Chapter 17

17

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 4:00 P.M.

PHIN ROLLED HIS SHOULDERS. "THAT was heavier than it looked."

Burke looked up from where he sat on Cora's attic floor, an open box at his side. "I told you that I'd help you with that shutter."

The third-story shutter, which had been hanging on by a single screw, had been bothering Phin since he'd first arrived at Cora's house two days ago. It was back in place now and would stay that way for another fifty years.

Phin crouched next to the box Burke searched. "What are you finding?"

Burke had come straight to the attic when they'd returned from Houma. Phin had followed him, helping him search for a few hours. Six boxes later, he'd become itchy and needed a break and some physical activity.

Fixing that shutter had settled him, and that was a good thing.

Stone and Delores had been searching boxes the whole time Phin and the others had been to Houma and back but had come up with nothing. They'd taken a break to go wander the Quarter for a while. That seemed like torture to Phin. He needed to keep his hands busy.

Cora was keeping hers busy. Amazing smells wafted up the stairs from the kitchen. She'd retreated into the kitchen on their return, her eyes red-rimmed. She'd cried most of the way back from Baton Rouge. Phin couldn't imagine what she was going through. Still, she'd taken him into the darkened living room to kiss him before asking which cake was his favorite.

One of these days he was going to get to kiss her first. For now, he'd let her have the control. She'd lost so much control in every other part of her life.

"Not finding much," Burke admitted. "These boxes are mostly photo albums. Antoine's been checking online. There's hardly anything on Patrick Napier online, especially not from before he moved to New Orleans."

"Not too surprising." Phin reached for another box that had been labeled in Cora's mother's handwriting. He slit the tape with his box cutter. "The internet was still new then. Unless he'd done something amazing and gotten written up in the paper for it—or done something horrible and gotten written up in the paper for it—there shouldn't be much on him. Not much social media back then. MySpace hadn't even been created then, I don't think."

"I usually wish for the days before social media," Burke grumbled, "but sometimes I wish more people had used it."

A knock at the door had both of them looking up. Cora was poking her head in, her expression drawn but determined. "I brought you some sweet tea and red velvet cake."

She set the tray she carried on a stack of boxes. "Antoine found out that Patrick was a schoolteacher before he moved to New Orleans. Taught high school in Thibodaux."

Burke rose with a groan, his joints audibly popping. "Subject?" He took a glass of the tea. "Thank you, Cora."

"You're welcome." She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "Art. Patrick taught art." She opened her eyes and they were filled with confusion and doubt. "He had a painting included in an art exhibit in Houma, back in the midnineties. But that doesn't mean he was a restorer."

"It doesn't," Burke agreed.

But Phin thought that it was likely. He wasn't going to say a word, though. He'd what-iffed enough for one day. She was hurting and he hated to see it.

"I fixed the shutter outside this window and the faucet in the primary suite bathroom sink," he said, changing the subject, because Cora's eyes had grown shiny and even sadder.

She knew what they thought. She knew they suspected Patrick.

Of what, exactly, they weren't sure.

Patrick could have carried Jack Elliot to that hole in the ground that night twenty-three years ago.

He was the right age to be the letter writer.

Whether he'd killed Jack was unknown.

His involvement in Cora's life didn't make sense. Yet.

Cora sighed sadly, the sound cutting like a knife. "Patrick fixed that faucet for me a few months ago. It didn't stop dripping. A lot of the things you've fixed in the past two days are things he fixed first. I've spent years going back and refixing things he's tried to fix."

Phin had reached for a glass of the tea but halted. "He fixed things around your house?" She'd mentioned that once before, but it hadn't really sunk in. Patrick had been puttering around her house for years.

"He did. Tandy and I became friends on the first day of the third grade. My mother and Tandy's mom became friends, too. Patrick would come over and fix things because my grandmother and mother were really horrible at it. So was Patrick, but at least he tried."

Phin was conflicted. They had no hard evidence that Jack Elliot and Patrick Napier had ever crossed paths. Not even the night Jack died. At the moment, his killer was just some random guy with old-style paint on his clothes.

He hoped Patrick was simply a nice guy who was a bad handyman.

"Do you want to help us search?" he asked. "Plenty of boxes to go around."

"No, not really," Cora said quietly. "I asked Tandy to come over for dinner."

