Chapter Eleven

Harper sat up abruptly, a scream on her lips, the sheets tangled around her legs. The dream. It's the dream again. She was in the car with her parents. They were chatting in the front. She watched the woods go by, her eyes beginning to shut, and then as suddenly as that, she was falling, falling, her stomach dropping into her feet as vomit rose to her lips. Cold. So miserably cold. Water dripping down her face. Or was it blood? She ran a hand over her sweat-drenched hair, and for a moment it seemed that the dream had followed her from sleep to wakefulness. But no, it was just the clamminess of fear. She smoothed the tangles back, swallowing down the sob that was clawing at her throat.

Somehow, she had known she'd have the dream when she went to bed the night before. It always occurred when she was mentally exhausted or emotionally distressed, and going from the Driscoll murder scene two days before to the group home yesterday, where she'd had a night shift, was obviously the catalyst.

She took several deep breaths, attempting to calm herself as she glanced at the clock. 4:13 p.m. She'd managed six hours of sleep, at least.

The hardwood floor was cold beneath her feet as she padded to the bathroom, brushing her teeth and rinsing her face with cold water and then patting it dry with the towel hung on a hook by the sink. She took a few seconds to look at herself in the mirror, her chest still rising and falling too quickly with her increased heart rate.

Her brown hair lay matted around her face in sweaty tangles, any rat's dream home, and there were dark smudges under her brown eyes, which were already too big in her face, making her look like a tired owl. Lovely. No amount of concealer would be enough today.

Coffee beckoned. A shower—and some cucumber slices on her eyes?—could wait. As she stood at her kitchen sink, the delicious scent of dark roast beginning to fill the room and clear her foggy brain, she stared out the window, going over everything that had happened two days before. She still couldn't believe she'd been asked to help out with a murder investigation. Or more specifically, she'd been asked to drive an investigator around and guide him through some wilderness areas. But he'd asked her opinion on a few aspects of the case that he didn't necessarily have to, and he'd listened to what she'd said and appreciated her input, and it'd made her feel…useful. Good.

She wondered if he'd share the things he ended up uncovering about Lucas, if there was anything to uncover at all. Which there had to be. Right? The picture of Lucas in the holding cell and then the way his eyes had caught hers right before he'd gotten into Deputy Brighton's SUV ran through her mind.

The machine beeped, and she poured herself a cup of coffee, added a splash of milk, and took a grateful sip as her mind moved again to the strange yet intriguing man. And that locket around his neck. Had she seen it before?

Her memories of her parents were clouded. She'd been so young when they'd died—only seven years old. But standing in her kitchen, the last of the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, as she sipped the life-giving brew, that darn necklace was niggling at her mind again. Or at least something very much like it. Her mother had had something similar with…hearts maybe? Three hearts… The words were tickling at the edges of her mind. Something…entwined. She released a whoosh of breath, massaging her left temple. It was there but too far away to grasp, skating just outside her memory, taunting her.

What if… She placed her empty mug in the sink and returned to her living/bedroom area, removing the box from the top of her closet shelf and sitting on the bed to open it. Her parents' belongings—furniture and household items—had been put into a storage locker, which had gone delinquent thanks to an irresponsible "advocate" with a too-big case load, and subsequently been auctioned off. But Harper had a few photo albums and keepsakes that she'd been allowed to collect before being placed in her first foster home. Inside the box were not only photos but a few cards, memories that she hadn't looked through in a long time. She put the cards aside, not daring to peek inside. Today, seeing her parents' handwriting felt like too much, and she couldn't do it, not after the dream that had left her feeling so raw. What was it about someone's handwriting that brought them back to life with a single glance? A blessing. And a curse.

She flipped through the two photo albums, one of her parents' wedding and another of her as a baby and toddler. She didn't find anything in either one, and so she put those aside, pulling out the loose photos and putting them into a pile. She began going through them one by one, interested only in the ones of her mother. There weren't many. Most of the photos her parents had had were presumably in a digital format somewhere that she had no way to access.

She didn't linger on their smiling faces, not today, attempting to keep her emotions as objective as possible. She would put her roaming thoughts to rest and let them go. Let her questions go. Let him go. Him…and the way he'd made her feel, feelings she didn't dare dwell on too specifically. Him and his wild clothes and haunted eyes, the man who lived alone in the woods and had looked around at the town like he'd never seen civilization before.

No, it was impossible really. The more she thought about it, the crazier it seemed. That man had nothing to do with her or her parents. She was grasping at straws. Her memory was faulty, full of holes and—

Three hearts entwined…

She sucked in a breath and dropped all but one photo, bringing it closer to see the locket hanging at the base of her mother's throat.

