Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Allison

Pizza with Jackson turned out to be exactly what I’d needed. I had debated canceling all afternoon, torn between wanting to hang out with him and knowing it was a bad idea. I was attracted to him, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew getting involved romantically was a terrible idea. If I wanted any chance of staying here permanently, I needed to establish trust with my patients. A failed relationship with the town hero would ruin any chance of that.

So I had picked up my phone to cancel three times but couldn’t bring myself to send the message. He had said it wasn’t a date, and it was possible I had imagined the challenge in his eyes.

Once we got any potential awkwardness out of the way by putting it all on the table and agreeing to keep things platonic, any last concerns about spending time with him faded. We had reminisced all night about some of the best memories of my childhood—things I would never dream of doing now, like when we bribed a teenager into driving us up the mountain so we could sneak onto Old Man Murphy’s property. There had been a rumor that if you made it into his barn at midnight on the night of a full moon, you’d see him turn into a werewolf. He hadn’t—in fact, his fully human self had chased us out of his barn with a pitchfork, yelling about how he’d take the law into his own hands if we rascals didn’t stop harassing him. As adults, we knew we had been one hundred percent in the wrong for that one. But back then, it had been a bigger thrill than any rollercoaster or theme park the rich kids had ever experienced.

I was giggling so hard I snorted my drink up my nose before we finally let the conversation wind down so we could say goodnight.

“Come on,” Jackson said, pulling out some cash and tossing it onto the table as a tip for the teenager who was staring at us from the kitchen doorway, obviously willing us to leave. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Such a gentleman,” I said, teasing him as I grabbed my purse.

“That’s how we do it in Tennessee, ma’am.” He deliberately thickened his Southern accent and tipped a pretend hat toward me.

I laughed, but this time it was half-hearted. “Not every man in Tennessee is a gentleman.”

His eyes narrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged it off. “Long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he said, falling into step beside me as we walked through the restaurant toward the exit.

“Yes, but I don’t have the emotional energy to tell it. Not tonight. Tonight has been pure fun, and I needed that.”

“I did too.”

I looked up and saw he was looking at me fondly, almost the way a big brother would look at a little sister. But my reaction to his platonic affection wasn’t the relief I’d expected. A wave of regret rolled through me before I squashed it down. We had a pact, and it was better this way. Fewer complications.

Besides, this friendship was a balm for my wounded soul, and I wanted to protect it.

He pushed the door open to the dark parking lot.

“Wow,” I commented, “I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.”

He chuckled. “No wonder they were ready for us to leave.”

“I’m parked over there,” I said, pointing to my car before realizing how silly it was. There were only three vehicles left in the lot—mine, a white truck that was obviously his, and an older, beat-up car that could only belong to the girl serving us. Jackson was a detective; he would have instantly realized which car was mine.

He didn’t comment on it though, just motioned for me to lead the way. But then his steps faltered, and I felt him tense beside me.

“What is it?”

He paused for a moment, then continued. “Nothing,” he said. “Just thought I caught a glimpse of movement. Probably a stray dog or something.”

“Probably,” I agreed. But a quick glance at his face told me he wasn’t entirely convinced. The relaxed Jackson had disappeared, and something oddly familiar was etched into his features. There was tension there, and irritation. Worry. It was a look I remembered well.

“Everything okay?”

He glanced down at me and relaxed his face, though it appeared to be a deliberate effort. “Yeah,” he said. “Long story.”

“I’ve got time,” I said, repeating the phrase he had used on me.

“Another night. Tonight was fun. Next time, we’ll pour out all our sorrows to each other.” He reached to open my door and instantly frowned when it opened for him. “Allison, you should lock your car.”

“I thought I had,” I said, confused. “It’s such an automatic thing, I can’t imagine I forgot it. Maybe I’m already slipping back into old habits now that I’m out of the crime capital of the United States.”

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a flashlight, leaning into my car to check the backseat.

“That serious, huh?” I asked, feeling my eyebrows knit in concern.

“Crime happens here too,” he said, pulling out of the car and turning back to me. His face was different again—this time, a mixture of worry and sorrow.

It hit me that he was speaking from experience and it affected him in ways he didn’t ordinarily show. “I guess you’ve seen the worst of it,” I said, my voice soft, “with what you do.”

He nodded. “We may not be Memphis, but don’t let your guard down, Allison. People get hurt here too. Did you lock up your house today?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding.

“Good.” He hesitated, then reached out and gave me a quick hug, letting go before I even had a chance to return it. He looked down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “I’m really glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” I said, recognizing the words to be deeply true. I hadn’t thought of Jackson in years before moving back here, but it was true just the same. Reconnecting with him was filling up a piece of me that I hadn’t realized was missing.

