Things That Go Creak in the Night

Danny’s eyes sprang open, and his heart raced. What woke him? He blinked hard, eyes darting around the moonlit guest room, over his weightlifting bench and dumbbells, an antique armoire and upholstered chair, and stopped on a pair of thick, wool socks. He slowly traced up the length of long, bare, ghost-white legs and froze on gorgeous, sculpted thighs.

“Are you awake?”

He startled. The gorgeous legs belonged to Claire. The woman standing before him without pants, wearing only his t-shirt, again. He bolted upright. “Everything okay?”

“I heard a sound outside my window and young boys’ voices. I think they’re trying to break in here.”

He threw off the covers, forgetting his own barely dressed state of fitted boxer briefs, and yanked on a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He did a double take when Claire cupped her cheeks, smiling a little. “How many were there? Did you see them? How old?”

“Two, maybe three. I’m not sure how old.”

He ran fingers through his hair and wriggled it hard, making his thick strands stick up in wild sprouts. He passed by her with a wink. “Wanna have some fun?”

“With what?” She followed his fast steps down the stairs.

“I failed my last Viking scare,” he whispered while turning off the alarm. “A Solsken tradition. Now I have some making up to do. Can you sound scary?”

“I can sound witchy.”

“Perfect. May I?” He reached up to her half intact hair bun and carefully removed the band. Tucking his fingers into her hair with a much gentler tousle—damn, it’s so soft—he made it bush out on the sides and grinned. “Here, grab this hand axe, it isn’t sharpened, and I get this.” With a glint in his eye, he yanked a broadsword off the wall, half the length of his body.

“Why are we scaring them?” she asked as they reached the door.

He looked back with a maniacal smirk. “Because all Solsken boys need a good scare to stay out of trouble. Ready? Follow my lead.”

Inching the lock open, he listened to their whispers, “I’m telling you, he was just as scared to see me as I was him. He’s lost his power, dude.”

“Yeah, he’s washed up,” said a different voice.

“What’s that above the door?” another said.

“Focus,” the first one hissed. “Remember, we’re going for whisky. Only one bottle. Don’t be greedy.”

Danny smiled widely and threw open the door. “Vad g?r du?”

Three pre-teen boys screamed and stumbled down the steps, one of them rolling all the way as Danny stomped forward.

His bare chest heaved a low growling breath. “I said, what are you doing?”

“What is it, my dear? Little children?” Claire cackled. “Oh, do let them come in. I’m hungry.” Placing a hand on his back, she peeked around him. “How about that one?” She swung out the axe, and the boy shrieked.

Danny’s scowl nearly cracked. She was perfect. All that was missing was the long nose and hairy wart. “Nej, they need a good stabbing first.” He raised his sword over his head and roared, “Kom hit.” The sword crashed down between one of the boys’ legs.

He screamed for his mother and skid-ran to the gate, followed closely by the other two. Claire continued to cackle as Danny chased them, yelling more threats in Swedish.

Weakened with laughter, Claire plopped on a step and yanked the wide shirt over her cold knees.

Danny strode back toward her, grinning. “You’ve been initiated into the Viking scare, my lady.”

Tears dribbled over her cheeks as she gasped for breath. “I feel awful, but I can’t stop laughing. Poor things were so scared.”

He sat next to her, grin still plastered on his face. “You should see some of the ones Ian and I do together. He gets this crazy-ass, wild-man look in his eye and shrieks like a banshee. The kids really think he’s going to kill them.” He lifted his dull blade and kissed it. “Thanks, Princess.”

“Princess, huh?”

“Nobody messes with Princess.”

She broke into another laugh and tried to smother it. He chuckled and took her by the elbow, helping her stand. “Come along, Witchy. Let’s get you back inside before you freeze.” Hand still on her arm, he reached for the knob.

A wind gusted and blew open the gate with a crack. It whip-whirled up the walkway and blasted into them.

Claire gasped.

“Guess I didn’t latch the gate right. Let me—Claire? What’s wrong?”

