Eighteen

A nna walked toward the house, dreading each step. The woman with her hair pulled into a too-tight bun ushered her inside, and Martha approached, the knot of pearls swaying over a paisley sweater. The Dr. Jekyll version again, no Mr. Hyde Martha visible, she smiled. "We have breakfast ready. Come along, and you can help yourself. Atticus should be up and ready to talk soon, I hope."

Bacon-and-sugar scents lured Anna down a decorated hall. Martha turned into a room where two shimmering crystal chandeliers oversaw an oblong walnut table for twelve with a place setting for one. The rose centerpiece lent its aroma to the air.

Martha stood between the shimmering dining room and pristine kitchen. Anna couldn't hear Bessie's response over the clanking and clinking, but cooking up such a racket, she mustn't be pleased with whatever Martha said.

A man and the young woman from yesterday brought in platters loaded with jellied rolls, crusted pastries, fluffy potatoes, syrupy waffles, and sizzling meats. Another tray displayed fresh fruit. Uncomfortable with the abundance, Anna shifted in place.

"Eat up." Martha waved her to the table. "We'll go up to meet Atticus in about thirty minutes."

What happened to the troubled and confused woman Anna saw yesterday? Martha's mood changes only added to the foreboding house.

Anna's appetite had vanished. She'd have declined, but Bessie and the kitchen staff already had it made. And she wouldn't waste food. It could be hard to come by. She forced bites down with hard swallows and cold water before the cinnamon rolls melted in her mouth and smelled of butter and sugar. Oh my, had she eaten two already? She placed both hands across her stomach.

The grandfather clock ticked a steady rhythm. Alone, she raised her hands over her ears. It had almost been an hour. When would this be over, this series of events like chess moves intended as a mental challenge? She wanted this meeting, but she wouldn't wait a tick longer than an hour.

She pushed back her chair and stood. Her flats swished with each step on the wood floor as she searched for a distraction. She moved toward a walnut cabinet in the corner and opened a door. White china, elegant candlesticks, crystal bowls, and something blue tucked in back. She knelt and stretched to reach the blue-and-gold bowl. After moving it to her lap, she rubbed her finger around the smooth, undamaged rim of an antique, an exact match to her mother's treasured keepsake.

Both hands cradling the bowl, she thought about her great-uncle's lifeless portrait and yesterday's conversation with Martha. What kind of man was he? Ruthless, it seemed. Martha and Wyatt both seemed loyal to Atticus, which might speak to his character. Expect the unexpected, Anna.

Bongggggg. A brassy bell rang out once, demarking the half hour, echoed, then fell silent.

She nearly jolted, but her hands tightened on the bowl safe in her lap, her mind flashing back to her childhood.

She'd been warned not to use the bowl, but she couldn't resist. She'd stood on a chair, wobbling on tiptoe to reach it. Her fingertips slipped, and the bowl tumbled and hit the edge of the counter. Her outstretched hands saved it from complete destruction, but later, she glimpsed her mother inspecting it, a tear slipping free as she rubbed her finger across the chipped rim. Without a word spoken, she placed it on a higher shelf. That bowl rode protectively in Anna's passenger seat during her move to Grandville, one of the few pieces salvaged from her childhood.

Now, she tucked its counterpart back in its place, then made her way to the door.

"Are you ready, Anna?" Martha stood in her path, framed by the opening to the hall.

How creepy. Anna flashed a nasty glare. "Yes, I'm ready."

They walked side by side before Martha picked up her stride, leaving Anna again pattering behind. They marched in a new direction, Anna trying to notice something familiar about the long hallway replete with paintings, tables, and vases no one could see or enjoy. After a few more steps, they entered an elevator and rode up to the third floor.

Her heart was pounding. She rubbed damp hands on her jeans.

Why had her mother never told her about Atticus? With this strange darkness hovering over the place, she may not want the answer.

They entered a sitting room displaying more paintings, many familiar, perhaps even originals. The books here could be first editions. "Another room of rare treasures no one enjoys," she muttered, raising a glance from Martha. Anna shrugged. "I struggle to see the point."

Martha's brow arched. "Wait here."

Anna turned a padded blue chair to face the direction Martha left in. She'd not be surprised again. She picked at her cuticle, pulling it deeper. She wiped the drops of blood on the side of the chair. "Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait."

A knock came from the hallway. Then a stocky man headed where Martha had. Somehow, he looked familiar. What was wrong with her memory lately? She couldn't remember meeting Wyatt. This man looked familiar, and she couldn't place him. She'd ask Dr. Clarke— if she could remember.

Her phone slid off her lap, bouncing under her chair. She bent and reached underneath to grab it. Then her whole body jerked so hard her hand whacked the chair leg, smarting.

"He was the man on the plane!" she whisper-shouted. The man who scattered his things all over the floor. He'd been sitting right next to her!

Martha was on the plane, watching Anna and the item that dropped from this man's bag under the seat. Something is not right. Run, Anna, run!

Hands shaking, she sprinted toward the elevator and pushed the button over and over. It dinged as the door clattered open. She stepped in and pressed the one on the panel. Her phone was in her hand as she typed "Atticus Urbacch address" into the search. The screen showed a business address.

She brushed the side of her face, her hands clammy, her knees wobbling.

Who could she trust?

Anna pulled out Wyatt's business card. Wyatt Stone, Chief Legal Officer, Alan Corporation. He didn't work for Atticus?

