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“She gave me a brownie tonight at the party,” Danny said.
“Party?” Trent cocked his head toward Cate.
Cate paused, her eyes locked on Trent. “It was a baby shower.”
“Oh,” he said, and turned to Danny. “So, I’ll see you at the Sunflower Festival?”
“Sure,” Danny replied quickly.
Cate noticed that Danny didn’t look to her for approval. He was too busy smiling at the detective.
“I’ll be going,” Trent said as he opened the door fully. “Make sure all the doors are locked, and double-check your windows, too.”
Cate’s eyes widened. “The windows.”
“They are locked, right? You always check them, right?” he asked warily.
“Uh. No.”
“What about the basement windows where someone can crawl in?”
“Those I had boarded up and sealed when we moved in. I try never to go down there if I can help it.”
“Yeah,” Danny chimed in. “It’s spooky.”
She nodded. “It is.”
“Do you want me to check the windows for you?”
“No, I can do it. There aren’t that many,” she said.
“Okay.” Trent stepped out. “Lock up behind me.”
“Goodbye... Detective Davis.” She closed the door and locked it.
Cate felt as if she’d run a gauntlet through swinging knife blades. Police. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a cop. Now or ever.
* * *
TRENT WENT TO his car. As he drove away, he noticed that Cate and Danny were watching him leave from the living-room window.
Purposefully, he drove down two blocks, then doubled back, turning off his headlights so she wouldn’t see him returning. He parked four doors away.
As his eyes tracked over to the house, he noticed as each of the lights was turned off. The last one was at the far right end of the house. Presumably, Cate’s bedroom.
Cate.
He’d never paid much attention to her when he’d seen her around town. Thinking about it, he realized she was the kind of woman who didn’t meet a man’s eyes. She didn’t flirt. Didn’t smile much, either. Now he knew why.
She was pretty enough. Soft peachy skin. Thick brunette hair that hung in a straight cut just past her chin.
Trent flung even the hint of Cate out of his head. With his PTSD, he wasn’t relationship material—for anybody. To save everyone heartache, it was best for him to bury romantic emotions.
Cate was simply part of his investigation. That was all.
Trent’s life worked best with him alone. No one to hear his screams in the night. No one to talk him down from another nightmare. No one to whom he’d have to describe what it was like to have his best buddy blown to pieces right before his eyes. The IED should have been detected. It would have been better if Trent had been the one to die. Trent didn’t have a wife and kids. But Parker had.
The vision of Parker’s bloody body pieces strewed over the sand was burned on his soul. It was part of him. He couldn’t right click and delete it. Shoot it or kill it. It lived deep in his psyche where it haunted him.
Trent dropped his face to his hands. Sweat had sprung out on his forehead and ran down his temples. It was always like this. He’d heat up and then when the memory faded, he’d cool off. His mouth was dry.
It was always the same. Predictable. But the onset was like a rogue wave. He never knew when it was coming. Only that it would be back again and again. That was the hell of it.
Because no treatment worked. Cognitive processing therapy and prolonged exposure therapy didn’t help. He’d tried a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, but it hadn’t made a dent.
He drank deeply from his water bottle and looked at Cate’s bedroom window.
The light had gone out.
“Time for some shut-eye,” he mumbled as he stared at the house.
Trent sat up in his seat as he remembered Cate’s brown eyes.
That was it. There was something wrong with her eyes. Tonight, in the harsh overhead foyer light, she’d looked straight at him.
That’s when he’d noticed it. She wore colored contacts. The kind that muted the eye. Made it difficult, if not impossible, to read someone’s thoughts. Trent was usually spot-on with deciphering expressions, voice tones, nuances that disclosed valuable information.
He’d frightened her tonight. He’d blundered and hoped he’d smoothed it over. He needed her to trust him. It was a bonus that her son had taken a liking to him. He might need some support in the days to come. Cate was wary and suspicious, as well she should be. He couldn’t imagine what life had been like for her all this time—living this lie.
Looking at the situation from Cate’s side, he imagined that to her, he was just about the worst thing that could happen to her. His investigation would blow her story to pieces.
Cate was right not to trust him.
