Page 16

C HAPTER 16

O f course we couldn’t go straight home.

We had to put Portia on a plane, and since none of us ever wanted to set foot in Las Vegas again, we detoured through Los Angeles. We said our goodbyes, and she used her new identity to fly off to Europe. Gio refunded the cash he’d nabbed from the suitcase as a parting gift, and then departed to his own undisclosed location, but heavily hinted he’d be sticking around Southern California for a while.

Before our long drive home, Anthony and I got a hotel room for the night—a nice one—and spent a lot more than two minutes doing a lot more than kissing. Very carefully, of course, seeing his ribs were still broken.

We left the city in a dreamy haze and cruised up the state. He even let me drive for some of the journey, since he was the one who had no idea where we were going this time.

When we pulled into his driveway in the early evening, it was right in time for the golden-hour sun to melt the sky and leave everything dripping in soft light. He cut off the car’s rumble, and a peaceful finality settled in the air.

We made it. We were home.

I glanced over at my sister’s house and noted two cars in the driveway—the minivan, and my mother’s. A third sat at the curb.

Anthony saw me looking and squeezed his hand on the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Penny, would it be all right if I walk you home?”

I blinked at him in surprise. For the last hundred miles or so, versions of this moment had cycled through my mind. How were we going to say goodbye? A kiss? A hug? Perhaps escape upstairs to his bedroom before anyone next door even noticed we were home?

I’d admittedly lingered on the last scenario for an indulgent amount of time.

But in all my iterations of this moment, I hadn’t thought he’d offer to walk me home.

“I—um . . .” I mumbled in mostly surprise. I was flattered and fluttering and also seriously wondering about his mental state. “You know my mom’s over there, right? And my sister called the cops on you.”

He quietly laughed as a charming flush curled into his cheeks. “Yes, I know. That’s why I want to do it. I want to apologize and set things straight. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time, Penny, and I don’t want to mess this up.”

I blinked at him again and wondered at how he’d gone from curt stranger to mistaken boyfriend, from suspected criminal to rescuer, from traveling companion to rescuee, from lover to man who wanted to come in and meet my mom—all within the span of less than a week.

“I, um. Okay,” I said. My face offered up a matching flush.

“Okay,” he said with a smile.

We climbed out of the car, looking less like fugitives than we had in days. We’d swung by a mall in L.A. for some clothes from this decade. I was back in jeans and a tee, and he in the same, but all black, of course. He slipped his hand in mine as we walked down his driveway and crossed over to Libby’s property.

“You’re going to walk in holding my hand? You really are a glutton for punishment,” I teased him.

“If I’m not mistaken, this was your sister’s original intention in introducing us.” He held up our clasped hands to signify what he meant. “So she’s really only got herself to blame here.”

I snorted. “Try telling her that.”

I realized as we climbed Libby’s front steps he was right. Despite my protests that day, my sister’s plan had come to fruition. The plan she’d been scheming at, for most of my adult life. Little did she know the guy who’d finally stick was the one she’d never have picked if she’d known the full truth.

Funny how things worked out sometimes.

I took a bracing breath as I reached for the front door. It flew open before I could grab the handle, and where I expected to see my sister’s furious face, I saw her empty entryway. Until I looked down.

“Aunt Penny!” Max wailed, and threw himself at me. He adhered himself to my legs and squeezed like he was trying to pop me. He tilted his head up to give me a goofy grin. “I missed you.”

My heart was fit to burst. I let go of Anthony’s hand to reach down and hoist him up into a hug. “Oh, my Maxy. I missed you too!” I buried my face in his soft neck, which smelled like little boy, and deeply inhaled. His scent made my mind flash back to moments over the past few days when I’d thought I’d never see my family again. My throat suddenly ached with hot tears.

“ Mom! Aunt Penny is back!” he screamed right in my ear. I flinched as he wiggled, wanting to be set down, but I held my grip. First, because I didn’t want to let him go; and second, because I selfishly wanted him as a shield from his mother. I stepped inside, with Anthony on my heels.

