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“Wouldn’t you?”

The old Beau wouldn’t have lied to him. This asshole? This Beau who still thought he was maybe capable of murdering John? This Beau would lie to him without thinking twice. This Beau had only pretended he wanted his help, pretended they had the same goal.

Beau seemed to lose color. “Go to hell,” he said quietly.

He turned and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the screen door behind him. It bounced twice before settling into its frame.

Archie walked over to the door, latched the screen, closed the door, and locked it.

Chapter Sixteen

The small medal seemed to glow in the soft radiance of the desk lamp.

The engraving was worn, the silver tarnished with age, the Latin inscription had been lost to time. St. Christopher, patron saint of travelers, was not much more than a shadow now.

The medal had first belonged to Archie’s grandfather. Archer Barclay had worn it tangled with his dog tags in the suffocating steamy jungles of Vietnam. Later, Archie had carried it over his heart, all those long months in Wyoming, the only tangible reminder of his past, of his true self.

The chain, broken in the struggle with Kyle, coiled loosely beside it.

For a long time Archie stared, as if hypnotized, at that talisman, reliving those last months, that last morning…

“You left the front door unlocked.”

Beau’s accusation broke the spell. Archie, jerked out of his trance, stared up blankly.

Beau, dark hair ruffled by the night breeze, cheeks flushed with—not cold, so emotion?—blue eyes glittering, stood on the other side of the desk.

What the— How was Beau back?

Beau snapped his fingers impatiently. “Hello? The front door to this house was unlocked.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Archie started to rise. “What are you doing in here?”

“Since you’re insisting on staying, I thought I ought to double-check that the place is secure. And sure enough, the damned front door was unlocked.” Beau seemed truly incensed, and maybe he had good reason.

Archie sat back down. The fact that had he’d left the door unlocked—hadn’t given it another thought after Simmy shrieked—was an unpleasant jolt. A bigger and even less pleasant jolt was the fact that he hadn’t heard a thing: hadn’t heard Beau open the door, hadn’t heard him coming down the hall, hadn’t seen him walking across the room.

He’d been so lost in memory, reliving those last terrible moments— He’d had no clue he was not alone in the house until Beau spoke.

Beau was still speaking, though less aggressively, “What’s the matter?”

Archie stared back, opened his mouth, but no words came to him. He had no idea how to answer. He looked instinctively at the broken chain.

Beau looked from him to the little medal. “Is that—that’s yours, right?”

There. Something he could respond to.

“Yeah. I…lost it. Thought I’d lost it. In Wyoming.”

Beau’s assessing gaze returned to him. “How’d you lose it?”

“A fight. The chain snapped.”

Beau considered, nodded, said briskly, “Nice you got it back. Anyway, situational awareness. Remember that? If you’re staying here, you’ve got to stay alert. There are way too many points of entry in this house. Windows. French doors. Side doors. Back doors. Front door.”

“All right, already.” Archie did not have the energy to spar with Beau again. “You’re right. I was distracted and I got sloppy. It won’t happen again.”

“I wish I could be sure of that.”