In order to throw the snare on Le Grande, he might hurt Cate.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u4555a22a-9ad6-58c6-9069-75acc86152f2)
CATE THREW BACK the last precious drops of the cappuccino that Maddie Barzonni had made especially for her. Maddie had drawn a little house with a “sold” sign over the door because Cate had a showing with a new buyer today. Maddie was a firm believer in manifesting one’s destiny. So was Cate. In fact, she’d been manifesting and creating her life so expertly and for so many years, she felt she should give fiction writing a shot.
“Maybe a screenplay,” she mumbled to herself as she drove up to 415 Park Street.
She looked at the computer printout she’d brought with her. The house had been on the market for nearly a year, and Cate could see why. The grass was ankle-high, all the landscaping was in need of watering and trimming. The windows were dirty, and there were flyers and free newspapers flung around the door.
“Definitely no curb appeal,” she grumbled as she unhooked her seat belt. She gathered her purse, briefcase and the code she’d need to unlock the key lock. Cate had seen this situation before. The house was part of an estate, and the remaining family lived thousands of miles from Indian Lake. There was no one to oversee the house, and the listing agent realized early on that the place was a hard sell and, quite obviously, didn’t bother to mow the yard or have any work done. Efforts like those were paid for by the agent in hopes of a large commission. Even Cate would have given up on this house.
As she approached, she could see that the house needed paint, repairs to the gutters and a new storm door. Cate tried to tuck the piece of screen that had come loose into the metal groove along the inside of the frame, but the screen was so old and rusty, she was afraid she’d need a tetanus shot.
She was just about to punch in the security code when she heard a thundering rumble as a massive black Toyota Tacoma truck pulled up. The tires were so huge, the vehicle looked more like a military tank than a flatbed truck.
The door opened, and a man dressed in blue jeans, work boots and a black T-shirt that looked spray-painted over his broad chest, shoulders and bulging biceps swung out of the truck. This was Rand Nelson. On the phone, he’d told her he was a fire jumper who’d just moved back to town. Rand was tall, she thought, but not as tall as Trent Davis.
Fleetingly, she wondered what a black T-shirt would look like on Trent.
What was the matter with her?
She hadn’t thought about a man or his physique in years. And why on earth would Trent Davis come to mind?
She felt the hairs on her arm stand on end as she put logic to her reactions. Trent was a lawman. Rand was a firefighter, but his job also skirted too close to those kinds of individuals who asked a lot of questions. How did the fire start? Were you anywhere near the house when it was set ablaze? When did you move to Indian Lake? What’s your real name?
Questions like that. Though she’d legally changed her name before she enrolled in real-estate school—which also made Danny’s legal name Sullivan—she didn’t like probing questions. Of any kind.
Rand stared at the house, feet sturdily apart, hands on his hips. Gnawing his bottom lip. Contemplating.
Cate swallowed hard. Buyers had a way of keeping a check on their emotions when they looked at houses. She’d seen clients who could go through a house, even on a third walk-through, and still not register a single speck of desire or dislike. Some people didn’t want to get their hopes up. Others somehow believed they could keep the price down by appearing ambivalent.
This guy was the best at stoicism she’d ever seen. He was stone. But she would still bet he wasn’t interested, and she didn’t blame him. She let the computerized lock dangle on the door latch. She wouldn’t need the code after all.
“Hi.” She waved, starting toward him. “I’m Cate Sullivan. You must be Rand Nelson.”
“I am,” he replied, still surveying the house and not once glancing at her.
“After we talked on the phone and you told me your price range, I thought I’d start here. Clearly, the photo and specs I sent you are out-of-date.”
“How long has it been on the market?” he asked, his ink-dark eyes tracking up to the roof.
“Eleven months and a couple days. It needs a landscape crew to—”
“No sprinkler system. That’s why the bushes died. The trees might make it.”
“Uh-huh.” She flipped through the other printouts in the manila folder she carried. “I have a house over on Sutton Court, just off Lily Avenue, that you might like. It’s closer to town, and I could call the owner—”
“Not yet. I like this one.”
Cate’s eyes widened. “You do? Why?” Her gaze locked on him. He was unreadable.
Rand pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “It needs me.”
“It—”
“Can we go inside? I need to see the kitchen. From the photographs, it looked awesome.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Cate replied, taking the key code out of her purse and walking to the house.
