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She and Zig had stopped at an all-night diner for food, and she’d called him from a payphone there to tell him she wasn’t going to Mason and Rachel’s rental, but to a Saratoga Springs motel, and she would text him which one and the room number as soon as she checked in and plugged in her phone. She was dropping Zig at their dorm.
That kiss earlier… that had sparked something inside him. It hadn’t felt like they’d gone back to normal, it felt like they’d elevated to a whole new level. But maybe that was just him. They hadn’t talked.
He got out of the car and went to the door. She’d left the flip-lock open, so he could walk right in. She was sitting up on the bed with a bowl of pretzels, raisins and nuts in front of her. The light from the TV screen painted her face and long golden hair, still damp from a shower, in shifting light as she smiled a welcome and got to her feet.
“I thought you and Zig had to decompress.”
“First we decamped— in record time, without our flashlights, so the cops and firefighters wouldn’t see us in the woods.” She came a few steps closer. “What went on back there?”
He lowered his head, moved farther inside, closed the door, and took off his jacket. “Uncle Mace just texted. Paul Quaid didn’t make it.”
“Oh, no!” Her eyes went wide as she said it, then shuttered as she said it again, “Oh, no,” softer this time.
“I know. I um… I cleaned off the worst of the soot at the ER, but I’m in desperate need of a shower, and then we can?—”
“I sorry for hurting you!” she blurted. “I only broke up with you because I didn’t want to drag you into this mess, and now I’ve dragged you into it anyway, and it’s a murder investigation now, and…” Her eyes were blue and wet and tired. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Nothing,” he said. “It’s done. We’ll see it through to the end. You were one of the victims here, Misty. You could’ve died in that fire, too.” His voice broke on those words. “I could make a case that I was afraid the killer would come for you if it got out you were there.”
“But you lied to your own fellow cops.”
“I don’t know them. Detective Scott, Sheriff Rasmussen. I decided it was safer to trust no one.” He shrugged one shoulder and said, “That’s pretty much the truth anyway.”
“Other than that Zig and I stalked the guy for two days until he finally left, then broke into his house to take pictures of his shi—” She bit off the rest.
“You took pictures of his shit?”
She blinked, “We, um?—”
“You delete them yet?”
“They aren’t digital— I mean, what are you— dammit, Jere, this is why I had to break it off. I don’t want to have to lie to you, but I can’t share everything with you either.”
“I’m on your side, here! Did I not just put my ass on the line to cover for you?”
“Oh, and you’re gonna throw that in my face for the next twenty years?” She pivoted, put her back to him and huffed.
“I was thinking more like the next sixty,” he said, real softly. And then he wondered what demon had made him say it.
She turned around slow, blinking at him with Disney princess eyes. Yeah, he’d said it. Worse, he’d meant it. Son of a gun.
“I’m your guy, Misty. I’ve got your back. Right or wrong, good or bad, I’ve got you. So tell me what the hell is going on, already.”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “I love you,” she said. “But I can’t. Not yet, I mean. It’s not just me. I have a partner.”
“You’re partners with Zig in the podcast,” he said, nodding slowly.
“Yeah. And… I love it. I love investigating, I love writing the scripts. I love all of it. I think it’s what I want to do. I mean, really do.”
He frowned and looked at her. Her eyes kind of sparkled when she talked about this thing.
“Just let me talk to Zig first, okay? I’ll convince her we can trust you and then I’ll tell you everything we have.”
He wanted to agree. He didn’t want to fight with her. “There’s a killer on the loose. If you’re withholding evidence?—”
“I’ll talk to her first thing in the morning. We’ll talk to her together.”
He closed his eyes. “Okay.”