Max cast Anthony an uncertain look. “Are you bad?” he said in what I was sure was an echo of something he’d heard his mother say.

Anthony studied him back with a tilt of his head. “I think that’s subjective.”

“What does subgecktive mean?” Max tried to shape his little mouth around the word.

I quietly laughed and pressed my lips to his chubby cheek with a loud kiss. “It means no, buddy.” I set him down, and he scampered off toward the sound of approaching steps.

“Didn’t expect the three-year-old to be my toughest critic,” Anthony muttered, and tugged at his collar.

“Wait until you formally meet the baby,” I whispered as my sister came charging around the corner.

She looked wilted and worn, and the thought I’d put the weary look on her face pulled at my heart in the worst way. But under the dark circles and the furious scowl she’d manufactured for the occasion, I saw profound relief. Her eyes softened, and she marched across her foyer to hug me.

“I’m so mad at you,” she whispered in a tearful greeting.

I squeezed her back and poured every ounce of apology into it. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m home now.”

“And you’re never going anywhere ever again. I don’t care how hot he is.”

A soggy laugh burst from my lips. I leaned back to grip her shoulders. I wiped my eyes, smiling. “Does this mean you approve?”

Libby cast a glare at Anthony. “Of him? Of course not. I meant any man in general.”

I hadn’t expected her to shower Anthony with gratitude for bringing me home safely, but the look on her face clearly said we were in for an uphill battle.

Anthony stepped forward and held out his hands. “Libby, I want to apologize. For everything. I’m sorry I dragged Penny into all this, but without her”—he looked over at me and swallowed like he had a hard knot in his throat—“I probably wouldn’t be standing here alive, so I owe your family more than thanks.”

It hadn’t fully occurred to me until that moment that I’d saved his life. With a swell of emotion too big to name, I reached for his hand and laced my fingers through his. I wrapped my other hand around our grip and leaned into him. He looked down at me, dark eyes burning with the sincerest gratitude. The connection between us became something physical, and I couldn’t have broken it if I’d tried.

Libby scoffed. “ Ugh. Don’t tell me you fell in love with him.” She folded her arms and spun on her heel. “Mom!” she called, sounding how we had as teens and I’d stolen her hairbrush.

“Hi,” I said quietly, still staring up at him and ignoring my sister’s tantrum.

“Hi,” he said back.

The world shrank to only the bubble where we stood. It felt much like the warm haze when I’d woken in his arms in our hotel room this morning, and I was fairly certain I could have stayed forever.

The bubble burst when my mother appeared, holding Ada on her hip. Anthony and I snapped apart like rubber bands.

“Mom!” I blurted, somehow surprised to see her there in the flesh.

She handed off her granddaughter to Libby and approached us. My mother was a tall, slender woman, with scrutinizing eyes and limited ability to smile. She studied Anthony like one of her students’ papers she suspected of plagiarism. “Hello, Penelope. I’m glad to see you are all right.”

“I am, yes. This is Anthony.”

He stepped forward with his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Don’t call my mom ma’am, ” I muttered under my breath.

“Oh, I mean Doctor. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Collins,” he corrected.

“Nope, still not it.”

“What?”

“Collins is my dad’s last name. She’s—”

“Dr. Tanner,” my mother finished for me, and cut off our hushed conversation. She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I hear you live next door?”

“Yes. Well. For now, at least? I don’t kn-know what I’m going to do with the, um, the . . . house.”

I couldn’t tell if he was stammering because he was truly unsure about the house or because my mother was wildly intimidating on a good day. Thought of the former soured my stomach.

“Interesting sequence of events that brought you into my daughter’s life,” my mother said. From her tone, I knew Libby had given her details—biased ones, surely—and she had formed an opinion of Anthony without having met him.