Three hearts entwined in the middle.

It looked exactly like the one Lucas had been wearing.

***

Dusk was already falling by the time Harper pulled herself together, showered, and threw on clothes. She'd skipped the cucumbers and the concealer, more pressing things on her mind than her dark, overtired eyes.

She pulled on her winter gear, including her waterproof snow boots. She might have to hike a bit in the snow, and she wanted to be prepared. Large flakes were falling steadily by the time she pulled off onto the road leading to Isaac Driscoll's empty cabin. Isaac Driscoll's empty, blood-stained cabin, Harper reminded herself. A shiver moved through her, and for the first time since she'd spotted the necklace in the photo of her dead mother, she second-guessed her decision to drive out there and confront Lucas.

She glanced at the rifle in the back seat behind her, the weapon she carried when she took hunters out in the wild and what she'd placed in her truck before leaving. Instead of bringing her comfort, it only brought further uncertainty.

This is crazy. Temporary insanity.

She knew how to hunt and was a good shot, but she'd never been especially keen to do it. It always left her feeling kind of…sad. Her heart always ached when she saw the dead animal she'd killed staring unseeing at her with big, startled eyes. She never told anyone that—the quality wasn't exactly a selling point for people looking for a competent guide to take them on their wilderness expeditions, but…she could admit it to herself.

The land south of Driscoll's cabin was mostly flat, and she turned her truck in the direction of the three peaked mountains, the four-wheel drive making it easy to roll over the snow-covered ground. She drove around trees, her tires bumping over rocks and small hills that leveled out again.

How far had he said he lived from Driscoll? Ten thousand something steps? She removed her phone from her pocket, but there was no service. Darn. Agent Gallagher had been able to pull up an email though, and Dwayne had mentioned that Driscoll made a 9-1-1 call. Reception was probably spotty as it often was in the wilderness. She was pretty sure there was an old logging road with a dead end somewhere in the direction she was traveling. That open area where the trees had been removed might provide some service. But for now, Google wouldn't be any help.

She thought she remembered that it took the average person about fifteen minutes to walk a mile. How many steps would you walk in fifteen minutes? About…two thousand? Maybe? If so, that meant…Lucas lived approximately five miles from Driscoll.

If her math was right, which was iffy at best. Also, she was headed from Driscoll's toward the peaked mountains Lucas had mentioned to Dwayne, but there was no telling if his house was mostly a straight shot or if he'd turned in a different direction at some point. She might drive her truck right into a lake.

I should turn back.

This was totally stupid anyway. Irrational , actually. It was just…it was just that she'd spent so many lonely years looking for her parents. She'd gone out over and over, day after day, from the break of dawn until night fell, and had never come back with a thing. And then that necklace. And she had to know. Right then.

I can't wait another second.

Her breath hitched when she spotted smoke rising into the deepening night sky, her heart lurching. She pressed her foot to the accelerator, and the truck jerked forward, snow spraying to either side. It's his cabin, she thought, her nerves zinging. It has to be.

Anticipation trumped her caution, and she pressed on the accelerator, driving through the small copse of trees in front of what she could now see was a log structure, not large but larger than Driscoll's place. Huh. If Driscoll had two places on his property, why would he choose the smaller of the two?

She stopped in front of it, grabbed her rifle, and hopped out. Before she could talk herself out of it, she climbed the three steps to Lucas's front door and rapped twice, her breath labored even though she hadn't exerted herself with the short walk.

The door swung open, and he was standing there, bigger and more imposing than she remembered him, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She stepped back, and he did too. She met his eyes, the shock on his face clear.

Harper cleared her throat, propping the gun on the small porch. His eyes followed it, and then he looked back to her. "Where did you get that locket?" she blurted.

He stared at her for a long moment and then tilted his head, his dark brows dipping.

"Tell me."

He looked behind her to where her truck was parked and then slowly back to her as if trying to understand the situation. His head turned toward the small grouping of trees, and he muttered something under his breath before stepping forward, directly into her.

Harper sucked in a breath, a small sound of surprised fear rising to her throat as he took her forearms in his hands, moved her aside easily, and walked past her. She whipped around to see him hop down the steps and prowl toward the trees.

What…

She watched him for a moment, immobile with surprise. He crouched down and started moving the snow with his arm, speaking words she was now too far away to hear.

She moved slowly down the steps, walking toward him, uncertain and completely baffled.

As the crunch of her footsteps sounded in the snow, he looked over his shoulder and then back at whatever he was doing, continuing to clear something. She leaned forward and pulled in a startled breath when she saw four sets of eyes peering back at her, shiny in the dim light, but not so dim that she couldn't see what they were. Foxes. Babies. She took in her own tire tracks right next to the den and clenched her eyes shut for a moment. She'd driven her truck right over a den of baby foxes. "I didn't know they were there."

