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"Yes, I got the images you sent me. So, what's going on, Nanc?" Courtney interjected, her concern evident in her voice.
"Do you recognize that man?"
"Yes! His name is Clint Tyree."
There was a long pause, the silence stretching on until it was almost unbearable. And then Nanc dropped the bombshell.
"He was here, asking about you, Courtney. He wanted to know where you were."
Courtney's phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the counter. Her face paled, her breath hitching in her throat. The news hit us like a freight train, the implications of Clint's inquiry bearing down on us with terrifying clarity.
Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air too thin. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil inside, thunder echoing our shock, lightning illuminating our fear.
Clint Tyree wasn't just a ghost from our past. He was here, in the present, a very real and dangerous threat.
Chapter Seven
Courtney
A thunderous boom echoed through the ranch house, rattling the windows and making me jump. The storm had rolled in fast and hard, its fury matching the turmoil churning inside me. I picked up my phone from the floor and held it tightly, its cold metal frame pressing into my palm, grounding me as Nanc's words spun around in my head.
Clint Tyree. He had been at the deli today! The revelation sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the ice-cold rain pelting against the windowpane. I sank into the plush chair behind me, my grip on the phone loosening slightly. The familiar scent of worn leather enveloped me, offering a small shred of comfort in the face of the tempest, both outside and within me.
Brad stood rigid by the window; his silhouette framed against the backdrop of the flashes of lightening. His hand rested against the cool glass, knuckles white with tension. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. His taut posture, the tight line of his jaw, and the flicker of worry in his eyes told me everything. He was as shocked and concerned as I was.
Nanc's voice crackled from the phone's speaker, "Tyree was asking about you, Courtney. He mentioned something about a job offer."
My heart pounded in my chest, echoing the drum of the rain against the roof. A job offer? From Clint? Why? What was he planning?
Brad turned to me then, his gaze meeting mine. There was a question in his eyes, a silent 'what do we do now?' I wished I had an answer. I wished I could make all of this go away. But all I could do was listen to the rain, feel the tension in the room, and try to make sense of the fact that a ghost from our past was reaching out for me.
"I'll... I'll have to call you back, Nanc," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can only use the WiFi at the deli; otherwise, our call might be traced. So, do you mind telling me your schedule? I...I really appreciate you getting in touch with me."
I grabbed a pencil and jotted down Nanc's schedule. As I ended the call, I felt Brad's gaze on me, heavy and worried. But I couldn't meet his eyes, not yet. I needed a moment to process, to plan, to prepare for whatever was coming our way.
As the silence in the room stretched out, Brad moved towards me, his hand reaching out for mine. I welcomed the warmth, the reassurance it offered. He gently tugged me towards the living room, our fingers intertwined. The couch, a large, comfortable piece of furniture that had seen many family gatherings, welcomed us. We snuggled up together, the storm outside our window starkly contrasted the intimate warmth we shared.
Brad broke the silence first, his voice a soft rumble against my ear. "You know, out of all of the Rosedale crew, I was the last to find someone to get serious with."
I looked up at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the situation. "And you picked me. Lucky you," I replied, attempting to inject some lightness into the heavy atmosphere.
Brad's answering chuckle was warm, but there was a note of seriousness as he continued. "You know what they say about history repeating itself..."
I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest as the implications of his words sank in. We were next, the last of the Rosedale co-owners or their family to be kidnapped or terrorized by the psycho. It was a chilling realization, the icy finger of terror already disrupting our lives gaining a stronger grip.
"Should we call the others? Giuseppe?" Brad asked, his eyes searching mine for an answer.
I thought for a moment, considering the options. But deep down, I already knew what our decision should be. "Let's wait," I said finally. "At least until we have something concrete to tell them."
The weather outside had gradually calmed down, leaving in its wake a beautiful sunset that painted the sky with shades of orange and pink. The moment felt oddly serene, a brief respite from the storm that had just passed and the one we knew was still to come.
Brad and I moved to the front porch, settling onto the swing that had been a fixture of my childhood. The scent of rain mixed with the sweet aroma of the surrounding pines, creating a tranquil atmosphere that seemed at odds with our current predicament.
As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, I reached for a candle that sat on the porch table. The small flame flickered to life, casting a warm glow around us. We sat there in silence for a moment, watching the dancing flame, it's light a beacon against the encroaching darkness. We were in this together, come what may—it was our turn.
The silence between us was heavy, as I turned to face Brad. "What are we going to do, Brad?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned by the soft rustling of the wind in the trees.
He inhaled deeply, his blue eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, momentarily lost in thought. "First things first, Courtney," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the situation, "We need to decide what we want to do before looping in the others. It's our turn in the crosshairs now. Just like the others did, I want us to face this together."
