Page 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sloan studied over and through the holidays. She took time to enjoy Christmas, helped bake cookies, wrapped presents—plus kept up with her physical therapy.

And walked along the path, with the snow-smothered hills reflected in the lake.

The walking and the PT increased when she earned an all clear on the muscle pull.

She looked at the bungalow that immediately brought a secluded, and neglected, cottage to her mind.

Tucked back from the road just enough, the location suited her. Close enough to her family, but not too close. Close enough to town, but again, not too. The same with neighbors. A small lot, with plenty of trees, and if she wanted the lake, she could walk to it in a couple of minutes.

Or, in another few weeks, run.

The house itself struck her as the right size for a single woman with a demanding job who’d handle her own cleaning and yard work. Right size, right place, so she overlooked the lack of a porch, the sad brown siding, the leaky windows.

If the exterior struck her as sad, the interior hit next to desperate and teetering on ugly.

But though she hadn’t gone into the family business, she’d absorbed plenty. She saw the potential. Maybe she winced at the popcorn ceilings, but the original white oak floors made up for it. Or would after refinishing.

She’d just look down instead of up.

Over time, she thought, step-by-step she could transform it into a pretty, cozy cottage.

Resurface the brick fireplace someone had painted fire-engine red, gut the bathrooms, eventually, and the small, frozen-in-the-eighties kitchen. A little here and there—some sweat equity and a lot of paint—but she could deal with all of it.

In time.

She sat down with her father, and together they calculated what she could afford for monthly payments, mortgage, utilities, taxes.

Because she knew his level of expertise in real estate, she left the negotiations in his hands.

She made the offer, and as her father predicted, they countered. And, as he’d assured her, they met in the middle.

A little terrified, a lot excited, she signed the contract two days after Christmas. In thirty days, she’d own a house.

And in a week, she told herself, she’d take—and damn well pass—the written exam and start gearing up for her oral interview.

On New Year’s Eve, she stood firm on her parents attending their annual party at a friend’s. She didn’t feel up to that kind of socializing yet. She was perfectly happy seeing in the New Year with Mop, her studies. And maybe finishing the baby blanket.

At midnight, she toasted the New Year with a glass of wine. It would be, she promised herself, a year of change, accomplishment, and one of fully taking her life back.

“This is Day One,” she said, and drank her wine.

Nash wandered his house with a beer. Good progress, he thought. And the biggest came from new, efficient windows throughout—no small feat. Gutting the half bath and redoing even that small room top to bottom made a difference.

Robo turned out to be exactly what his aunt had outlined.

Not a real self-starter, not especially skilled, but tireless, willing, and (to his aunt’s surprise) reliable.

Like their own motto, no job was too small for Robo.

Progress in the business included a small job here, a small job there. And another, not so small, courtesy of the Coopers.

He kept the TV on in the living room to mark the end and the beginning. The screen would have to move when they tackled that room, but for now, it, the fire in the hearth, and the Christmas tree kept the holidays going.

When he looked ahead to the New Year, he saw more. A good life doing good work was what he wanted. And clearly, so did Theo. A home he enjoyed even in its current sorry state.

And the possibilities for more yet. He didn’t know what the more might be, but everything stood wide open.

As the ball began its descent, the crowd in New York counted down. His life had been there once, and now it was here, watching.

He didn’t regret any of it.

At midnight, he lifted his beer and toasted change.

“We’re ready for it.”

As he sipped the beer, the puppy he thought safely sleeping—finally—gave a yip. Then, looking up at Nash with adoring eyes, peed a river on the floor.

“Jesus Christ, what was I thinking?”

In Drea’s apartment, after slipping out of another party early, she snuggled with Theo on her sofa. They watched the same ball drop together.

When they kissed, it was long, slow, sweet, and exactly the way she wanted to end one year and start the next.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, Theo.”

On-screen, thousands cheered, but when he kissed her again, he heard nothing but the quiet hum in her throat.

He made himself shift away—because how much could a man take—and top off the champagne she’d opened when they’d come back from a party.

He left his own single glass half-full, then clinked it to hers.

“I did the Times Square thing once. Once was enough. It’s insane.”

“Clearly.” She reached for the bottle poured more into his glass.

“I really need to keep it to one. It’s not far to drive, but—”

“Smart and responsible.” Drea lifted her own glass, watching him over it. “And I wonder, are you always this slow?”

“Slow?”

“We’ve been dating for about a month now, and I wonder why you’ve never asked to stay.” After another sip, she smiled all the way into her eyes. “Then again, it might be you just don’t want to sleep with me.”