“See you soon,” he said, standing back so I could get inside the car. He closed the door gently, then stood watching as I backed out, still glancing to his right every so often in search of the shadow that had changed him.

The familiar flutter of nerves about pulling up to an empty house hit the moment I turned my car into the long driveway. Jackson’s words echoed in my mind. But there was nothing to get worked up over. I had locked up before leaving home, and I’d remembered to leave lights on both inside and out. And really, despite Jackson’s concern, the odds of anything happening here had to be something like one in a million.

Crime happened everywhere, yes, but it was almost never random. It was personal. While I wasn’t exactly beloved in town yet, my only real enemy was Beverly, and it wasn’t as if she was the kind of person to murder me in my own home. She was content with barbed words and mild sabotage at the clinic, making me miserable in hopes I would leave.

So I told myself nerves were silly, grabbed my bag, and headed into the door with false confidence—only ducking once when the bat swooped overhead again.

I let myself into the house, which was already starting to feel like home. It hadn’t taken long to discover the pleasure of living alone. The place was as tidy as I had left it, without Jen’s dirty laundry strewn across the living room. There was no annoying music blasting, no soap operas streaming on the TV. It was blissfully quiet and peaceful—until my cell phone buzzed.

Mike. I stared at the name on my caller ID, shaking my head. I had said we could try to be friends, but honestly? I wanted space. He needed to respect that.

I ignored the call, locked the door behind me, and dropped my bag on the entryway table. All I wanted now was a long soak in a hot bath. I went upstairs and started running the water, filling the garden tub with a ridiculous amount of bath salts. Then I went to my room to grab a set of clean pajamas.

Once I’d lowered myself into the bath, I laid my head back, closed my eyes, and felt a smile form on my face. This was heaven. A quiet house, a nice bath. Even better, this sweet relaxation was following an evening with Jackson that had filled my soul with goodness.

Jackson.

The thought of him and his sweet smile conjured images of him being across from me in this very bath, lazily stroking a hand up my leg, and leaning forward for a kiss…

My eyes popped open and I sat up straight. That was out of line for a platonic friendship. But it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Seeing him had been comforting and pleasant, and my mind had simply associated those feelings with the comfort of the bath. It meant nothing, and it wouldn’t happen again.

In the middle of my internal lecture, I heard a noise that caught my attention. I held my breath, listening. It almost sounded like scratching noises, like…like something—or someone—was scratching at my door.

Images of all the horror movies Mike had forced me to watch flooded my mind.

The noise stopped, and I breathed again, lying back in the tub. It was probably a branch. Was it windy? Not that I remembered. But it could have been a stray cat or something. Or even my imagination. Perhaps my brain was inventing a distraction from the uncomfortable lecture I was giving myself about Jackson. That was entirely possible.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, attempting to sink back into a zen state. But as I did, I heard the noise again.

I sat back up, my heart pounding. This wasn’t going to work. As silly as it might be, I couldn’t relax until I knew for sure what was causing that noise. Once I figured out what was responsible for it, I could get back into the bath and ignore it. But until then, I would just keep spooking myself.

I reluctantly left behind the warmth of the tub, quickly drying off with a towel before slipping into my fluffy pink robe. I padded barefoot into my room to check those windows first. The trees grew close around the back of the house, and a tree branch scratching the window was the solution I was hoping to find.

Even if logic suggested I would have heard the noises the night before if that were the case.

Still, I methodically checked all the upstairs windows, feeling a pang of disappointment when I realized they were all clear. The trees grew close, yes, but not that close. There weren’t any branches within a foot of any of the windows.

I slipped my cell phone into the pocket of my robe before heading downstairs. I didn’t hear the noise anymore, and I hoped that meant it was an animal that had been scared away. A stray cat would make sense. Maybe a previous tenant here had even fed one, invited it in sometimes, and it was just looking for its next meal. There were raccoons in the area too, and there could be one looking for food—or even a squirrel trying to make a home somewhere.

I looked out all the windows and saw nothing. There was really nothing left to check except the two doors, but the idea of opening them felt like a mistake. Unless it really was a stray cat, in which case I felt terrible about the idea of it being alone and hungry. I stood in the hallway, paralyzed with indecision, waiting to hear the noises again. They never came.

Finally, I gave up. It had likely been an animal, but whatever it was was long gone. I should have stayed in the bath like a reasonable adult. Now, the moment had passed, and I might as well just turn on a TV show—for entertainment, I lied to myself, despite knowing I would simply feel safer with some background noise.