Waylay rolled her eyes at me as she sidled over to the table. “Aunt Naomi’s obsessed with vegetables.”
“Believe me, there are worse things to be obsessed with,” I told her.
She eyed my box of files, and I regretted not putting the lid back on it when her quick fingers tugged a folder free.
“Nice try, Snoop Doggy Dog,” I said, snatching it from her with a flourish.
“Waylay!” Naomi chastised. “Lina works in insurance. That’s probably confidential information.”
She had no idea.
I snagged the lid and put it back on the box.
The thudding next door continued. “Nash? You in there?”
It looked as though I wasn’t the only one hiding out from family.
“Come on, Way. Let’s go before Knox levels the building,” Naomi said, holding her arm out for her niece. Waylay slid into her aunt’s side, accepting the offered affection.
“Thank you for the plant…and the bed…and the place to stay,” I said.
“I’m so happy to have you here for a while longer,” Naomi said as we trooped to the door.
That made one of us.
Knox was standing in front of Nash’s door, digging through the keys on his ring.
“I don’t think he’s home,” I said quickly. Whatever was going on with Nash, I doubted he’d want his brother bursting into his apartment.
Knox’s gaze came up. “I heard he left work and came here.”
“Technically, we heard he left work and went to PT, but Neecey from Dino’s spotted him out front,” Naomi said.
Small-town gossip traveled faster than lightning. “He probably came and went. I made a hell of a racket lugging my stuff up here and didn’t see him.”
Knox pocketed his keys. “You see him, tell him I’m looking for him.”
“Me too,” Naomi added. “I tried calling him to invite him to Sunday dinner, but it went straight to voicemail.”
“Might as well tell him I’m lookin’ for him too,” Waylay piped up.
“Why are you lookin’ for him?” Knox demanded.
Waylay shrugged in her pink sweater. “Dunno. Just felt left out.”
Knox pulled her in for a headlock and ruffled her hair.
“Ugh! This is why I have to use industrial hairspray!” Waylay complained, but I saw the upward curve of her mouth when my grumpy tattooed friend dropped a kiss to the top of her head.
Between Naomi and Waylay, they’d done the impossible and turned Knox Morgan into a softie. And I had a front-row seat to the show.
“Bed’s comin’ at 3:00 today. Dinner’s at 6:00 Sunday,” Knox said gruffly.
“But you can come early. Especially if you’re bringing wine,” Naomi said with a wink.
“And Yellow Lightning,” Waylay added.
“I’ll see you then.”
The three of them headed for the stairs, Knox in the middle with his arms around his girls.
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” I called after them.
Knox raised a hand in acknowledgment.
I watched them leave and then closed my door. The glossy green of the plant drew my eye. A solitary homey item on an otherwise blank slate.
I’d never had a plant before. No plants. No pets. Nothing that couldn’t survive days or weeks without me.
I hoped I wouldn’t kill it before I wrapped up my business here. On a sigh, I picked up the folder Waylay had grabbed and opened it.
Duncan Hugo’s face stared back at me.
“You can’t hide forever,” I told the picture.
I heard Nash’s door open and close next door softly.
THREE
DEAD IN A DITCH
Nash
The sun rose above the tree line, turning frosted tips of grass to glittering diamonds as I swung my SUV off the side of the road. I ignored the rat-a-tat of my heart, the sweaty palms, the tightness in my chest.
Most of Knockemout would still be in their beds. In general, we were more a town of late-night drinkers than early risers. Which meant the odds of running into someone out here at this time were low.
I didn’t need the whole town talking about how Chief Morgan got himself shot and then lost his damn mind trying to find his damn memory.
Knox and Lucian would get involved, sticking their civilian noses in where they didn’t belong. Naomi would cast sympathetic glances my way while she and her parents smothered me with food and fresh laundry. Liza J would pretend nothing had happened, which, as a Morgan, was the only reaction I was remotely comfortable with. Eventually I’d be pressured to take a leave of absence. And then what the hell would I have?
At least with the job, I had a reason to go through the motions. I had a reason to get out of bed—or off the couch—every morning.
And if I was getting off the couch and putting on the uniform every day, I might as well do something useful.
I put the vehicle in park and turned off the engine. Squeezing the keys in my fist, I opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel shoulder.
It was a crisp, bright morning. Not heavy with humidity and black as pitch like that night. That part at least I remembered.
Anxiety was a ball of dread lodged in my gut.
I took a steadying breath. Inhale for four. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight.
I was worried. Worried that I would never remember. Worried that I would. I didn’t know which would be worse.
Across the road was the endless tangle of weeds and overgrowth of a forgotten foreclosure.
I focused on the rough metal of my keys as they dug into my skin, the crunch of gravel under my boots. I walked slowly toward the car that wasn’t there. The car I couldn’t remember.
The band around my chest tightened painfully. My forward progress halted. Maybe my brain didn’t remember, but something in me did.
“Just keep breathin’， asshole,” I reminded myself.
Four. Seven. Eight.
Four. Seven. Eight.
My feet finally did my bidding and moved forward again.
I’d approached the car, a dark four-door sedan, from behind. Not that I recalled doing it. I’d watched the dashcam footage of the incident about a thousand times, waiting for it to jog a memory. But each time it felt like I was watching someone else walk toward their own near-death experience.
Nine steps from my door to the sedan’s rear fender.
I’d touched my thumb to the taillight. After years of service, it had begun to feel like an innocuous ritual, until my print was what identified that car after it had been found.
Cold sweat ran freely down my back.
Why couldn’t I remember?
Would I ever?
Would I be oblivious if Hugo came back to finish the job?
Would I see him coming?
Would I care enough to stop him?
“Nobody likes a pathetic, mopey asshole,” I muttered out loud.
On a shaky breath, I took three more steps, bringing me even with what would have been the driver’s door. There’d been blood here. The first time I came back, I hadn’t been able to force myself out of the car. I just sat behind the wheel staring at the rust-stained gravel.
It was gone now. Erased by nature. But I could still picture it there.
I could still hear the echo of a sound. Something between a sizzle and a crunch. It haunted my dreams. I didn’t know what it was, but it felt both important and dire.