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The danger I can’t help but feel is creeping ever closer to us.

* * *

The old stone house Chester inherited from his grandfather—a small two-bedroom bungalow—looks slightly forlorn in the overcast day.

“Chester?” I call as we cross the yard.

Only his chickens respond from the back, clucking excitedly.

While Sasha goes around to the front to knock on the door, I check out the back porch. It’s not big, and because Sasha’s insisting on doing it with me, it’ll probably only take a couple of days. We’ll need to go to Greenville to get lumber, though. That’s next on Sasha’s list after the measurements we’re here to take now.

“I don’t think he’s home,” Sasha says when she comes back.

“He must be out hunting,” I say. But when I check around the side of the house where he parks his ancient Buick—the one I come over and run every time I’m back home to make sure it still works—I’m surprised to see it’s gone.

“He didn’t answer.”

The concern in Sasha’s voice has me turning around. Her hand comes to her mouth in that nervous gesture, but she lowers it again. Her nails are perfectly shaped, and somehow they’ve changed color since yesterday.

She sees me looking. “Like it? I’d probably do better at this kind of work with shorter nails, but these make me happy. And it’s either these or nails bitten down to the quick, which doesn’t go so well with all my nice clothes.”

She’s babbling. She does that when she’s nervous. “I’m doing that talking a lot thing, aren’t I?” She taps her nails to her lips again.

“I like it,” I say. But then again, I like everything about her.

Her face is etched with concern as she walks over to look into the darkened windows at the back of the house.

“He’s not here, Angel.”

I tell her how his car’s missing, and she relaxes slightly.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” She sees my eyebrow lift and says, “I mean generally. He seems more tired than usual. And last time I saw him, he was breathing funny.”

I frown. “What do you mean, funny?”

“It just seemed a little shallow.”

Worry threatens to poke itself into my mind, but I stare it down. “He’s slowed down a lot since I first met him,” I say.

Sasha does the finger thing, and I beckon her over to me, opening my arms.

She meets me in a hug that feels so good my own breathing goes shallow.

Why does she have to find someone new to worry about when she’s got enough to worry about herself?

“I’ll check in with him next time I see him,” I promise. “If he’s not feeling well, I’ll get the clinic to send someone up here to check on him. They’ve done it before.”

She tips her face up to me, locking her arms around my waist.

I stroke her hair back from her forehead. Fuck, she’s so beautiful. When she looks all concerned like this, it makes me want to break my leg so she’ll shine all that affection and worry on me. I kiss her forehead. “I bet he’ll feel better when he can sit out on his porch aiming his shotgun at squirrels again.”

She laughs softly. “Does he ever actually catch any of them?”

“I don’t think he really wants to.”

Eventually we pull apart and Sasha goes over to her clipboard. I pull out my measuring tape and walk around to the side to get started.

Something feels off with my neighbor, but I don’t dwell on it. Chester may be a hermit, but he’s been known to enter town when things get desperate and I’m not around to do errand runs for him. Plus, he’s getting old. He’ll be eighty next year, if I recall correctly.