“Something like that. And, not super—to answer your earlier question. But I did get a lot of cookies baked. Three dozen peanut butter.”
“Sawyer’s favorite,” Zane comments, then sets down one peeled carrot before moving on to the next.
“Yeah, well, he did get blown up because of me.”
“Not because of you,” Zane corrects.
“Might as well be. I’m the one who called him.” Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I have to take a moment. I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together, but every time I see him—every time he winces in pain, I picture him grabbing me and spinning us so that it was his back to the explosion.
Him who took the hit.
“Stasia,” Zane says softly, using a nickname I haven’t heard since I was a child. He sets down the carrots and crosses over toward me, so I leave the Brussels sprouts where they are and turn toward him.
Zane wraps his strong arms around me, and I’m no longer an adult.
Here, in my big brother’s arms, I’m a little girl again. Seeking comfort after falling off my bike.
“I was so scared that I’d lost him, Zane,” I whisper. Pulling away, I wipe my eyes and glance over at the couch where Sawyer is still watching TV, his back to me.
“That’s not a great feeling,” he responds. “I’m so glad I didn’t lose either of you.” He returns to peeling carrots, so I move back to the sprouts, slicing partway through the stem, then turning them and cutting them in half the other way.
I line them on the baking sheet right next to the onions.
“Do you think Jack is right? Do you think whoever is harassing me is the same one who killed those twelve women?”
Zane’s expression tells me all I need to know. That, yes, he does. “What I know for sure is that we’re not taking any chances. Until they catch this guy, we’re going to do whatever we need to do to keep you safe.”
But for how long? This guy supposedly waited three years before surfacing again. What if he lingers just long enough that we let our guards down?
What then?
Chapter 15
Sawyer
“This is depressing.” I bend down and lift a charred license plate from the ground, using the arm not currently in a sling. It was from the truck that had been in the bay when it went up in flames. According to Drew, the truck was brought in right at closing by Brad Carlisle after it kept overheating on him.
Jack interviewed Brad, of course, but the guy was horrified to learn what happened. He’d had no part in it, and so far, they’ve got nothing.
Anger slices through me, cutting long and deep.
Not because of the shop. I mean, it sucks, but I meant what I told Anastasia: Buildings can be rebuilt.
No, my anger is because we’re a week past the accident that nearly killed both of us, and so far, there are no legitimate leads to follow. The surveillance photo was a dud. The calls were a dud. And now this explosion is a dud. Which, based on the timeline Jack gave us, gives us only one week before this guy is supposed to strike.
Seven days before he comes for Anastasia.
On one hand, I almost hope he does. I’ll be ready. Between Zane and me, we can handle anyone who comes her way.
But on the other hand, I’m terrified he’ll find a way to get to her. After all, I can’t be there a hundred percent of the time. There are moments when she needs privacy.
Really, I’m just so ready for them to catch this guy so she can go back to her normal life. Her normal routine. She’s been trying so hard to remain positive. I see it, though. The stress is etched into every single inch of her beautiful face. It sits on her shoulders, slumping them down, and it keeps her tossing and turning all night.
There’ve been quite a few times I’ve heard her moving around and gotten up to go check in on her. Since she’s been sleeping with her door open, I can peek in easily. More than once, I’ve had to re-cover her because she’s kicked everything off. And more than once, I’ve fought the urge to climb into the bed with her and hold her close, just until it passes.
However, with Zane across the hall, I figured it was best not to get caught lying in bed with his little sister. Even though nothing would have happened. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes with women before, and the last thing I’m going to do is make another with Anastasia.
So I’ll wait. Marriage, or not at all.