While she pressed the buttons, Rand continued assessing the front yard.
“Yep. I can put in the sprinkler system myself. Paint the house. It’s not that large a place, which is what I want. Shouldn’t take long. Fix that gutter up there. Some redbud trees would be nice along that side there, don’t you think? They’re pretty in the spring. Or flowering almond. I have to think about that.”
Cate opened the door. She couldn’t believe it. Rand was sold before she’d made a pitch about the house only being four blocks from the lake or shown him the interior. Was this her lucky day or what?
Cate walked into the living room and went to the white French doors that opened onto a small patio. She frowned at the weeds sticking up between the old bricks. “The backyard is fenced,” she said as she turned around.
Rand had gone to the right and into the kitchen. “Would you look at this?”
Cate entered the kitchen as Rand opened the stainless-steel refrigerator door. The kitchen had been remodeled three years prior. The owner had apparently died before using it much.
“This stove looks like it’s never been turned on. Six gas burners. A dream. And did you see?” He pulled out a stainless-steel drawer. “A warming oven. The wall oven is convection. A microwave.” He ran a hand over the charcoal-gray, slate-looking countertop. “What is this?”
“Soapstone,” Cate said. “Impervious to everything, I’m told. I’ve never had one, but one of the women in my office has it. She loves it.”
“I never heard of it.” He frowned.
This was one of those times that Cate was glad she’d done her homework. Showing a house was not the same as selling a house. She was not one of those agents who opened the door then went to her car to text her friends. She stayed on the job.
“Soapstone is a natural quarried stone like granite. It just comes in shorter sheets. It’s metamorphic rock and feels a bit soft or soapy because of the talc in the stone. I believe this stone comes from the Appalachian Mountains. The owner who did the remodel was adamant that all the products be made in the USA.”
“Hmm. I like this guy.” Rand grinned brightly.
“I’ll show you the rest of the house.” Cate started toward the hall.
“I suppose I should see it,” he replied. “But I’m sold. I’ll take it.”
Cate whirled around, surprised and a bit shocked. She’d never sold any house this easily, especially without having shown every nook and cranny. “Just like that?”
“Look, Cate. There’s just me. I’m a fire jumper. They fly me wherever I’m needed. I’m here because my mom is sick and she’s too much for my siblings to handle. Other than some family dinners, which this kitchen can handle like a dream, I’m pretty much a homebody. When I’m off duty, I cook for relaxation. My father was a carpenter, plumber, handyman, you name it. I learned a lot about houses from him. We used to remodel houses on the side to make ends meet. There’s nothing I can’t do here myself...within reason, of course. But I didn’t want to live through a kitchen remodel.”
Cate smiled. “Then I suggest we breeze through the rest of the house, see the garage and check the plumbing. We should talk about what kind of offer you want to make.”
“That’s your area of expertise. I’ll take any direction you suggest.”
“You could pay their asking price but make it a stipulation that they pay for some of the yard cleanup, including removal of the dead shrubs.”
“That sounds fair,” he said.
“Good,” she replied with a satisfied smile. “I’ll go to the office, call the owners and then write up the papers. Can I reach you on your cell?”
“Yes, and if I don’t answer, try the fire station number I gave you. I’m working there in between forest fire assignments. Just to help out. My brother is a firefighter, as well. He talked me into it.”
“Sounds like a great family, Rand. I’d like to meet them all some time. So, can I bring the papers there for you to sign?”
“Absolutely,” Rand said, and quickly walked through the master bedroom, which was larger than he’d expected. The other rooms were smaller than he’d hoped. Still, he was happy.
As Rand rumbled down the street in his truck, Cate couldn’t help thinking that it suited him perfectly.
Cate called Sarah. “Hi. I finished much earlier than I’d thought. I have to run by the office, but I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
Sarah explained she and Miss Milse were making dinner for the kids, and there was no rush. Danny and Timmy were playing with Beau, and Annie was practicing the piano.
Cate pulled away from the curb and drove to the first stop sign. She glanced in her rearview mirror, saw only a black Mercury sedan behind her, then checked right and left before proceeding across the intersection. She stopped at the red light at Indian Lake Avenue, turned on the stereo and punched in a new classical station she’d found.
