Chapter 7: Micah

Robyn seems genuinely shaken by the news there was a tracker on her car. She honestly didn’t know.

“Let’s start with, Who put the tracker on your car?” I ask.

She meets my gaze, then looks away. “I’m not sure. It was either my roommate, Ricky, or the people he’s working for. I honestly don’t think it was Ricky’s idea. He’s not that tech savvy. If he put it on my car, he was just following orders.”

“People he’s working for? Who?”

“Drug dealers.”

“You need to tell me what’s going on, Robyn. Are you in danger?” I can tell from the flash of panic in her eyes the answer is yes.

“Last night, when my car broke down, I had just left my home in Denver. I guess you could say I ran away.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “I share—shared—an apartment with a long-time friend, Ricky. He’s actually more like a brother to me. We grew up together in foster care. When we aged out of the system at the same time, we decided to stick together. He’s an orphan, like me, and it just made sense. We lived in a group home for young adults for a while, until we’d saved up enough money to get an apartment together. Between the two of us, we were working four jobs just to stay afloat.”

She stands and starts pacing, obviously too agitated to stay in one place. “Lately, I’d begun to suspect that Ricky was doing drugs. He’d started acting strange, erratic, and I recognized the signs.” She pauses to face me. “I don’t touch the stuff.”

I keep quiet, letting her tell her story in her own time.

“Both my parents were drug addicts, so I’m familiar with the signs. My mom OD’d after taking cocaine tainted with fentanyl when I was 10, and my father went to prison for dealing. He’s the one who gave her the cocaine, although I believe him when he said he didn’t know it was tainted. He loved her. He never would have hurt her intentionally.”

She’s quiet for a moment as a profound sadness descends on her, nearly transforming her right in front of me. The light is gone from her eyes. In its place are sorrow and pain. So much pain.

“You didn’t have any other family to take you in?” I ask.

“No one. I became a ward of the state and ended up in foster care.” Her eyes tear up, but she wipes them as if she’s embarrassed to show emotion. “I found out last night that not only is Ricky using drugs, but he started working for a local dealer a couple of weeks ago. The guy’s name is Verne. That’s all I know. I’ve never even met him, but he knows about me thanks to Ricky. Ricky promised Verne I would deliver a shipment of meth to Seattle. Of course I never agreed to any such thing. I don’t want anything to do with drugs. They’re the reason my family was destroyed.”

“Ricky started panicking when I refused to act as a drug mule. He’d already promised Verne I would. I think Ricky was afraid of what Verne would do when he found out I wanted no part in it.”

“So I ran. I grabbed my backpack and a few belongings, and I hit the road. I was planning to go south to Arizona. Someplace far away from Denver, where I could start over. Obviously, I didn’t get very far.”

“And now they know where you are. Do you think they’ll come after you?”

Robyn shrugs. “I guess it depends on how angry Verne is. Ricky said the guy wouldn’t take no for an answer.” She swallows hard. “I think the real problem is that Ricky told me everything—their plans, the quantity to be delivered, even the destination in Seattle.”

“And the dealer may decide you know too much.”

She nods. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Robyn, we need to assume the worst—that they might come after you. I need to let Chris know. He and his deputies can be on the lookout for unfamiliar vehicles in the area. Have you spoken to Ricky since you’ve been here?”

“Not directly, no. He’s been texting me, each message more irate than the one before, demanding that I come back to Denver.”

“Is he threatening you?”

When her gaze meets mine, I can tell the answer is yes. She doesn’t even need to say it. “He’s not himself lately,” she says. “He’s under a lot of pressure, I think, and he’s under the influence of drugs. Probably meth.”

“Then he’s dangerous.”

She nods. “If I’m going to stay here in your cabin, I’ll need my backpack. It’s in your office.”

“Wait here. I’ll go grab it.”

I run across the yard to the shop, grab her backpack, and return to the cabin. “Try to relax,” I tell her. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. The bathroom’s in there.”

“Hand me your keychain,” I say, holding out my palm.

She drops her keys in my hand, and I grab a spare key from a kitchen drawer and slip it onto her ring. “Now you can come and go as you like.”

I head back to the shop so I can make some phone calls. I shut myself up in my office and call Chris first to let him know about the tracker on Robyn’s car. He promises to keep an eye on the shop. And he’ll put his deputies on alert.

