Page 73 of The Witch’s Orchard

“At their meth lab?”

“Yeah,” AJ says.

“Jesus,” I breathe.

AJ keeps his eyes on the wound. His hands are warm and firm and strong. His voice is even and smooth. I feel myself melting into his care, feel the tension beginning to drain away from me, feel the shock of my day receding.

I realize that, even after he finishes dressing my wound, even after we eat dinner, even after we spend the evening discussing the case, I am going to want him to stay the night. I am going to need his big, warm, easy bearing close to me.

“How’s this?” he asks, blowing a cool stream of air across my exposed flesh. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” I say. “It’s okay. You’re doing a good job.”

He lets go of my calf, tears open a sterile package of gauze, and applies it carefully to my shin. He picks up the roll of tape.

“Did Tommy say what happened?” I ask.

He pulls a strip of tape from the roll and attaches the gauze, pressing it down gently.

“Well, of course, Tommy says he had no idea his cousins were cooking.”

“Of course.”

“He says he was just taking them some lunch.”

“What a nice guy.”

“And he says when he got up today, his truck was broken down. So, he got a ride to Ellerd’s, grabbed some food, then took Mandy’s car. He went up to the factory and they were—according to him—arguing because he was telling them what a bad idea it was to be cooking meth.”

“Sure.”

“And then Elaine went to the window on the other side of the building for a smoke. She saw you pull up, saw you on the phone. She was stoned—ran back into the lab to tell them they were being watched and forgot she was holding a lit cigarette in her hand.”

“And it all went downhill from there.”

“Yeah.”

He tapes the other end of the gauze down, and I watch him in silence.

“I didn’t know they were there,” I say. “Not until—”

“I know.” He lets go of my calf but he’s still kneeling on the floor in front me. He raises both hands, lays them on my bare knees, looks up at me. And he could say things like, “It wasn’t your fault.” Which I know. And “You saved Tommy’s life.” Which I know. And “They shouldn’t have been in there cooking meth in the first place.” Which I know.

But he doesn’t.

I’m no closer to finding Molly’s killer. At least two more people are dead. Tommy Hoyle is in the hospital. And Jessica may still be out there, awaitingthe same fate as Molly. That’s how I balance my ledger at the end of this day. That’s where I am in this moment.

And AJ could tell me that I’m lucky to be alive, which I know. Lucky I’m not lying in the hospital room right next to Tommy, hacking out toxic muck, which I know. Lucky that after I faced an explosion and a fire and a crumbling building, I’m still here. And I’m not alone.

I know it. AJ knows it.

Neither of us says it.

I lean forward and kiss AJ’s forehead, the bridge of his nose, the dip above his lip.

He runs his palms up, over my knees, and onto my thighs.

The towel drops away.