Color bled away from her face and her whole body shook. “He’s here.”

“Who’s—” A deep, vibrating rumble rode on the wind, growing louder. Danny jumped when Claire’s icy grip clutched his arm, and she pointed to the underside of the overhang above them.

Dripping glowing letters scrawled, You’ll never be rid of me.

The rumbling wind smacked into him again, and Danny whipped back around. “Get inside, now.” He shoved open the door and lifted her because she didn’t move, throwing his entire weight against the door, and slammed it. He bolted the lock and set the alarm. “Go upstairs.”

“H-He came for me here.”

“Upstairs, please.” He tried and failed not to yell and took hold of her arm, leading her away from the door to the stairs. “Go. I’ll meet you up there.”

She latched a hand around his wrist. “Don’t leave me.”

“I need to find out who painted that and whatever that noise was. Until I do, I want you upstairs.”

The same drawn-out, gaunt expression from the night before washed over her features, and an uncontrollable surge of fear took hold of him. “Look at me.” He clutched her face. “It’s going to be okay. You said he’s here? Did you see him?”

She slowly shook her head.

“You’re safe, Claire. You hear me?” Danny gripped her hand and led her to his office and around his desk. He yanked out the top drawer and lifted a 9mm Glock, chambering a round.

The sound snapped her back into awareness. “A gun?”

“The only time Solsken gets any real trouble is when mainlander shits cross our bridge. Come. We’re going upstairs.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“I won’t leave you.” He led her out of the office, keeping himself between her and the door, listening for any more sounds. Upstairs, he led her into her room and locked the door. Pulling out his phone, he made his way to the window and peeked out. The gate no longer swung on its rusty hinges and as far as he could tell, the wind noise died.

“Yeah, this is Danny Larsson. Is Officer Murphy in? No, it’s in regard to his case, and he told us to contact him directly if anything else happened. Okay, thanks. I’ll try him there.” He hung up, dialing another number, and glanced back.

Claire sat in the center of the bed inside her pillow fortress, rocking. Her knees hugged tightly to her chest, face buried between them. She looked utterly abandoned.

“Hey, look at me.” He dropped the curtain and crawled inside her pillows, lifting her chin. “You’re going to be okay.”

Tears rolled down, and she kept rocking. Shivering.

“No, please don’t cry. Come here.” He wrapped around her, pulling her tightly curled body in and began rubbing small circles on her back. “He’s not going to get you in here. Okay?”

She didn’t answer, but slowly turned, tucking her face into his chest, and he squeezed her.

“This is Tom,” a groggy voice answered.

“It’s Danny. I’m sorry to wake you, but we had another incident with Claire’s case—yeah, here at Flygande. Bastard painted a message over my door. Then some weird wind blew directly at the building instead of across it like it should and ... ” He hesitated, looking down at the top of her head before adding, “I’m fairly certain I heard a voice calling her name.”

Danny poured fresh coffee for Tom and refilled Claire’s tea. She sat silently, wrapped in a heavy blanket at the table with an empty look on her face.

“There were definite signs of disturbance on the ground in front of your place.” Tom looked between them. “Some rocks were dug up and moved so they could get a clear angle to the building. Probably thought no one would notice a few upturned rocks, but rocks don’t just move here. There were also heavy indents in the dirt, so I’m guessing it was some sort of fan or wind machine.” He took a large gulp of coffee. “I also interviewed the boys, but none of them saw anyone. Too busy running from some witch and a Viking with a sword.”

Danny couldn’t even laugh at that. “What about the painted message?”

“No fingerprints, but we’re working on matching the paint.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We haven’t been able to figure out how he speaks like a ghost yet,” Tom continued, sipping from his mug. “But we managed to find a footprint in the dirt. I made some calls to the county Sheriff’s office on the mainland and they’re sending a few deputies to help us patrol the area. This way we’ll be able to monitor all abandoned roads like Sven’s.”

Danny, unable to stay seated, hopped up to top-off Tom’s coffee.