To his credit, he didn’t cower. Instead he slipped his hand into mine again and cast me an assured look. “Yes, it was interesting. Your daughter has been very brave.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that for a second. Of course she has,” my mom said with a tilt of her chin. The praise fizzed through me. Anthony had been saying it for days, but from her lips, I felt like I’d been knighted.

“I’m sorry to hear about your uncle,” she said. “Elizabeth tells me he was an exemplary neighbor.”

Few people other than my mother called my sister and me by our full names.

Anthony looked thrown for a moment before he caught on. “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m only repeating what my daughter said. I didn’t know him.”

“How long are you staying, Mom?” I interjected before she could further turn the conversation into a casualty of awkwardness.

She eyed me with a stern look. “Well, I wasn’t planning on visiting at all, but when your sister called and said you’d gone missing, I came, of course.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb. “I was just telling the detective I’d stay until—”

“The detective?” I cut her off.

My mother looked bewildered. As if she couldn’t understand what I’d misunderstood. “Yes. Detective Warner. He’s in the dining room.”

“ What?! He’s been here this whole time?” My heart, having rather agreeably returned to normal rhythm after days of turmoil, started trampling my insides again.

“Yes. He came over before you arrived. We’ve been having lemonade.”

Despite her boundless intelligence, my mother often missed social cues. She didn’t seem to pick up on my sudden-onset fright or the way Anthony had dropped my hand and paled to a shade of bleached bedsheet beside me.

I took a breath and reminded myself Warner was on our side. I’d reported my kidnapping to him. He was probably here to talk about that, not the fact we’d buried a body in the desert less than twenty-four hours ago.

Still, I considered doing an about-face and running over to Anthony’s to hide. Maybe even getting into the Camaro and riding off into the sunset.

But my sister’s voice summoned us from the other room. “Penny? Daryl wants to talk to you!”

I glanced over at Anthony and could see his eyes darting back and forth. He was scrambling for a solution too.

My mother, in a rare moment of tenderness, reached out for my hand. She squeezed it and then leaned in to hug me. “I’m glad you’re safe, sweetheart. Don’t keep the detective waiting.” She pulled back and gave me a nod; it infused me with a swell of courage, silently guaranteeing everything would be all right. She looked over at Anthony and gave him the same one before she floated off to find her grandson.

“So your mom is terrifying,” Anthony said as we walked toward the back of the house.

“I know. Not the most socially gracious person, but she likes you. I can tell.”

“You can tell? From that ? How?”

“I just can.”

We rounded into the dining room and found Libby bouncing Ada on her hip. Detective Warner sat at the table. A half-empty glass of lemonade sat in front of him, next to a large envelope with a lump in its middle and a closed folder.

He stood when we entered, and the fact he reached for our hands to shake, and not slap on handcuffs, sent a dizzying wave of relief crashing over me. “Penny. Mr. Pierce. Libby let me know you were going to be home today.”

I cringed at the memory of telling Libby this. I wouldn’t have, had I known she would invite the detective over for happy hour. “Yep. We’re back!” I said with too bright a smile.

The air filled with an electricity that felt as if it would spark if touched.

Warner let out a sigh. “Mind having a seat? There are a few things we need to discuss.”

Anthony and I glanced at each other before pulling out chairs opposite him. Libby’s farmhouse dining table easily sat eight. With Warner on one long side and us on the other, the narrow gap between us felt not unlike being back in the interrogation room.

Warner looked over at Libby, who was still lingering in obvious hope of overhearing our discussion.

She pretended to busy herself with straightening glasses on the table with the hand not holding Ada.

“Lib? Do you mind?” I said when she didn’t take the hint.

She scowled at me and marched off, I was certain, to hide around the corner within earshot.

“We were able to follow up on the report you made, Penny,” Warner started once she was gone. “We recovered Mr. Griotti’s Cadillac at the Slates’ residence, along with your phones.” He dumped over the envelope and out slid a pair of smartphones. I eagerly reached for mine, equally relieved to have it back and afraid of how many emails I’d racked up while it had been missing.