Burke's head jerked up, his hands stilling in the box he searched. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Cora shrugged and wandered over to the window seat. "She's my best friend, Burke." She sat, drawing her knees to her chest. She looked so very young in the afternoon light. And so very pretty, despite her swollen eyes. "I believe I trust Patrick, but I need to know for sure. You said you wanted to exclude him. So I'm going to ask Tandy some questions and hopefully we can glean the information we need."

Phin winced as he returned to his own box. "What kind of questions?"

"Like…what caused her parents to move to New Orleans? She would have been almost eight, so she should have at least a recollection."

Phin wanted to sigh. This can only end in tears. "You don't think she'll want to know why you're asking?"

"She will. I'll think of something to tell her. Maybe I'll tell her that I want some of those old portraits in the living room restored. She and I have talked about that before. She's offered to do them a few times, but something always comes up that distracts her."

Burke's brows went up. "Tandy does restoration?"

"She does. Usually for clients who buy work she sells in the gallery. They'll bring her the painting they found in the attic or in a closet. She gets jobs by word of mouth. She doesn't hang out her shingle."

Phin stared at her. "Why didn't you mention that earlier when we were talking about restorers?"

"Because I knew it couldn't be Tandy and you got me distracted worrying about Patrick. I'm still worrying about Patrick. Anyway, I thought I could tell her that I want the portraits restored, but she's so busy with the gallery, I was wondering if her father's ever done any restoration work." Cora looked satisfied with herself. "I don't recall hearing him talk about it, but he might have done some when he was younger. Tandy talks about it all the time. That Patrick hasn't makes me think that he doesn't know about it. Which would eliminate him as your suspect."

Burke heaved the sigh that Phin had been holding back. "I can't tell you who you can entertain in your own home but, for the record, this is a bad idea. She could tell her father that you're asking questions and force his hand."

" If he's involved," Cora said stubbornly. "But if he is involved and if she does tell him what I'm asking, maybe it'll force things to move along. I feel like we're in a holding pattern."

Phin wanted to shout no ! That "moving things along" could get her killed. But Burke was slowly shaking his head at Phin, as if he knew exactly what Phin was thinking. So Phin held his tongue.

"I know it feels stagnant, Cora," Burke said calmly, "but we are making progress. However, like I said, I can't tell you who you can invite into your home. If you do get to talking about her past, ask her where her dad got the money for that gallery. Antoine found the deed in his name, but we want to identify the money trail."

Cora's satisfied smile faded. "What do you mean?"

"He bought a house in the Quarter and the gallery building at the same time," Burke said. "The proceeds from his house in Thibodaux wouldn't have been close to what he'd have needed for the purchase of those two properties. He sold the house in the Quarter after his wife died and bought a place in Uptown, but he's had that gallery since the day he moved to New Orleans. The value of the gallery property is astronomical now, but even twenty-one years ago, it wouldn't have been cheap."

Cora frowned. "Where do you think he got the money?"

Burke shrugged. "Don't know."

Swiss bank account , Phin thought. Hidden cash. He was starting to form connections in his mind and he didn't like them.

If Jack Elliot had had a partner in his eraser business, what skills would that person have needed? Which parts would Jack have done and which would have been left for his partner?

Someone had to have handled all the physical aspects—moving people, setting up a new house or apartment, shooting ex-husbands who tried to thwart their clients' escape. That someone seemed to have been Jack.

Someone would also have had to do a lot of computer work, identifying all the elements of a new life for their clients—social security numbers, passports, driver's licenses, work histories, medical histories. It made Phin's brain hurt to consider. He wasn't sure if Jack would have had the ability to do all those things.

Phin stopped thinking about skill sets when he looked in the box he'd just opened. Oh. Oh wow. "Cora?"

He looked up and found her watching him, her eyes filled with dread.

"What?" she asked in a croak.

Phin pulled an eight-and-a-half-by-eleven frame from the box. "I found your parents' college diplomas. They both went to LSU?"

"Yes. That's where they met, playing in a Dungeons & Dragons club, of all things. He was a grad student and she'd just started on her bachelor's. Dad was a few years older." She unfolded herself from the window seat and sat beside him. She picked up the diplomas and studied them. "Dad majored in accounting and Mom majored in biology. She'd started her master's after they got married, but got pregnant with me, so that slowed her down. And then John Robert came along. Mom had finished about two-thirds of her master's when Dad disappeared. She threw herself into it the year I started school, and she got her certification."