“I…” Words failed him, so while she watched him, lips curved just the perfect amount, he dug some out. “I do. I—I think about you all the time. The first time I saw you, it was like getting hit by lightning. It was so fast, hell, instant for me. I wanted to give you time. I want to give you time and space.”

“Theo, when I want time and space, I’ll ask for it, or I’ll take it. I think, in these first minutes of a brand-new year, I’m telling you time’s up.”

She set her glass down. Rising, she held out a hand. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“That’s a really good idea.”

In their cozy house, Clara and Sam also had champagne. The label couldn’t compare to what Drea opened, but the bubbles added sparkle.

They had sex before midnight—to end the old year. And after, to ring in the new. In between, they watched the recordings and munched on chips and salsa. With a little blood of the resurrected adding some sparkle there.

She found Arthur Rigsby the best yet.

Not because he’d begged, promised to tell no one, offered them money. Mostly they all did that at some point.

But because he’d spoken of looking down at his own body, how it felt like he’d been bathed in warm light while he had.

He’d spoken of his life running through his head like a movie on a screen, and how he’d felt disappointed he hadn’t done more, taken more chances, enjoyed some forbidden fruit.

Clara paused his recording. “He’s so detailed, doll. I know he’s blubbering, but it’s what he’s saying. How he felt sad because he’d married while he was in the dental college, and worked so hard, raised two kids. He got to be a grandfather and what the hell there? How he felt he’d never really lived, and now he was dead before sixty.”

Though he trusted her above all, Sam shook his head. “Blubbering, begging, and whining’s what I hear when we review that one.”

“But he felt , doll. We’ve gone half and half with the four we set free before this one. Two said how they didn’t see or hear anything. One said he saw a light, heard his mother’s voice, and the other said she heard her daughter calling and crying while she did the CPR on her. Rigsby, well, he breaks the tie, doesn’t he?”

“I guess he does.”

“And more, Rigsby felt. Emotion, Sam. Before they pulled him back, he felt sad and angry and disappointed.”

She turned to him with her eyes avid. “I knew it. In my heart and mind, I knew it. Because death’s not the end. It’s a new beginning. And when you’re on that next journey, you not only see and hear, you feel.”

Her heart just overflowed with the joy and wonder of it.

“Feeling, that’s the miracle, doll! Because it’s another kind of life. It’s why we let them go, Sam, why we send them home. We’re leading them into that new life.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, I guess.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with admiration. “You’re so deep, babe.”

“We’ll start working on a new one. I think it might be we got more detail because more time had passed since he died, as was meant. More time for him to miss that door we’re opening. For his soul to remember more clearly.”

“Vacation first,” he reminded her.

“Vacation first.” Pleasure had her pressing her hands to her cheeks, wagging her shoulders. “I still can’t believe you did that for me, doll. Four days and three nights in Aruba! You work so hard, and now you’ve spent all that money on me. I’ve never had such a wonderful Christmas present.”

He wanted to give her everything. This trip, their very first together, marked a start.

“We’re going to have a fine time—and out of this winter for a few days. We’ll sit on the beach and drink cocktails with little umbrellas in them.”

“And when our time comes, we’ll never regret we didn’t live this life.”

“Let’s live it some more now.”

Giggling, she went into his arms. As they rolled together, Arthur Rigsby’s terrified face, tears caught on his cheeks, stayed frozen on-screen.

During the month of January, Sloan strapped on snowshoes and handled a mild round trip. She moved up to ten-pound weights, and put back five pounds she’d lost.

When she studied her body, she concluded most of that five pounds was—finally—muscle.

She took and she passed her written exam, and began to prep for her oral interview.

Because she had no way around it, she had three sessions with the department shrink. Reluctance turned to relief before the end of the first session.

It helped, she realized, to talk to someone who wasn’t family, wasn’t connected emotionally. She could admit her frustrations with what felt like a slow recovery without feeling bitchy.

And when she talked about the occasional nightmares and flashbacks, she didn’t feel weak and foolish.

She decided maybe the truth could set you free when after the third session, she was cleared for duty.

When Joel and Sari came for the weekend, she enjoyed every minute they spent together. Then she drove back to Annapolis with them with Sari stroking the baby blanket nearly all the way.

It felt right, it felt good to pack up more of her things, to arrange for movers to bring her furniture.

She walked out of her apartment for the last time with good memories and no regrets.

The drive back to Heron’s Rest in her own car felt like freedom.

The freedom of knowing she’d made the right choice.

She spent the first night in the house that now belonged to her wakeful, but not worried. In time she’d grow familiar with the creaks and sighs of the place, as well as with the views outside her windows. And with the sense of being alone and on her own again.

