Page 66 of Midnight

“What made you choose law enforcement?” Asher asked. “I know why I did it. It’s what I’d always wanted to do, but you turned down athletic scholarships. You had free rides to two colleges, and you turned them down. Why?”

He shrugged. “The only thing I was naturally good at was running, but I had no goals beyond playing sports. What would I have done afterward? You’re viewed as too old for professional sports past the age of thirty-five. It just didn’t feel right…not having purpose. I decided I’d rather run down criminals than chase after football players on a field of fake grass.”

“I would have been proud of whatever you chose, but I like knowing what you’ve become. You’re good, Gunner. Real good at what you do. You go on ahead and shower. I’m going to take a quick walk through the bar to make sure everything is undisturbed, then lock up before I quit this day.”

Gunner nodded, and then he was gone.

Asher unlocked the door into the hallway between their house and the bar and made a quick sweep.

The front door was firmly locked.

Remnants of the crime scene tape were still tied to a light pole in the parking lot.

The blood stain behind the bar was gone.

There was nothing out of place except the fact that Jacob Kingston was not on the premises, but that would soon be rectified.

* * *

Before Nora got in the shower, she removed the bandage from her hand, eyed the stitches in her palm, and decided they didn’t look as bad as she expected. The tiny little black bits of thread in each stitch, with the snipped ends sticking up, looked like antennae and spikes on a furry caterpillar. It was a little dicey using her hand, but not as painful as she’d expected. Once she showered and dried off, she pulled her football jersey over her head, then eyed the palm of her hand. She didn’t like what she was seeing, and without second-guessing her decision, got a black ink pen from her purse and put two tiny dots at the end of the stitches for caterpillar eyes. Satisfied that she’d turned something ugly into whimsy, she took a pain pill and crawled into bed, weary to the bone. She would go home tomorrow before the search began. She’d done her part. The rest was up to them.

* * *

Asher was the last to shower, and the last to go to bed. He didn’t know how to feel about what tomorrow might bring. He didn’t know how they were going to tell their dad if it was true. And if they did find the money, they still had to find a way to tie the Brandt brothers to the shooting.

When he finally slipped into bed beside Nora, she was lying on her back with her left arm over her head, and the football jersey she was wearing, clearly visible. She was always animated, and seeing her like this was like looking at a painting of her face in a way he rarely saw it.

Her lashes became shadows below her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, as if waiting for a chance to speak. The high cheekbones and the shape of her face—an exquisite work of art. The inhale and exhale of each breath was almost too soft to hear.

The bandage was gone, the stitches plainly visible. But ashe looked closer and saw what she’d done, turning a wound and a row of stitches into a caterpillar with little round black eyes, it made him smile. She’d turned something painful into something to smile about.

That she still loved him like this was his gift.

She had been everything he’d ever wanted from the first time they’d made love, and nothing had changed that feeling.

When he pulled up the covers over her, she stirred.

“Ash?”

“It’s me, love. Go back to sleep. I just need to hold you.”

“Love…” she mumbled, and rolled over on her side.

Moments later, she was tucked into the curve of his body.

He closed his eyes and dreamed of digging for treasure, and finding Brenda instead, sitting in a hole crying, and saying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

* * *

The first rays of the morning sun were coming through the curtains when he opened his eyes.

She was watching him, and without saying a word, she reached for him.

He needed no urging.

They made love in silence.

Slow, deep strokes into the warm, wet heat of her.