Phin smiled at her. "You were proud of your mother."

"I was. She picked herself up and did what she had to do." Sadness clouded the pride in her eyes. "She worked—and worried herself—into an early grave. One day she just collapsed. Her heart just…stopped. One day she was there and the next day she wasn't."

"You and Tandy had a lot in common," Phin murmured, ignoring the box for the moment. Cora was more important.

"We did. Her mom's aneurysm was also sudden. But my mother had warning and just didn't tell us. Turned out my grandfather had heart disease, but we didn't know. John Robert and I, I mean. My mother knew and she knew that something was wrong with her heart, but she was determined to work her job and take care of John Robert at the same time." She drew a breath. "What else is in that box, Phin?"

He peeked in the box. "Books that say ‘ Gumbo .' Cookbooks, maybe?"

She laughed. "No, Gumbo is the LSU yearbook."

Pleased to hear her laugh, Phin reached in and pulled out a stack of yearbooks, each bearing the word Gumbo on the spine. He handed one to her. "Can you find your parents?"

"Hmm. This one is a few years newer than the ones you're holding. This is probably my mother's."

She opened the yearbook and thumbed through the pages until she came to the W s. "Here she is. Priscilla Winslow. She was so pretty." She held up the book so that Phin could see.

"She looks like you," Phin said with a smile.

Cora smiled back, muted but real. He wanted her smile to be unfettered, without worry. They'd make it happen.

" Winslow sounds very Mayflower ," Burke commented. "This is pretty." He'd found a box filled with blown glass.

Phin wondered how much it was worth. Maybe Cora could sell some of it to pay for new wiring. He hadn't had the heart to tell her that she'd need to do a full electrical overhaul soon, and Phin wasn't a licensed electrician. He could do the job, but he'd need oversight by a licensed contractor.

"My grandmother used to talk about her grandparents and how they said our ancestors came over on the Mayflower ." She huffed. "They really didn't, but it made for a good story. Huh. Maybe that's why my father picked that poem for my mother—‘The Courtship of Miles Standish.' Miles Standish, John Alden, and Priscilla Mullens all came over on the Mayflower ."

Phin opened a different yearbook and started paging toward the E s for Jack Elliot. But the voice in his head told him to keep going.

To the N s. For Napier . What if…?

His heart sank when he found Patrick Napier's photo. He'd been a handsome man then, his smile bold. He'd majored in both computer science and art history.

Computer science.

That didn't mean he'd been good at searching for and procuring new passports and other identification papers.

It didn't mean he hadn't been good at it, either.

Patrick had also been part of a fraternity. So what about Jack?

Hands unsteady, Phin worked his way back to the E s.

Jack Elliot was in the same undergraduate class as Patrick Napier. He'd also double majored—in accounting and computer science. He and Patrick may have shared classes.

But they'd definitely shared a home.

Jack had pledged to the same fraternity.

Phin had found it. The connection between the two men.

Shit. How do I tell Cora?

This is going to suck.

Phin heard a little whine. SodaPop had wedged herself against his side.

Because he was breathing too hard and too fast.

A soft hand covered his. "Phin?" Cora asked, her voice thin. Concerned and scared, all at once. "What's wrong?"

He shook himself, clearing his mind. "Patrick Napier graduated from LSU with his bachelor's degree the same year your father did."

Cora's mouth fell open, her face gone slack with shock. "What?" Then she shook her head in denial. "Lots of people went there, Phin. It doesn't mean anything. It was a big school. They might never have met."

Phin exhaled. "They were both computer science majors. And they were fraternity brothers."

Cora's face crumpled. "No. No. "

Phin handed her the yearbook open to Jack's page, his finger marking Patrick's.

Cora looked at both pages, then closed her eyes. "Patrick wasn't here when the letters started. He didn't live here then."

Phin hated to burst her bubble of hope. "Let's find a way to ask Tandy if he made visits to New Orleans in those days. Do you have anything he's handwritten?"

She shook her head, her misery palpable. "I don't think so. I can try to get something. I'll…" Her voice broke. "It can't be true. Patrick could not have killed my father. I just can't believe that."

She turned away, choking back a sob.

Phin set the yearbooks aside and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay to let go."

That seemed to have been all the permission she needed. Her sobs racked her body. It was gut-wrenching to listen to, to see her fall apart like this. Phin looked helplessly over her head at Burke.