Next I call Jack and give him the lowdown. Jack has certain skills that would come in handy if these people do show up in Bryce. Plus, he’ll pass the information on to Ruth. The more people who are vigilant, the better.

It’s only four in the afternoon, so I figure I should put in some more work before I call it a day. Thank goodness the next job in the queue is an easy one—an oil change—because I’m distracted.

Robyn’s possibly in danger.

At least she’s agreed to sleep in my cabin. I can protect her better there. Even if someone tracked her car to the shop, they won’t know about the cabin in back. It’s not even visible from the road. They’d actually have to be snooping around to spot it.

She’s spending the night in my cabin— in my bed —and I can’t get the thought out of my mind. Not with me , of course. I’ll be on the sofa. But I keep picturing her in my bed, her head on my pillow, my sheet and covers keeping her warm.

I can’t get the image out of my head.

“Earth to Micah!” Pete yells.

Shaking free of my thoughts, I shift my attention to him. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked, where’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s hanging out in my cabin at the moment. And she’s not my girlfriend.”

“No?” He smirks. “Then you won’t mind if I ask her out?”

I can hear Tony snickering across the garage.

“Yes, I mind,” I say. “She’s got enough to worry about without you hitting on her. She’s off limits.”

“Then what’s she doing in your cabin?” Pete asks.

“I told her about the tracking device, and I asked her to sleep in the cabin. She’ll be safer there, and I can better protect her. You guys need to watch for anyone suspicious. If you see unfamiliar vehicles, or people, hanging around the shop, let me know. And if I’m not here, call the sheriff’s office.”

Pete wipes his hands on a rag. “You really think someone’s looking for her?”

“It’s possible. We can’t take any chances. Be vigilant.”

Around six, after everyone has gone home, I lock up the shop and turn on the alarm. If someone comes here and sticks his nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll know about it.

The sun is setting when I walk back to the cabin. I knock first, so I don’t scare her. “Robyn? It’s me.” And then I open the door and step inside.

She’s lying on the sofa, a mini iPad in her hands. It looks like she’s reading. Flustered, she sits up and swings her feet to the floor. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she’s wearing a pair of gray sweats, an oversized white sweatshirt, and a pair of pink fuzzy socks. She looks… comfortable.

“It’s okay,” I say, ignoring the way my pulse has picked up at the sight of her. “Make yourself at home. I want you to feel comfortable.”

She grins, and I could swear she’s blushing.

“What are you reading?” I ask.

She closes the case on her iPad. “A novel.”

“What genre?”

She smiles. “It’s a rom-com about two physicists falling in love.”

“Physicists, huh? Sounds scintillating.”

“Actually, it’s really good.” She sets her iPad on the end table. “So, what’s up?”

“Can I interest you in a burger and some sweet potato fries for dinner?”

She glances down at her attire. “I’m not really dressed to go out. Besides, I already took off my bra. I’m not putting it back on for anything.” She grins.

Oh, my God . She had to mention her bra, which of course makes me think of her breasts. My pulse races as I nod toward the kitchen. “Actually, I’m planning on cooking. I just wondered if burgers and fries sound good to you.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink. “You cook?”

“Yeah. My grandma made sure I learned how to fend for myself in a kitchen.”

“I’d offer to help, but I know absolutely nothing about cooking. I can make macaroni and cheese from a box or a grilled cheese sandwich, but that’s about it.”

“You can help, if you want. I’ll teach you.”

She crosses the room in her fuzzy pink socks.

I look away, afraid I’ll see evidence of the fact she’s not wearing a bra. But on second glance, I think I’m safe. Her sweatshirt is baggy enough to camouflage her body.

I turn away so she doesn’t see my smiling. “So, how are you with a knife?” When she sidles up next to me, I gesture to two large sweet potatoes lying on the kitchen counter. I turn on the oven to preheat. “How about washing those, then slicing them into fries?”

She grins. “I think I can manage that.”

Standing this close to her, I notice little flecks of gold in her irises. Her lashes are long.

While she washes the potatoes, I grab a cast iron skillet and set it on the stove. I skirt around her to the fridge so I can grab a pound of ground beef.

A strong wind lashes the tree outside the kitchen window, its branches striking the glass. Robyn flinches at the noise, and for a second, I see a flash of panic in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” I say as I peer outside. It’s just the wind. “It looks like we might have some rough weather tonight.”

