Читать книгу Mountain Witness - Lena Diaz - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Chris shaded his eyes against the early afternoon sun and watched through an upstairs window as the curvy brunette led one of the movers into the house next door. He didn’t know why he bothered waving every time he saw her. Her standard response was to turn away and pretend that she hadn’t seen him. He’d gotten the message the first time—she wanted nothing to do with him. Too bad the good manners his mama had instilled in him, courtesy of a well-worn switch off a weeping willow tree or his daddy’s belt, wouldn’t allow him to ignore her the way she ignored him.

He leaned against the wall of the corner guest bedroom, noting the car that his neighbor had parked on the road. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a BMW. Most of the people he knew had four-wheel drives. Come winter, that light little car would slide around like a hockey puck on the icy back roads. Then again, maybe she didn’t plan on sticking around that long. Summer was just getting started.

A distant rumble had him looking up the road to see a caravan of trucks headed toward his house, right on time to start his annual beginning of summer cookout. The shiny red Jeep in front was well ahead of the other vehicles, barreling down the road at a rate of speed that probably would have gotten the driver thrown in jail if he wasn’t a cop himself, with half the Destiny, Tennessee, police department following behind him.

Dirt and gravel spewed out from beneath the Jeep’s tires as it slowed just enough to turn into his driveway without flipping over. The driver, Chris’s best friend, Dillon Gray, jumped out while the car was still rocking. He hurried to the passenger side to lift out his very pregnant wife, Ashley. Chris grinned and headed downstairs.

He’d just reached the front room when the screen door flew open and Ashley jogged inside, her hands holding her round belly as if to support it. The door swung closed, its springs squeaking in protest at the abuse.

“Hi, Chris.” She raced past the stairs into the back hallway and slammed the bathroom door.

The screen door opened again and Chris’s haggard-looking friend stepped inside.

“Sorry about that.” Dillon waved toward the bathroom. “Ashley was desperate. She had me doing ninety on the interstate.”

Chris clapped him on the back. “How’s the pregnancy going?”

Dillon let out a shaky breath and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. “I’m not sure I can survive two more months of this.”

A toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. And soon the sound of bare feet slip-slapping on the wooden floor had both of them turning to see Dillon’s wife heading toward them. Her sandals dangled from one hand as she stopped beside Chris.

“Sorry about the bare feet. They’re so swollen the shoes were cutting off my circulation.” She motioned toward Dillon. “Let me guess. He’s complaining about all the suffering he’s going through, right? He keeps forgetting that I’m the one birthing a watermelon.” The smile on her face softened her words as she yanked on Chris’s shirt so he’d lean down. She planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m taking good care of him.”

He raised a brow. “Him? You’re having a boy?”

“No, silly. I mean, yes, we might be. Or it might be a girl. We’re waiting until the birth to be surprised about the gender. I meant Dillon. I’ll make sure he survives fatherhood.”

Dillon plopped down in one of the recliners facing the big-screen TV mounted on the far wall. “It’s not fatherhood that I’m worried about. It’s the pregnancy, and childbirth.” He placed a hand on his flat stomach. “Every time she throws up, I throw up. Last week, I swear I had a contraction.”

Ashley clucked her tongue as she perched on the arm of his chair. “Sympathy pains.” She grinned up at Chris. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chris burst out laughing.

Dillon shot him a glare that should have set his hair on fire.

“Did you remember to bring the steaks?” Chris headed toward the abused screen door, assuming the food was in the Jeep.

“The chief has them,” Dillon said. “I didn’t feel well enough to go to the store so I called him to do it, instead.” He pressed his hand to his stomach again and groaned as his head fell back against the chair.

Ashley rolled her eyes and plopped down onto his lap. In spite of how green Dillon looked, he immediately hugged her close and pressed a kiss on the top of her head. Dillon started to gently massage his wife’s shoulders and she kissed the side of his neck. Chris had never seen two people more in love or more meant for each other. Then again, they’d only been married for close to a year. They were still newlyweds.