Twice she got up, just to walk through it all again, to see her furniture where she’d put it, to consider and reconsider changes she’d make over time.

When snow began to fall, she opened her front door just to watch it from her own threshold.

She reported for duty the third week of January, and that fed her mind, her spirit. Light duty at first, standard patrols, reminding those on public land of the rules and enforcing them when necessary.

It felt good to be back in uniform, doing the work.

She took an early call to a vacation cabin adjoining the public land buffer strip in Deep Creek Lake.

A woman peeked through a fractional crack in the door. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Corporal Cooper, ma’am, with the Natural Resources Police.” Sloan held up her identification. “You reported a possible assault.”

“In the woods! In the dark.” She flung open the door. Bundled in a thick robe over flannel pajamas, her feet in fuzzy pink slippers, the woman gestured wildly. “She—I’m sure it was a woman—screeched, and he—I’m sure it was a man, maybe more than one—howled. Terrible sounds. Oh, and he had a dog, too. Vicious barking.”

“Mrs. Colbert?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She gave Sloan the come-ahead, closed and locked the door behind her, then pointed toward the back of the cabin. “I’m sure it was back there, somewhere up in this wilderness.”

“Ma’am—”

“This is my brother’s cabin.” Dragging her hands through brown hair that stood up in tufts, she cast a withering glance toward the open stairs leading to a loft. “And where is he? Why, he’s in Florida, fishing or God knows. And my husband insisted we camp here—because that’s what it is—for a week . Do I look like a pioneer?

“No, ma’am, but—

“‘It’ll be quiet,’ he says. ‘Peaceful,’ he says. So I’m dragged up here from Richmond and civilization, and he wants to go snowboarding. Sixty-two years old, and he wants to go snowboarding? Now he’s got a bruise the size of a ham shank on his butt. Serves him right! And now there’s women getting raped and murdered, likely eaten by that vicious dog, and I say I could be next, but he’s ‘It’s just some animal, Patty, go back to sleep!’”

“Actually, Mrs. Colbert, your husband’s correct.”

“Correct?” Patty Colbert stopped with her hands pulling at those tufts of brown hair. “About what?”

“The sounds you describe—screeching, howling, barking. Foxes. It’s mating season.”

“Foxes? Are you out of your mind?”

Sloan simply pulled out her phone, hit an app, and played the shrieks and screams. “Is this what you heard?”

“Yes. Yes. That’s it!”

“Those are red fox calls, Mrs. Colbert. They’re common in this area, and they breed during the winter. What you heard are mating calls.”

“Well, for God—” She huffed out a breath, scrubbed her hands over her face. “She didn’t sound like she enjoyed it.”

On a laugh, Sloan put her phone away. “It can sound human, and scary.”

“Tell me about it!”

“She’ll have the kits in early spring, and he’ll help tend them. They often mate for life. They’re inquisitive. You might spot one.”

“You mean near this—this shack?” The woman looked toward a window as if expecting an attack. “Are they dangerous, aggressive?”

“Inquisitive,” Sloan repeated. “Clever and timid around humans. A fox is much more likely to run away from you than approach.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t. You heard what you thought was a woman being attacked. You reported it, and that’s the right thing to do. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.”

Sloan grinned all the way back to the truck.

Yes, it was good to be back.

If the days in November and December had dragged, January rolled toward February with barely a breath.

The lake froze and opened itself to the ice fishermen, the skaters, pickup hockey games.

And Travis asked her to take on a rookie.

“She’s smart, she’s enthusiastic, and she’s green. You’ve trained a few before so you could ripen her up a little.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Just keep it simple and routine for the first few days. You can patrol Mirror Lake—a lot of activity on it right now, so license and safety checks. Take her on some of the easier trails.”

He sat at his desk, scanning reports, schedules. “Let’s say three months, then write up an evaluation.”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat back, studied her now. “Are you ready for your board interview?”

“I feel ready, and I’d better be. It’s coming right up.”

Still at ease, he gestured. “Why don’t you tell me why you want to be a sergeant?”

Since she appreciated the support, and the opportunity to practice, Sloan dived right in.

“There are a number of reasons I want to be a sergeant. Becoming a Natural Resources Police officer was a goal I worked toward since college. Having served as a member of the DNR for more than six years, I have tremendous pride in the work we do. I grew up in Heron’s Rest, on Mirror Lake in the Alleghenies, and consider that a gift.

“My background instilled in me a sense of duty to protect and value our public lands and waterways. As a sergeant, I would use that leadership position to motivate the teams I work with as well as the communities we serve to preserve and respect the resources that belong to all of us.”