She busies herself with a knife and cutting board as she cuts up the potatoes. “Do you mind if I put on some music?” she asks.

“Go right ahead.” I’m curious to find out her taste in music.

She brings her phone over and opens Spotify.

“I have a Bluetooth speaker you can use,” I tell her, nodding to the speaker on the counter.

She pairs her phone with the speaker, and a moment later, I hear the voice of Elton John in my kitchen.

“Elton John, huh?” I ask as I make the burger patties. “He’s a bit before your time, isn’t he? Actually, he’s before mine, too, but my sister’s quite a bit older than I am. Thanks to her, I was exposed to a variety of music growing up.”

“My parents played his music a lot when I was a kid.” She frowns, and suddenly the sadness is back.

I step closer and gently nudge her shoulder. “I’m sorry if I brought up painful memories.”

“It’s okay.” She makes an effort to smile. “I want to be able to talk about them, think about them. Hearing their favorite music is bittersweet. It makes me feel closer to them.”

Robyn pops the sweet potato fries into the oven, and I cook the burgers. When the food’s done, we eat at the kitchen table, serenaded by the soulful sounds of Karen Carpenter singing about love.

The sadness is back in Robyn’s eyes. “I remember how much they loved each other,” she says as she picks up a fry. “They danced a lot in the kitchen. They’d include me, and the three of us would dance together. They were so much fun to be around. I think it destroyed my dad when my mom died. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself.”

I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

We sit in silence for a while, eating our meals. Something occurs to me. “Robyn?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever shot a gun before? A handgun?”

“No.”

“How about a lesson?”

“No, thanks. I’d rather not.”

“I keep a small arsenal here in my cabin, in a locked cabinet in my closet. I’d like to teach you to shoot.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You need to be able to defend yourself in an emergency. I won’t be with you every second of every day. I need to know you can protect yourself. Maybe we could start tomorrow.” When she doesn’t reply, I say, “Robyn?”

“I heard you.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“It sounds like I don’t have a choice.” She stands, picks up her empty plate, and carries it to the sink. “No dishwasher?”

“No, sorry.”

She shrugs. “No problem.” She starts filling the sink with water. “You cooked. I’ll wash.”

I carry the rest of our dishes to the sink. “And I’ll dry.”

After we’re done cleaning up after dinner, Robyn ropes me into watching an episode of Bridgerton on Netflix. She tries to catch me up to speed on season three but there’s a lot of ground to cover. Basically, it’s about a single mothers trying to get their grown kids married off. It’s cool how the cast is color blind. That was unexpected.

After watching two episodes, Robyn’s yawning and having trouble keeping her eyes open.

“I think it’s time for bed,” I say. She must be exhausted after the past twenty-four hours she’s had.

She stands. “I call dibs on the bathroom.”

I laugh. “Not a problem. It’s all yours.”

She’s in the bathroom for a few minutes, and I hear the water running in the sink. The door opens, and she pops her head out, her face flushed and damp. “Um, do you have something I could sleep in? In my rush to leave home, I forgot to grab pajamas. Last night I slept in my clothes, but I didn’t bring enough with me to keep doing that.”

“I’m sure I can find something.” I cross the room and walk into my closet, digging through my clothes. I sleep in my underwear, so I don’t have a lot in the way of pajamas. I try to find something that’ll be comfortable for her. I end up grabbing a pair of plaid flannel bottoms and a long-sleeve T-Shirt.

“Here you go,” I say as I hand her the garments. “You’ll have to roll up the pant legs and the sleeves, but at least you’ll be warm and comfortable.”

“Thanks.” She takes them from me and closes the bathroom door.

I grab a pillow, sheet, and a blanket from the closet and make up the sofa for her. I know from personal experience that the sofa is plenty comfortable.

A few minutes later, she walks out and— oh, man. She looks… wow. I had no idea my clothes would look so good on her.

“Thanks. These will work great.”

She heads for the sofa. “You made up the sofa. Thanks.”

“Why don’t you take the bed?” I ask.

“That’s okay,” she says as she sits down. “I’m comfortable right here.”

“I don’t feel right sleeping on the bed when you’re roughing it.”

When she shakes her head, I can see her resolve is unshakable. “Nope. I’m not kicking you out of your bed. It’s either this, or—”

“Okay, fine,” I say before she threatens to sleep in my office. “We’ll do it your way.”