“Hopefully, with this joint effort, we’ll get him if he shows up again. Ms. Cooke?”

Claire slowly lifted her unfocused eyes, and Tom smiled kindly. “Good news about the footprint is I can assure you whoever is doing this is a physical person. Which means we can catch him.

“I also wanted to tell you that the lab test results came back. It was in fact pig’s blood on your bathroom wall, and it matched the container we found, though still no fingerprints. But with this footprint of a man’s boot,” he pointed to a photo on the table, “it shows he’s getting cocky, and cocky means he’ll mess up. And when he does, we’ll be ready.” He took one last swig from his mug and faced Danny. “We’ll be stationing someone nearby at night.”

Danny nodded. “I’ll be keeping my pistol on me, so let them know that they should send me a message before wandering my property.”

“You got it.” Tom stood, looking down at Claire’s blank expression. “We don’t take threats lightly on Solsken, or we never would’ve survived this long on our own, Ms. Cooke.”

She shivered at her name and seemed to finally hear him, making eye contact. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve brought so much trouble to your island.”

“Nonsense.” He smiled. “We need a real case now and again to keep us on our toes. Goodnight, or good morning, rather. I’ll be in touch.”

Danny led him down the stairs to reset the alarm, wishing he’d sprung the extra cash for outdoor cameras.

“I almost forgot.” Tom turned at the door. “Let Ms. Cooke know that we’re still trying to track down Kenneth Greene. The address to the motel was a dead end. But he does, in fact, have a record.” He toyed with his mustache with a hint of a smile. “Apparently, he tried to start a bingo business for retirement communities but rigged all the numbers to go in his favor. Thought no one would notice.”

Danny puffed a small laugh. “They’re elderly, not stupid.”

“Which makes it hard to believe he’d be smart enough to orchestrate all of what’s been going on here without getting caught.” He paused before saying, “I’ll be honest, Danny, this feels personal. She hasn’t mentioned anyone else this could be?”

“No.” He ran a hand over his tired face. “What about Trevor?”

“Trevor’s been active on social media and posted recent pictures of him and,” Tom cleared his throat, “lots of women being very attentive to some bruises on his face. Apparently, it was a party for his father’s official takeover of Gregory Cooke’s East Coast businesses. After looking into it, we discovered the deal went through sooner than Ms. Cooke had scheduled, so there really isn’t a motive other than his pride. If he’s still mad about it, he could be working with an accomplice, so I’m not ruling that out completely.” He sighed. “Try to reassure her we’re doing all we can.”

“I will, and thanks.”

Tom opened the door with a backward glance. “Snow can’t come fast enough.”

Danny grunted his agreement. No one but Solsken residents looked forward to being cut off from the rest of the world during winter.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he got back upstairs. But a fully clothed, hair-fixed, no-blanket Claire with a notebook, wasn’t it.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m making a list.”

Curious, he sat next to her and grabbed his mug of tea. She spun the notebook for him to read and pointed to the top.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“The company that owns the cottage. I think it’s time I put my Madelynn Cooke pants on and call them with a threat to sue. I should’ve done it sooner but ... well, the reason seems silly now.”

“Wanting to prove to everyone that you could make it on your own isn’t silly, Claire.” He pointed to the next item on the list. “Carpenters?”

“After they sell me this scam of a cottage, below market price for my inconvenience, I’m going to fix it up the way it should be.” She gave him a wary glance. “Or do you think that’s a silly idea?”

He pressed his tongue into his cheek, looking over the rest of the list:

-Visit Gerty and walk Gunner

-Learn to cook more than mac and cheese

He paused on the last one.

-STOP BEING AFRAID

“Not silly. The residents of Solsken will be happy to have Sven’s home fixed up.” He held back on the prodding question of whether that meant she planned to stay or not. “As for carpenters, I can help with that. My cousin at the lumber yard knows the good contractors from the bad ones.” He scooted his chair closer. “But I’d like you to do something for me first.”