“Where do you want all of this stuff?” someone called from outside.

Chris turned away from the two lovebirds and looked through the screen door.

“Those two are enough to make you sick, aren’t they?” fellow SWAT officer and detective Max Remington, holding a large cooler, teased from the porch.

“Hey, Max.” Ashley waved over Dillon’s shoulder.

“Hey, Ash.” Max dipped his head toward the cooler and glanced at Chris. “This beer and ice ain’t getting any lighter. Where do you want it?”

“Around back, on the deck, well away from the grill. It’s hot and ready.”

Max carried the cooler back down the steps. Twenty minutes later, Destiny PD’s entire five-man-and-one-woman SWAT team was on the large back deck, plus Chief William Thornton, his wife, Claire, Ashley, their 911 operator—Nancy—and a handful of other support staff.

Steaks sizzled on the double-decker grill, which was Max’s domain. On one side of him, SWAT officers Colby Vale and Randy Carter chatted about the best places to fish. On Max’s other side a young female police intern helped load foil-wrapped potatoes and corncobs onto another section of the grill.

“Two weeks.” Dillon grabbed a beer from the cooler at Chris’s feet.

Since Dillon was watching Ashley talk to SWAT Officer Donna Waters a few feet away, Chris wasn’t sure what he meant. “Two weeks until what?”

Dillon used his bottle to indicate the pretty young intern who was earning college credits for helping out at the Destiny police department over the summer.

“I give her and Max’s fledgling relationship two more weeks, at the most,” Dillon said. “They have absolutely nothing in common and she’s young enough to be his...niece...or something.”

Chris shrugged and snagged himself a beer from the cooler. The rest of the team laughed and talked in small groups on the massive deck. The chief and his wife were the only ones not smiling. They were too intent on discussing the best placement of the desserts on the table at the far end. Chris grinned, always amused to see the soft side of his crotchety boss whenever his wife of forty-plus years was around. He hoped someday that he’d be lucky enough to be married that long, and be just as happy. But so far he hadn’t met the right woman. Given Destiny’s small size, he just might have to move to another town to expand the dating pool.

The sound of an engine turning over had him stepping closer to the railing. The moving truck headed down the driveway next door, then continued up the road. His new neighbor stood in the grass beside her front porch, watching it go. Unless she was deaf, she had to hear the noise in his backyard. Was she going to ignore all of them?

He waited, watching. As if feeling the force of his gaze upon her, she turned. Their eyes locked and held. Then she whirled around and raced up her porch steps, the screen door slamming as she hurried inside.

“What’s her name?”

Chris didn’t turn at the sound of Dillon’s voice. His friend braced his hands on the railing beside him.

“I have no idea,” Chris answered. “She’s been here two days and she hasn’t even acknowledged that I exist.”

Dillon whistled low. “That’s a first for you. Must be losing your touch.”

He slanted his friend a look. “Yeah, well. At least I’m not puking my guts up every time someone says fried gizzards.”

Dillon’s eyes widened and his face went pale. A second later he clapped his hand over his mouth and ran inside the house.

Judging from the way Ashley was suddenly glaring at Chris, she’d obviously noticed Dillon’s rapid retreat. She put her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

“I might have mentioned ‘fried gizzards.’”

She threw her hands in the air and shook her head in exasperation. Then she ran inside after her husband.

Chris winced at the accusatory looks some of the others gave him. He shouldn’t have done that. He knew that Dillon’s sympathy morning sickness could be triggered by certain foods, or even the mention of them. But teasing Dillon was just too easy—and way too fun—to resist.

He supposed he’d have to apologize later.

But right now there was something else bothering him, a puzzle he was trying to work through. He turned back toward his mysterious new neighbor’s house, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind. There’d been something about her that was bothering him, the way she’d twisted her hands together as she’d stared down the road, the look in her eyes when she’d met his gaze.

And then it clicked.

He knew exactly what he’d seen.

Fear.