Burke looked grim. "I'll go down and see what else Antoine's found." He rose, grimacing, then gripped Phin's shoulder. "You okay, Phin?"

Phin nodded. Then shook his head. Because he wasn't. Cora's sobs were breaking his heart. "No, but I will be."

So would Cora. He'd make sure of it.

The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 4:45 P.M.

Cora's head hurt. Her eyes were sore. Her heart ached.

She'd known heartbreak before. She'd sat by her mother's coffin, saying goodbye. And by her grandmother's. And by John Robert's.

But this?

This was different. This was betrayal, and it cut so deep that she could barely breathe.

Patrick knew my father.

He had to have known him. Had they just attended the same university, even at the same time, Cora could have brushed that off. She might have been able to brush off both being in the same major. But they'd pledged to the same fraternity, and fraternity brothers knew each other.

"How is this possible?" she whispered.

Phin's arms tightened around her as they sat on her attic floor, surrounded by boxes filled with her past. "I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't had to tell you."

She sighed, patting his chest. "You're trying to keep me safe. I understand that. And what you found is…incriminating on its face."

But not set in stone. Not yet. There were explanations.

There had to be explanations.

"We'll dig more," Phin murmured, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. "I promise."

"It's not your job, Phin," she said quietly. "I'm not going to add to this bad situation by asking you to take on more stress."

He stiffened, his arms going rigid, letting her know that she'd misstepped. But he didn't let her go. And when he spoke, it was with a tenderness that made her eyes burn again.

"I would take on a lot more stress to keep you safe," he said. "And, while I'm not at a hundred percent, I'm much better than I would have been even a few months ago." He pressed another kiss to her temple. "Let's worry about you, okay?"

She breathed him in. This man was a little bit broken, but he was putting himself back together in real time. And he needed to help her. She knew that as well as she knew that she needed to help him, too.

"What are we doing here, Phin?"

His arms loosened only enough for him to flatten one hand over her back, rubbing in slow circles. "I'm not sure. But I haven't felt for a long time. I didn't want to feel a single thing. Because then I'd feel everything."

She was quiet for a moment, considering his words. "Everything is overwhelming."

"Yes." There was relief in that one word. "It really is."

"And now? Do you want to feel?"

He chuckled and it was just wicked enough to make her smile, too. "I definitely want to feel, but I'm trying to be a gentleman."

She smacked his chest lightly, her cheeks on fire. "You know what I meant."

He brought her closer, tugging until she was curled up on his lap. "I know. And my answer is the same, without the dirty double meaning. I definitely want to feel. I've missed out on a lot. I'm tired of missing out. I keep sticking my toe back into the water, y'know? Testing to see if I can handle it."

"Can you?"

"Better than I could two years ago."

"What happened two years ago, Phin?"

"I met Stone. And then Delores, of course. I'd been just existing. Moving from one town to the next. Crashing wherever I could find a semisafe place to sleep. I was homeless sometimes." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "I know where the soup kitchens and food pantries are in a lot of Florida towns."

Her heart hurt even more to hear this. But this hurt was tinged with hope, because Phin wasn't that man anymore. At least not now. Hopefully not ever again.

"Do you think that makes me think less of you?"

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, the movement weary. "It should."

"It doesn't. Phin, you entered the military as an eighteen-year-old boy with depression. Clearly you saw some things that have taken up residence in your head. You worry that you're going to hurt someone, but, as far as I understand it, you only hit one guy in a bar after he started it and then shot you. You haven't hurt anyone. I'm not sure that you could."

"I wanted to kill that little bastard last night," he growled. "Trying to burn your house down."

That admission should not be hot. But it was. Swallowing that back, she patted his chest again. "But you didn't. You and Stone restrained him and held him for the cops."

She pulled back far enough to meet his gaze. She wanted to know why he was so worried that he'd hurt someone. She wanted to know what he'd seen that had so devastated his mind. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but this wasn't the right time. He'd tell her those parts of his story in his own time, or he wouldn't. "How did you meet Stone two years ago?"

The relief flashing in his eyes was unmistakable, and she was glad she hadn't asked the more difficult questions.

"Stone's brother Marcus is married to my sister, Scarlett."

"The cop."

"The homicide detective," he corrected, his pride too cute. "Stone's good at figuring things out."

"Not hard to believe. He has facial recognition software on his laptop and knows how to use it. You and Antoine said that he'd been an investigative journalist. I need to look up some of his work. I haven't had a free minute to do that."