“Oh?” She sat up straight. “What’s that?”

“Make a list for me of everything you want to learn to cook.”

She distractedly ruffled the corner pages of her notebook. “But you have Flygande Norseman to run. I-I can just search the internet.”

“Learning by doing is best, besides I thought you hated the internet.”

“Yes, but—”

He stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m happy to teach you, Claire. But there’s something else I want to ask you.”

She let go of her notebook, giving him her full attention.

“How can I help you not be afraid?”

“That’s on me, Daniel.”

“You’re in my home. On my island. I want you to feel safe.”

Her eyes settled on the table, on his gun, and she chewed her lip. “Most of my life I’ve been surrounded by a team of security.” She took a deep breath. “In my pursuit of independence and keeping a low profile, I left them in California. Could you maybe,” she lifted her eyes to his, “teach me to shoot that?”

“Sure. When do you want to start? After breakfast?” He yawned and stretched.

She bit back a smile. “No, right now I want something else from you.”

Kiss me. He shook his head fast. She definitely didn’t say that. But his exhausted brain thought now would be a great time to conjure it. He cleared his voice. “What’s that?”

“Sleep. I want you to get some sleep.”

He slowly smiled and rubbed a sore muscle in his shoulder. “Nah, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry, Daniel, but it’s not up for negotiation. Flygande opens in about five hours, and you need it. And don’t even ask about me,” she added, when he opened his mouth to ask just that. “I can come back up here to sleep anytime. You can’t. Now go.” She stood and actually snapped her fingers at him, pointing toward the hall.

Besides his mother, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman ordered him around. But he had to admit, he liked it from this woman. “How about I lie on the couch instead? Just in case.”

She sighed. “Alright, but I’ll be checking on you to make sure you’re trying to sleep.”

Her no-nonsense attitude while being considerate and sweet was cute as hell. “Fine.”

Stretched out on the couch with his hands behind his head, he crossed his feet at the ankles and closed his eyes. He had no intention of sleeping, only resting. Both French doors were left open in case there was a disturbance, and while his breathing slowed, he enjoyed the sound of her movements around his home.

One day, and she already filled his space, his mind and his—no, not that. Not yet.

He was at a crossroads and he knew it. Knew that the feelings he had for her were growing deeper than he should let them. But he didn’t know how to tame them—stop them. Like it or not, rebound or not, he was getting attached, and that scared the hell out of him.

She’d made no promises to stay. Made no real indication that she felt the same way about him, and he couldn’t, couldn’t go down that road again without some assurances.

Knitted wool draped over him and he opened one eye, peering up at her.

“Absolutely not.” Claire covered his eyes, forcing them shut. “Keep them closed.”

He smirked, enjoying the feel of her hand on his face.

“Lift your head.” She stuffed a soft pillow under him.

He didn’t need a pillow or a blanket, but he wasn’t about to say it. Not when she fluffed his pillow and tucked the blanket securely around him. Each action precise, careful, caring.

This was another missing piece from his short marriage. He’d repeatedly gone out of his way to please and help his wife, but she never once did the same for him—she couldn’t, really. She was so broken and tangled in her own world there wasn’t enough room for him there.

“Here.” Claire carefully removed the band from his hair. “You can’t sleep with that jamming into your head.” She ran fingers through his thick strands, smoothing it out and lightly massaged his scalp.

He closed his eyes, pulse quickening. Don’t lean into her hand ... don’t lean into her hand.

After another soft stroke of her fingers, he took a deep breath, shoving, kicking, punching back the urge to reach up and guide her hand down over him. God, he wanted her to touch him.

She removed her touch too soon and tiptoed backward. His eyes half-opened, watching her.

“Sleep,” she whispered before flipping off the lights. “I’ll wake you if you’re needed. Otherwise, don’t you dare get up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Whatever this was—whatever she was becoming to him—would have to just be for now. He didn’t know how to fight it. Didn’t know if he should fight it. And if he was being honest, he was damn tired of fighting.