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Owen glanced around then palmed his face, rubbing the inside corner of his eye with his finger. “In my car.”
She bit into her bottom lip, disappointed. She’d wanted to flip through both books and see if anything matched or something sparked a memory. “We can glance through it tomorrow, there’s more than enough to look into tonight. It’s rainy and dark—there’s no telling if someone is outside lurking around.” Her shoulders gave an involuntary shudder.
“I’ll grab it. Lock the door when I step out. It will only take a second.” Placing the computer on the couch, Owen stood.
Marie clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from falling open. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips. Her nipples morphed into hard buds and pressed against the thin material of her tank top.
Owen caught her eye and smirked. “You’ll have to stand to lock the door while I’m outside. Make sure to let me in when I come back. It’s pouring outside.”
“Of course.” She rose on Jell-O–like legs, crossing her arms over her chest, and followed Owen to the door.
Slipping sneakers on his feet, he hurried outside, and rain drizzled through the thick crack between the house and the wood before Marie closed and locked the door. She peered through the rectangular windows. Storm clouds and the canopy of trees shrouding Lewis’ house blocked the moon, making Owen a mere shadow as he leapt off the porch and ran to his car.
Apprehension tickled her spine. Bill had hidden earlier in the light of day in these woods. He could be out there now. Waiting for another chance to strike. Despair settled on her chest like a weight. Maybe if she’d listened a little harder, paid a little closer attention, she’d remember something that could tell them where Bill was. There couldn’t be that many options. He kept his circle small. It shouldn’t be so difficult to find him.
Owen barreled back to the house and bounded up the stairs, skipping two steps on his way to the porch.
She flung open the door and stepped back to let him enter. She shut the door and secured the lock. Drips of water splashed from his finger-length hair and clung to his skin. The scent of an early summer storm swirled around him, and Marie took another step back before she did something stupid.
Reaching under his drenched shirt, he pulled out her notebook. “It’s coming down hard. It got wet, but I took the worst of it. I need to change.”
Marie grabbed the notebook, her fingers dipping into the soggy material of the cover. “Thanks.”
He flashed her a grin. “I’ve got some old clothes in the spare room. I’ll be out in a second.”
Marie let her gaze stay locked on the wet shirt stuck against his broad back as he made his way down the hall and disappeared into the spare room. Man, she really needed to get a grip. Shaking her head, she crossed over the woven rug and made her way into the kitchen. She needed to find a dry dishrag or paper towels to dab the moisture off the pages before the water smeared the pen marks. She quietly rummaged through the cabinets until she found what she needed, blotted the cloth against the first moist pages, then returned to the couch.
Owen sauntered back into the room and settled in beside her. A stab of disappointment pierced her that his dry clothes didn’t cling to his body.
Marie flipped open Erica’s journal to the first page. Just as Owen mentioned earlier, random letters and numbers littered the lines. Some letters made up words, others didn’t. No way she could make heads or tails of any of this mess. Not like it mattered if her instincts were correct, and the page contained passwords they didn’t need any more since someone stole her computer.
Marie flipped to the next page. She used the tip of her finger to scan the lines of information, not wanting to lose track of what she’d already read. Names and places and random thoughts blurred together, but nothing triggered a memory.
This was a waste of time. She had no idea what she was looking for, so how would she ever be able to help? Owen probably had a whole system figured out and was trying to make her feel useful by giving her busy work.
On a sigh of frustration, she turned to the next page and the bottom dropped out of her world. Tears stung her eyes, and her hand shook as she lifted it from the page and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. A tortured noise flew from her covered lips.
“Marie? Is everything all right?”
She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the page in front of her. “No. Erica has my mother’s name written down.”
Anger pushed Marie to her feet and she paced, her strides taking her across the room and back quickly. The pretty pictures and charming clutter that had grabbed her attention earlier faded to the background.
All she saw was red.
Ragged breaths tore through her body, and she bit into the sides of her cheeks. She wanted to cry and scream and squeeze her hands around her mother’s neck.
But she wouldn’t do any of those things. At least not right now.
“I’m so stupid,” she groaned. “I really thought she’d changed this time—that she was staying clean and getting her life on track.”
“Calm down for a second. We don’t know why Erica made note of your mom’s name. It could mean anything.”
She stopped and narrowed her eyes to study him. “Do you really believe that?”
Owen shrugged. “I have to keep an open mind. If I jump to conclusions, I might miss something. Besides, who would your mom know in Water’s Edge to connect Bill with? Why bring him here?”
Marie threw her hands in the air. “Apparently, I don’t know anything about the woman, so how should I know?”
