Page 54 of Finding His Redemption

She pulled her feet up beneath her, settling deeper into the couch. “How was your day?”

There was a pause, and she could picture him shrugging on the other end of the line. “Same as usual. Worked with Echo. She’s making progress. She actually left the kennel today, sniffed around the yard.”

The pride in his voice made something twist in Nessie’s chest. “You sound happy. Maybe you’re making progress, too.”

“Maybe.” Another pause. “The sheriff came by again. Asking questions.”

Nessie’s fingers tightened around her glass. “What kind of questions?”

“The usual. Where was I the morning Bailee was killed? Did I know her?” A heavy sigh. “If I owned a hunting knife.”

“Jesus.” She set her wine down, suddenly queasy. “They can’t seriously think you did it.”

“They can think whatever they want. I know I didn’t.” His voice hardened slightly. “But it doesn’t look good. Ex-con with a violent record, new in town, no alibi except a woman with a flat tire.”

The crawling sensation between her shoulder blades intensified. Nessie rose from the couch and moved back to the window, peering through a crack in the curtains. The street below was empty, the few storefronts dark. Nothing moved in the shadows.

“You still there?” Jax asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Just...” She hesitated, not wanting to sound paranoid. “Do you ever feel like someone’s watching you?”

His silence was immediate, sharp. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, no. Nothing specific. Just a feeling I can’t shake.”

“Since when?”

She considered the question. “It’s been on and off since Bailee was found. Worse at night.” She laughed nervously. “Probably just my imagination working overtime.”

“Maybe.” But he didn’t sound convinced. “You got decent locks?”

“Three on the main door. Two on the back. Windows are all secure.”

“Good.” He paused. “You carrying?”

The question caught her off guard. “What?”

“A weapon. Do you have one?”

She glanced toward the kitchen cabinet where a small .38 revolver sat in a lockbox on the top shelf, where Oliver couldn’t get to it. Marshal Brant had insisted she take it when she entered WITSEC, though she’d never fired it outside of mandatory training.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do.”

“Know how to use it?”

“Yes.”

His exhale was audible through the phone. “Good.”

They fell silent, and Nessie found herself straining to hear his breathing on the other end of the line. It was steady, rhythmic, and somehow comforting despite the tension of their conversation.

“Tell me something,” she said suddenly. “Something normal. Something that has nothing to do with murders or sheriffs or being watched.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. What would you cook if you had a real kitchen?”

The sound he made was somewhere between an exhale and a laugh. “What?”