"I'll send you some links. Or I'm sure Delores has all his articles on her phone."

Cora smiled. "I'm sure she does. I like her a lot. She bubbles joy and contentment."

"She does now. She went through a lot of therapy after she was nearly killed. Which was how she met Stone. He watched over her during her recovery."

Cora had to set aside her horror at hearing that Delores had nearly been killed. She didn't want to distract Phin. "I guess that's why he's so protective of her. He's protective of you, too."

"He is. He's a good guy, with a lot of his own demons. He gets through each day by helping someone else. One day, two years ago, it was me."

"I'm glad," she whispered.

Phin smiled at her, a gentle thing that lightened her heavy heart. "Me too. When he met Scarlett, she'd been looking for me. Unsuccessfully."

"Stone found you."

"He did. Someone at one of the VA facilities in Miami remembered seeing me come in for my meds."

"Meds? For depression?"

"Yeah. I'd tried so many since I'd gotten out of the army, but none worked. Finally, a Miami doc tried one that clicked. It was such a relief to be able to think . To plan my life out past an hour at a time."

"Phin," she whispered, new tears falling down her face. She knew he wouldn't want her crying for him, but she couldn't help it. "Sorry. I'm all over the place today. I know you're here now and you're better, but I hate the thought of you not having a safe place to sleep. And now I've made it all about me. I'm shutting up now."

He kissed her, just a brushing of lips. "You're fine, Cora Jane."

She opened her mouth to protest the middle name but stopped herself. She didn't mind it coming from him. It was almost an endearment. "So the meds helped?"

"They did. I was able to get some handyman jobs, usually working for a licensed contractor for cash. All under the table, but I was doing well enough to get my own apartment. It was in a seedy part of town, but it was mine and I had a place to come home to after work and just…be."

"And then?"

"And then one day I was coming home from a job and saw three people on the street outside my place. Scarlett and two men I didn't know."

"Stone and his brother."

"Yes. I was…scared. Humiliated. I didn't want them to see me there. Suddenly the place that was safe and mine was dirty and run-down and made me ashamed." He shrugged, his muscles gone rigid once again. "So I did what I always do. I ran."

"You weren't ready."

"I wasn't. I walked around all night. Snoozed in an alley where some of my old friends hung out. Mostly other vets. We kept each other safe back in the day. Before I could think past the next hour. I thought maybe they'd throw me out because I hadn't come back after getting my own place, but they welcomed me. Said they were happy that I'd gotten out, that I was getting my life back. Said that it was a process and that some of them got out, only to come back, then they would escape again for a little while."

"That's sad."

"I know. I thought the same thing as I sat there in that alley, back against a wall, trying to get a little sleep."

"So that's what you meant when you said you'd slept sitting against a wall before?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, that. Plus all the years in the army. You slept when you could, in any position you could."

"So you left the alley?"

"At sunup. Figured Scarlett and the two men I'd seen her with would be gone. I came home, went up the stairs, and there was Stone hanging out at my front door. Scared the shit out of me at first. He introduced himself. Said we were family now. Said he'd been where I was and he understood." Phin sighed. "Said that he wouldn't tell Scarlett that he'd talked to me. Said that I didn't have to be perfect to go home, I just had to be ready."

"Did you leave with him?"

"Not that day. He gave me his cell number. Told me to call any time of the day or night and he'd be there. I kept thinking about what he said. What my buddies in the alley said. I didn't want to cycle back into that alley. I wanted to go home. To my mom and dad and my sister and my brothers. I just wanted to go home, but I was too scared to do that."

Those words were said with such desolation that Cora needed to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.

His arms closed around her and they simply sat there. Together.

"I'm ready now," he finally murmured. "Ready for my family, ready to feel again. Because I've finally accepted that I'm not perfect and never will be. I'm just me."

"I like you."

She felt him smile against her cheek. "I like you, too. I'm not a good bet for you, Cora Jane. But I like you and I'd like to be a good bet for someone like you."

Her heart stuttered at the raw honesty in his voice. "Just someone like me?" she teased breathlessly. "Or me?"

He tipped her chin up and kissed her, long and hard and full of all the things they both seemed to be wanting. When he released her, his chest was rising and falling rapidly and his eyes were heated.

Yes, they were both wanting.

