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The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive pulled her out of her thoughts. Not Swain. The Bronco roared. Through the kitchen window, she saw a Gas N Go tow truck park behind her Prius. What the…? She moved from the kitchen to the front door. Floorboards creaked under her bare feet as she walked. It had to be Dobie. Had he come over to deliver an answer in person? She straightened the white tank top she’d stolen from Swain, then dried her sweaty palms on the front of her cutoffs. Jittery. She was jittery. Swain wouldn’t be. If he was, he wouldn’t let it show. Neither would she. She checked the neckline of the tank and took a deep, calming breath. Releasing it slowly, she stepped out onto the porch.
Dobie, alone, walked up the steps. He must have come directly after finishing a tow. He wore his Gas N Go shirt and grease-stained khakis. She scanned his face, and her heart sank. He looked serious as a grave. Not the expression of a man about to give her good news.
“Hey, Dobie. Thanks for coming by. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or a Coke?”
“No, thanks. Um…Eden?” The eyes he lifted to hers brimmed with misery. “Is Swain here?”
She shook her head. “No. He’s working. You want me to call him?”
“No.” His response came quickly, and it seemed especially abrupt followed by a long, awkward silence. Finally, he spoke again. “Can we talk inside?”
Swain would kill her, but… “Sure.” She held the screen door open. “Come on in.”
He stepped through into the entryway and hovered uncertainly.
“Let’s go in here,” she said and led him to the living room. He sat in the middle of the sectional, and she dropped down beside him. “What’s up?”
“Roscoe put me on an early shift this morning. Real early.”
Whatever she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity. Her mind raced to find a connection between this information and her request to meet his source. She couldn’t. The only thought she had was that Swain had headed out early, too. An echo of a text message dinged in her head. “I hope it went okay.”
He nodded. “It went fine, except…” He stopped, groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It didn’t go fine, Eden, and I wish to hell I didn’t have to tell you this, and”—he blinked red, watery eyes—“I hope you don’t hate me for doing it.”
Alarmed now, she took his hand. “I’d never hate you, Dobie. But you’ve got me on pins and needles here. Whatever you need to say, I think maybe you should just let it out, and then we’ll deal with it, ’kay?”
“Okay.” He blinked furiously and swiped his nose on his forearm. “Okay. The thing is, Eden, while I was getting into the tow truck at the Gas N Go this morning, I saw Swain come out of the motel across the street. Out of one of the rooms.”
“Oh. That’s…weird.” Very weird. Her heart started to race. A hazy conversation came back to her from the wee hours of the morning. One where he told her the text he’d received was “nothing.” “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. He…um… There’s no easy way to say this. He wasn’t alone.”
“He wasn’t?” Her words sounded so calm, so far away. Inside her, everything shook. An earthquake of panic and dread set off shocks just under her skin.
“Uh-uh.” Dobie turned to face her head-on. “A little blonde stepped out with him. He had a gym bag over his shoulder, and they stood real close and chatted for a bit, and then she took his arm, and he went back inside with her.
“Are you sure?” Vaguely, she recognized she was repeating herself, but it was all she could say. Falling. Crucial parts of her crumbled and fell.
“One hundred percent sure.” He dug his phone out of his pocket. “They came out again a few minutes later. I took a video. I don’t know if you want to see it—”
“Show me.” She reached for the phone. He pulled up the video and handed it to her. She watched, outwardly still and quiet, as Swain—definitely Swain—exited a room, followed by a petite blonde, just as Dobie had said. He wore his day job clothes. She wore a T-shirt and lounge pants and looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. They spoke, smiling at each other, and then she hugged him, kissed his cheek, and said something. He nodded, released her, hitched the bag onto his shoulder, and walked to the Bronco.
Her mind fumbled for a simple, innocent explanation.
A sister? A cousin? No. He’d told her his father was his only relative.
Another op? They spent all their time together. Wouldn’t she have known if he had another case? Wouldn’t he have told her?
Nothin’, choux.
Why would it take two attempts to leave?
There were no simple, innocent explanations. Those crumbling pieces inside her fell and shattered. The shards flew through her, stabbing everything—cold bones, burning muscles, vital organs. The room took a dizzying spin. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. No good. “Dobie, I… Be right back.”
She shot off the sofa and made it to the kitchen as her stomach seized. Someone held her hair back while she retched the better part of two cups of coffee into the sink. Sweating, shaking, she reached for the paper towels. Dobie, God bless him, pushed a handful at her. She turned the faucet on full blast to clean the sink, scrubbed hot tears off her cheeks, and croaked, “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry. Do you hate me?”
“No. I just…” What? She just what? She shut off the water and silence filled the room. “I’m… I need a minute to clean myself up.” Shoving herself away from the sink, she had the presence of mind to snag her phone off the kitchen table before walking blindly to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.