He stood, turning toward her. She couldn't read the expression on his face, and they stood looking at each other for an awkward moment.

"God, I'm so stupid. I bring people out to the wilderness for my job , and I should know better."

He stared at her again, an infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes. But he didn't contradict her.

"Your feet are bare," she finally said. Stupidly. "They must be cold," she added. Even more stupidly. Which, at this point, should be my middle name, she thought with an internal grimace. She pressed her lips together, embarrassed and uneasy.

He simply stared at her for a moment and then turned toward his house.

She glanced at the fox den, and with the snow cleared, she could see it was only four baby foxes, no mother. She must be out hunting. They were still covered in the snow her reckless driving had caused to cave in on them, and they had to be cold. A tremor of guilt went through her. Concern for the helpless things.

Lucas had cared about them too. He'd run out there to make sure they weren't suffocating to death.

"Will they be okay?" she called, knowing it was better not to touch them, knowing it would risk their mother smelling a predator and abandoning the den. Still…to leave them that way, cold and wet and alone…

He slowed and turned his head slightly. "They will be or they won't. Better to let their mother do the job now. If she's still alive."

If. She knew he was right. Still she hesitated, watching as he climbed his short set of steps. He was going to go back inside his house. "Wait," she called. It only took her a few seconds to jog back to his house and climb the steps to the porch where he had turned and was watching her, that same thin-lipped expression on his face. He looked more…normal now without the layer of animal skins. Just a large, muscular man with several visible scars, longish hair, and a short beard. Not a caveman…no…more of a mountain man or…a guy who'd been out living off the land for several months.

An extremely good-looking mountain man who exuded testosterone and danger. And if she was so unsettled, why was she noticing the former? Because it can't be ignored, that's all, she told herself. His good looks startled her in their intensity. It wouldn't make her any less cautious of him. Maybe he was like one of those wildcats she'd spotted a few times. Sleek and beautiful to look at but wild and dangerous. Brutal even.

Although he didn't seem brutal. Just wary…and curious. Intelligent and uncertain.

He gave the rifle she'd left propped on the porch a casual glance. "I'm sorry. I was careless and rude. I…I thought I recognized the locket hanging around your neck. It looks familiar, and I… I was wondering if I could see it, just for a moment. I'll give it back. I just…may I look at it? Um, Lucas. Oh, and in case you don't remember my name, I'm Harper."

She'd stumbled over her words and felt breathless, a lump rising in her chest for reasons she wasn't sure she could explain. She could hardly believe she was out there, standing in the snow with this man. Couldn't believe she'd acted so rashly. Foolishly, maybe. But she couldn't manage to be sorry for it or wish she'd considered it more carefully. "Please," she whispered.

His light eyes seemed to soften minutely, though he was still regarding her as though she were an anomaly he couldn't understand.

Their gazes held as he pulled the leather string from the collar of his shirt, and her gaze shot to his large, scarred hand, watched as it pulled the string so the locket appeared. Her breath hitched, and she stepped forward, her trembling fingers reaching for the small, round piece of silver, hesitating midway, the fear inside her suddenly growing. What if… What if…

She was standing on a precipice. The next several seconds might change everything. With a rushed exhale, she extended her arm and grasped the locket, her hand touching his as she took another step toward Lucas. They were toe to toe. She tipped her chin, looking up at him, and he stared down at her, their breath mingling, the weight of the moment seeming to have fallen over both of them. She saw his nostrils flare and knew he'd just inhaled deeply. Was he inhaling her ? His head dipped minutely, so minutely she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been so close, and then the same drawing in of breath. Yes, he was taking in her scent. And something about the flickering expression on his face told her he'd enjoyed the experience. It made her stomach clench in a foreign way, and she was so overwhelmed with fear and emotion and confusion, she thought she might faint.

She didn't know this version of herself. She always held it together. Always. And yet all she wanted to do was fall into his chest and ask him to hold her for a moment while she gathered herself to look at that locket.

Wildcat, Harper, she reminded herself, taking a small step back.

Time slowed, and with effort, she moved her gaze from his, her eyes going to the locket that was engraved with three linked hearts.

Always together, never apart.

She let out a small sob as she reached up with her other hand, using her thumbnail to open the small disk, her hands shaking so badly, it almost slipped from her grasp. But it didn't. It fell open to reveal a miniature photo of three people, their arms encircling each other, the joy in their smiling faces clear.

She remembered that joy, felt it cascade over her like a ray of warm summer sun.

The photo was of her father.

Her mother.

And herself.