“Good. You worked in, and smooth with it, your motivation, background, and experience. Also good you looked relaxed, made eye contact, and sounded sincere.”

“I am sincere.”

“I know it, but you don’t have to convince me. They’ll see it and feel it because you mean it. Go ahead, get Officer Sanchez and get started.”

Elana Sanchez appeared thrilled to patrol with Sloan. As far as Sloan could see, Elana appeared thrilled by everything.

She remembered the feeling from her first weeks and months in uniform. The pride, the sense of accomplishment, and the boundless enthusiasm.

“I know I’m brand, shiny new, Corporal Cooper, but I really want to do good work.”

“We all start off brand, shiny, and new. And it’s Sloan.”

“Thanks. Can I tell you my family thought I was crazy when I signed up to train for the Department of Natural Resources?”

“You just did.”

“Oh, right.”

And Sloan laughed as she drove. “It’s fine. How do they feel about it now?”

“Proud, but kind of baffled, too. I mean, I grew up down in Montgomery County. Nice quiet neighborhood, sort of sheltered. Youngest of four and the only girl.”

“Ah.”

Elana laughed. “So yeah, maybe a little spoiled.”

“A girlie girl?”

“Oh, absolutely! My idea of natural resources was the pool in the backyard. I figured to be a supermodel, even though I’m only five-four, or a super something as long as it was glittery.”

Since the rookie obviously wanted to talk, and to help train, it paid to get to know the person inside the uniform, Sloan kept it going.

“So why are you wearing a uniform instead of stilettos and spangles?”

“I do love heels, the higher the better, right?”

“If I’m wearing them, they’re high or what’s the point?”

“Exactly! They make me feel tall and powerful. But anyway, I went to college and took this natural resources course. I thought it was a filler, but it changed everything.

“I’m so glad I got assigned up here. It’s so beautiful. You grew up here?”

“I did. I spent my first years in the department away from family, too. This was the right time to come back.”

Elana hesitated, adjusted her Stetson on her hair—glossy and black and worked into a tight bun at the nape as Sloan had once worn hers.

Then she turned liquid brown eyes to Sloan. “I know you got hurt. I hope it’s okay to say.”

“Sure it is. I got hurt. I got well.”

Sloan made the turn to Heron’s Rest. “It wasn’t in the line,” she added. “Just wrong place, wrong time. There’s the lake.”

Elana leaned forward, and her Cupid’s bow mouth curved in a smile. “It’s so pretty! It’s a lot smaller than Deep Creek Lake but really pretty. And busy!”

“Once it freezes, they’re all over it. Natives and tourists. If you come here in the winter, you probably come for winter sports.”

She thought of Mrs. Colbert.

“With exceptions. We’ll just do a check on fishing licenses and alcohol consumption.”

“Alcohol? This early in the morning?”

“Some think it’s a way to stay warm. A breakfast beer, a thermos of Bloody Marys, a flask of whiskey. Or it’s just Hey, I’m on vacation . We’re friendly. We educate rather than push. Safety first, Elana. Like that guy over there, near the shore. Ice fishing near the shore’s a bad idea.”

“Ice is thinner near the shore.”

“Exactly right. Why?”

“Um, the shallower water and the underwater vegetation melt the ice faster.”

“Yeah, and that’s what you’ll tell him.”

“I will?”

“With courtesy.” She parked the truck. “Let’s strap on the cleats.”

She’d always enjoyed walking on the lake, and skating over it on a cold afternoon with the mountains dressed in white rising up.

The skaters zoomed around it now, though this was no Zamboni’d rink. Ripples and bumps sent more than one into a spill.

She counted sixteen ice fishermen—and women—taking advantage of the early morning. More than one had already pulled up a catch or two.

Their cleats gripped, and the wind blew light and steady as they crossed over to the man all but buried in a black hooded parka. He had a red plastic sled he might have borrowed from a kid. It held an auger he’d already used to drill a hole in the ice, and the chisel he’d used to widen it.

He sat on a portable seat that looked brand-new. So did the flag on the tip-up in the hole, and his fishing rod.

“Identify yourself,” Sloan instructed, “and me. Call him sir, always polite. Once we see his fishing license, you can refer to him as Mr. whatever it is. Make conversation,” Sloan added. “Then educate him on the spot he’s chosen.”

“Okay. Here goes.”

Elana put on her pretty smile as they approached. “Good morning! I’m Officer Sanchez, and this is Corporal Cooper with the Natural Resources Police.”

