because it was so extremely neat, but also because each section of shelving was labeled with the food item it contained.
“That’s just not normal,” she muttered, resisting the urge to switch the bag of frozen broccoli with a package of chicken breasts, just to see what would happen. Due to Callum’s very recent hospital stay, she restrained herself.
Opening his fridge, she was surprised everything still looked fresh. She had to remind herself that, even though it felt like they’d been gone for weeks, it had only been a few days since that horrible night. The image of Brent’s wide-eyed look of disbelief as she’d killed him flashed through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes closed until the mental picture faded. Her eyes eased open again, and she blindly stared at the inside of his fridge. His extreme organization wasn’t enough to make her smile this time as she grabbed a green pepper and an onion from the vegetable drawer.
By the time she’d browned the meat and chopped veggies, she’d managed to shove the mental movies of that night back into that dark closet in her brain, slam the door, and lock it. Although she figured it probably wasn’t the most mentally healthy way to handle it, she was able to add the rest of the chili ingredients to the Crock-Pot with a modicum of calm.
Once she’d cleaned up the kitchen and left the chili to simmer, she climbed the stairs to the loft. When she saw Callum, fully dressed and sprawled on his belly crossways across the bed, she smiled, her heart giving a little lurch. Grabbing a fleece blanket that had been folded over the footboard, she shook it out and spread it over his snoring form. After shedding her jeans and hoodie, leaving her in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and underwear, she crawled beneath the blanket and pressed against him.
With a grunt, he turned onto his side and gathered her close. “Sparks,” he grumbled, still sounding more than half-asleep. “Where’ve you been?”
“Cooking.” Shifting her head so one of his shirt buttons wasn’t indenting itself onto her cheekbone, she snuggled closer.
“D’you clean the kitchen?”
Lou laughed softly. “Of course. It is spotless perfection. You’ll ask me for cleaning lessons once you see it.”
His grunt, even as sleepy as it was, sounded skeptical. She just laughed again and closed her eyes.
“Love you, Sparks,” he mumbled.
Her fingers clenched around handfuls of his shirt. “Love you, too.”
His only answer was a snore.
After tipping her head so she could kiss the top of his sternum, she turned her cheek to its original position on his chest. “Glad you’re alive, Cal.”
Her eyes started to slide closed when a knock from downstairs popped them open again. Mentally swearing, she checked to make sure the sound hadn’t disturbed Callum. Since he was still happily snoring, she slid out of bed, pulled on her jeans, and hurried down the stairs, hoping to get to the door before the person knocked again.
Heavy knuckles pounded just as she was reaching for the doorknob, and she quickly jerked open the door.
“Richard?” She gaped at the sight of her stepfather standing in the doorway. Her cell phone rang in the kitchen, but she ignored the sound, too startled by the unexpected visitor. He was the last—well, second to last—person she’d thought would ever be visiting Simpson.
“Louise.” When he moved forward, she automatically retreated, allowing him to step inside. As she studied him, he raked the interior of the cabin with his gaze. At his disdainful expression, Lou felt a flare of defensiveness for her cozy, tidy new home. Although he was wearing his usual suit, which made him seem even more out of place in the land of flannel and log cabins, he looked mussed and pale.
“What are you doing here?” she asked warily. The news Rob had shared about her stepfather’s legal troubles ran through her mind, making her wonder crazy things.What if he wants me to hide him here?Mentally, she started thinking of a firm yet gentle way of turning him down. Her unfortunate history showed she wasn’t very good at going against Richard’s wishes. She was stronger now, though. She’d faced down a killer. Telling her stepfather “no” would be a piece of cake. Despite her stiffened spine, though, her stomach churned with nerves.
“Do you have a will?” he asked abruptly.