Anthony took his and frowned when it failed to turn on. Mine was dead too, and I found myself enjoying the idea of a little while longer off-grid.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Of course. We also found something else at the Slates’ house,” he went on. The hairs on my neck stood. He pulled a photo from his folder, a blown-up headshot that looked like it had been cropped from a driver’s license and placed it on the table.

The tweed man scowled back at us.

“Do you recognize this man?”

Fear gripped me with a cold hand. I thought back to him pointing a gun at me—twice. My mouth wouldn’t offer up any words, so I simply nodded.

Warner turned the photo around so it faced him. “We found Mr. Doyle laid up in bed on the property, recovering from a stab wound.”

Doyle? It sounded fitting for a henchman, but I preferred tweed man.

Despite everything he’d done to me, a tight knot in my chest unwound. Ever since that night, part of me worried I’d killed him.

“It was self-defense,” I said softly as I fought off the memory of it. I felt Anthony reach out and squeeze my hand beneath the table.

“I’m sure it was,” Warner said with a sincere nod. “His injuries, coupled with finding your personal belongings on the property, and your statement were enough to bring him in on kidnapping charges.” He turned his gaze to Anthony. “And while we’ve got him, we’re looking into the murder accusations as well.”

“Thank you,” Anthony said through a tight jaw.

“It was him,” I chimed in with a sharp nod. “He told us he did it.”

“All right,” Warner said with a gentle raised hand. “I’ll need both of you to come in and give formal statements, now that you’re back.”

“Of course,” I said.

Anthony looked skeptical. I elbowed him. “Of course,” he said reluctantly.

“Good,” Warner said. He drummed his fingers on the table. “A lot of loose ends have come together because of all this, so thank you, Penny, for your tip.”

“Glad to help.”

He stood from the dining chair and straightened his jacket. He gathered the photo back into the folder. “Oh, one more thing. Portia Slate is still missing, and now her husband seems to have disappeared too. Do you happen to know where either of them might be?” His delivery was casual. An easy, harmless question aimed at both of us.

I felt Anthony’s hand tighten on mine at the same time all the air seeped out of my lungs.

We knew where one of them was, and the other had vanished by now into a new identity thousands of miles away.

“No,” Anthony said in a steady voice, betraying nothing.

I thought it best to keep my mouth shut and simply shake my head.

Warner eyed us. I sensed he didn’t fully believe it, but he wasn’t going to push. Not right now at least. “All right. Well, you let me know if you hear anything. About either of them.”

“Sure,” Anthony said.

“Thank you. Now, can I trust you’ll both come into the station tomorrow to give your statements about the day of the funeral?”

“Yes,” I said.

Warner nodded and expectantly looked at Anthony. “You’re not leaving town, are you, Mr. Pierce?”

Anthony paused long enough to dull the glow I’d been feeling since the hotel room in L.A. After everything, it was still true he didn’t live here. He’d never even planned to visit until everything with Portia went haywire. He’d told me in the desert he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the house, but his delay in answering Warner had my heart hiccupping with worry he was going to disappear as well.

He let out a breath and shook his head. “Not tonight.”

Warner nodded and gathered his things. “Good. I’ll see you both at the station tomorrow then.”

He left us alone in the dining room. I heard his voice from around the corner, thanking Libby for her hospitality and promising he’d tell his wife to call her.

Anthony gazed out the back windows toward his house next door. The old Victorian looked regal in the fading sunlight. I traced the outline of his jaw with my eyes, feeling a nervous seed take root in my gut. I could imagine after the past several days, he wanted to go home home, and not back to a big, empty house.

“So,” I quietly said, “when are you leaving town?”

He looked down at me with a softness to his eyes that made my heart hiccup in a whole different way. “No time soon.”

“No?” I said with a smile.

“No. I believe a certain professor still owes me a date.”