He looked up, squinted with most of his face hidden by the hood, and a thick scarf that came up past his chin. “The what? They got cops for that?”

“Yes, sir! It’s sure a beautiful day out here.”

“If you like frozen tundras. I’ve been sitting here freezing my ass off for damn near an hour. I got nothing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you mind showing us your fishing license?”

“Jesus.” With his gloved hand he dug into a pocket. “Right here. All the good it’s doing me. Do you know how much I spent on all this stuff? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Garrett. You might have better luck in another location. This near the shoreline, the ice is thinner. You might increase your luck, and definitely your safety, if you moved farther away from the shore.”

He looked at her like a man who’d been asked to climb Everest in his underwear. “You want me to go through all this again?”

“For your safety, Mr. Garrett.”

“I’ve fished on this lake,” Sloan began.

He switched his miserable gaze from Elana to Sloan. “This kind of fishing?”

“A few times, yes, with my grandfather. He has a favorite spot, and he catches whoppers. Every time.”

Now Garrett eyed Sloan with more interest.

“I only need one. One damn fish. Then my wife, who’s sitting up there”—he gestured to one of the lakeside houses—“sitting up there in front of the fire reading a damn book, and getting up every now and again to go to the window and laugh down at me, can’t say I told you so .”

“Take your gear about ten feet that way, another four or five to the right. That’s one of Pop’s favorite spots. That’s a good electric auger you’ve got, so it shouldn’t take long to drill your hole. What bait are you using?”

He pulled up his line, and Sloan nodded.

“Rapala Jigging Rap, excellent. Try that area, and with that lure, I’m betting you catch a couple of those whoppers. You’ll be the one laughing and saying I told you so .”

“Well, hell, I’m in this far.” He got up, started to pack up. “Problem is those crazy skaters, especially the ones pretending to play hockey, are probably scaring the fish away. Yelling, zipping around, falling all over themselves.”

Sloan glanced around in time to see three of them collide, hard. Two of them fell on their asses, laughing, and the third tried to break his fall.

Sloan didn’t hear the wrist snap, but she nearly felt it.

“See?”

“Yeah. Good luck, Mr. Garrett. Call for medical assistance, Elana. Probably a broken wrist.”

By the time Sloan crossed the ice, the injured man, maybe twenty-five, sat where he was, cradling his arm while the others gathered around him.

“Natural Resources Police. Let’s take a look.”

“I think I broke it.”

“I think you’re right. Paramedics are on the way. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“This is enough, thanks.” He hissed out a breath. “Hurts like hell.”

“I broke mine in gymnastics when I was eleven,” Elana told him. “I know how it feels.”

“Let’s get you off the ice. Get a blanket out of the truck, would you, Officer Sanchez?”

“We’ve got you, Matt.” Two of his friends helped him stand, and slowly skated with him off the ice.

“This sure screws guys’ week.”

“Where are you from?”

“Me, Hagerstown.” Though pale, the injured man spoke and walked steadily. “We’ve been planning this trip for months. First day out, we run into Mr. Chainsaw Massacre, and today, I break my wrist.”

“They’ll fix you up, Matt,” one of his friends assured him. “And you can still hoist a beer with your good hand.”

“There’s that.”

“Tell me about Mr. Chain Saw Massacre.”

Matt looked at Sloan as Elana dropped a blanket over his shoulders. “Some weird mountain-man type. Big belly, big beard. We were snowshoeing—or trying to—on—what was it?—Deer Track Trail, and we heard the chain saw going.”

“Saw a couple fresh-cut trees,” one of the others added. “We didn’t think you were supposed to cut down trees up there.”

“You’re not. What happened?”

“Well, we spotted him and he spotted us. He turns around with that chain saw, and he picks up an axe with his other hand. He yells for us to get the hell off his land.”

“We thought it was public land.”

“It is.”

“There were four of us, one of him, but.” Matt let out a breath of relief when they heard the siren. “He had a chain saw and an axe, and he looked crazy enough to use them.”

“We walked back down the trail,” his friend finished. “We just figured we’d made a wrong turn or whatever and ended up on private property.”

“Deer Track Trail. About how far along?”

“Less than a mile.” Matt smiled wanly. “First time with snowshoes.”

Sloan waited until the paramedics took over.

“Hey!” Matt shouted as she and Elana walked back to the truck. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

When they got to the truck, Sloan turned. “Ready for the next adventure?”

“Chain Saw Massacre Mountain Man?”

“That’s the one. Call it in, give the situation and our location. Deer Track Trail. Can you snowshoe?”

“I’ll bet I’m better than those guys, but I need more practice.”

“You’re about to get it.”