"You," he said gruffly, then cleared his throat. "You asked what we're doing and I gave you a long-assed answer. I want to be a good bet for you. I want you to feel safe. I want you to feel happy. I want you to just… feel . And I want you to feel all that with me."

"I'd like that. All of that." She rested her head on his shoulder, content in that moment. She wasn't thinking about intruders or erasers. Or Minnies or Alices or Patricks. She was taking a break and thinking about herself. And Phin. "Have you considered working with vets like yourself?"

"All the time. And then something happens, I get triggered, my anxiety ramps up, and I spiral. My therapist says I'm too hard on myself."

"She might have a point," Cora said dryly.

"She'd like you," Phin returned, equally dryly. He was quiet for a few heartbeats and she could almost hear him considering his words. "I sometimes think about going back to that alley. Asking some of the guys if they want to come live with me here in New Orleans. Work with me. They have skills, but they can't get a foothold in the real world. Getting a job's hard when you're homeless or when you're not sure if you can commit to an everyday responsibility. Knowing they'll get fired the first time they have to take time off to decompress keeps a lot of them from even looking. So they just stay where they are, and the days turn to years."

"Have you told this to Stone?"

"Not yet. He'd help me figure something out. He's good with jumping in to solve everyone's problems. He seems ornery and obnoxious, but he's got a soft heart under all the barbs and thorns."

"Delores loves him. She seems like she'd know what's what."

Cora wanted Phin to have someone like Delores. Someone who'd be there for him when he spiraled. Someone to help him surface and start again.

In time, Cora thought that someone could even be herself. In time.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "You shared a lot of personal stuff with me that you didn't have to share. I'm glad you did. It let me know you a little better and it took my mind off the elephant in the room."

"Patrick."

She closed her eyes, leaning into Phin. Taking a little of the strength he so unselfishly offered. "Yes. I need to talk to Tandy."

"Yes, you do."

"Burke thinks it's a bad idea. Do you?"

"I think it's going to hurt you and I don't want you hurt. But sometimes what needs doing isn't pleasant."

He was right once again. "I'm so tired, Phin."

"I know," he murmured. "One thing I have learned is that sleep is pretty miraculous. It will clear your head."

"Tandy will be here in a few hours. Maybe less."

"You have time for a nap."

Cora hesitated, feeling like a child. "Will you stay with me until I go to sleep?"

"Of course." He kissed her forehead. "I don't know how I can help you other than fixing your faucets and helping you sleep."

She laughed, surprised at the sound. "Are those euphemisms, Phin?"

He choked on a laugh of his own. "No." He stroked his hand over her hair, his tone going low and wicked. "Although they can be, when you're ready."

A shiver raced all over her skin and Cora thought she could be ready for that very soon. Her body, gone dormant for so long, was finally waking up. "It's been a while for me."

"Me too," he admitted. "Part of the whole not-feeling thing."

"Same. My last relationship was when I was just out of college. Then John Robert got sick and my life was wound around him. Treatment and care and looking for my father." Who'd been lying dead under a building all this time.

Time. I wasted so much of it. She couldn't waste any more. She wouldn't waste any more. It felt like a vow. It felt good.

She shrugged, remembering that last relationship. "The guy said buh-bye, that I wasn't fun any longer." It had hurt at the time but not enough for her to fight for the man. She thought she would've fought for Phin.

Phin made a growling sound in his throat. "Part of me wants to throat-punch him. The other part of me wants to send him a thank-you card."

"Is it wrong that the thought of you throat-punching him pleases me?"

"It's why I like you," he said, sounding satisfied. "Now, as much as I'd like to keep holding you, you need to take that nap."

Because Tandy was coming, and there would be a hard reckoning, one way or another. Tandy was no fool. The questions Cora would ask would infuriate her friend either way.

And if Phin was right? If Patrick was involved?

Cora hoped that she and Tandy could survive the fallout.

She rose and held a hand out to Phin. "Let's go. Can you bring the box of my father's college stuff with you? Just in case someone comes in and tries to torch my attic again."

Phin grabbed the box, lifting it easily. And if his muscles flexed a little more than they should because he was preening for her, she'd just be grateful.

Phin Bishop was a beautiful man, inside and out.

"You're a good person, Phin. Don't let your brain tell you otherwise."

He kissed her hard. "Same, Cora Jane. You are a good person and I'll remind you of that after you talk with Tandy, all right?"

"All right."