She held the card with one hand and tried to dial as the elevator doors bumped open. She moved through, her head spinning. The call had gone through, and the phone was ringing.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Wyatt, I need your help. I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she tried to keep it quiet.

"Anna, are you crying? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I'm at the house, but I'm trying to find my way out. As soon as I can, I'm going to start walking and call a cab or something. I am going home!"

"Let's take a minute to go through what is happening right now. Did something happen? Did Atticus say something? Why are you trying to leave?"

"Stop asking questions! I need help, and I'm leaving. I'm–I'm scared ."

"I'm on my way. Get somewhere you feel safe and let me know. I'm coming."

"Somewhere safe? Where?" Okay, get a grip. Just get away from here—now. "I'll let you know when I'm out of the house."

She kept walking and smelled the sweet scent from the kitchen. She followed that. Bessie would know the way out. She wouldn't stop Anna from leaving.

When she discovered the kitchen, Bessie was giving orders, and someone was slicing vegetables. Bessie stopped, her eyebrows puckered, and her lips pinched together.

Anna wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I must be a sight, but would you please point the way out of the house?"

Bessie's demeanor changed. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips became straight. "Franny, please show Anna the way out. She has requested to leave."

"Oh, thank you." Anna hugged Bessie, the woman's arms hanging straight beside her, but when Anna sniffled and gasped for air, Bessie reached around and patted Anna lightly on the back. Then Bessie's arms dropped down, and she turned toward the counter without looking back.

"This way." The young woman with the small glasses pointed and started walking. "Have you been in Boise long?"

Read the room, Franny. Anna picked up her pace, the front door in sight. She reached for the knob.

Then the door rushed open.

She stepped back to avoid it before it slammed against the wall.

Wyatt stood in the doorway, his shoulders forward, head down, eyes flaring and wild. He grabbed her hand, sending shock waves to all her senses, then wrapped his fingers around hers, and guided her out the door.

"Are you okay, Anna?" His face softened, and his hand squeezed hers. "You had me concerned. I dropped everything."

There it was, the you're-bothering-me smart-aleck remark. But he was here, wasn't he?

She burrowed into him. Deep sobs followed. Trying to stop only made it louder and stronger. A lifetime of rough patches and hard luck had bottled up like vintage wine.

He whisked her into his arms and then placed her in the truck.

The loud rumble of the engine drew her attention. She lifted her head to see houses moving past. She tried to get her bearings and recognize the landscape.

"What happened?" he asked.

Apparently, that was Wyatt. What is the issue, and how do we solve it?

"I don't know where to start. I don't know why I'm here. I do know I want to go home. I want everyone to leave me alone." Great. She sounded fragile and pitiful. She didn't want to be that person. She wanted to be strong.

"So… what is the issue?"

"I shouldn't have come here. I see that now." Her finger wrapped around a strand of hair and twisted it around in circles. Her eyes stared out the window, but nothing came into her view. "Danger lurks around every corner. Martha lured me for some fantasy she has about Atticus becoming something he's not. I can't help her." I can't even help myself.

"Has someone threatened you or tried to harm you?"

"I was already harmed! I had a concussion and some bruised ribs." Rib!

She drew in slow breaths, calming now. "Martha took me upstairs, and while I was waiting, a man who followed me from Houston to Boise entered. He sat right beside me on the plane with Martha. And with me. Now, that could be a coincidence. But right now, I'm encountering too many coincidences, and I've had enough."

They were at some type of scenic park now. A small, crystal-blue lake gleamed as the truck roared into a spot. Another time, she'd have enjoyed it.

"Let's get out and walk or sit."

Didn't he hear her? "Look. I don't want to talk about it. I want to go—get out of here."

She had no family. She had no one. "Mother was right. I'm alone. I shouldn't have come."

Wyatt put his hand on hers. He didn't say anything. He just gave her hand a warm squeeze she felt to her toes. Then the truck door swished open, and he took a walk.

Alone, Anna leaned her head back. The shimmering lake and pine-covered mountains helped. As did the park empty of visitors. Somehow, she was feeling better when Wyatt returned, his cheeks rosy from his walk. The man was definitely in his element.

He swung into his seat. "It's time you start from the beginning and tell me every recent detail. I'll start with what I know."

He planted an elbow on the console and braced his chin in his hand. "About six months ago, I came through Grandville and saw you in the diner. That event started something. I'm not sure why. I only told Greta Alan, the chairman and founder of Alan Corporation. Her son, Devlin, whom you met at the house, is now the chairman."

"Greta was the chairman, and now it's Devlin?" Anna interrupted as something like a blanket of ice slipped over her shoulders, sending a shiver.

"She died a few months ago. Cancer. What a monster cancer can be." His face solemn, he looked out the window. "Anyway, when I told her about seeing you, she seemed interested—more than interested. I only mentioned it because you were from around here, and she was friends with Atticus—well, business partners, at least. I never understood that relationship. I guess she was interested since Atticus would want to know about part of his family. Even after five years working for Greta, I never really got to know Atticus. And even after learning more about Greta, I haven't found clarity about what created their bond."

So Wyatt wasn't loyal to Atticus. Wyatt was loyal to Greta. And now he worked for Devlin Alan, the man who drugged her drink.

Anna's breath came too fast. She was trying to remain calm, to think, but she couldn't just sit here. "Maybe I should take a walk. Fresh air might help."

"Sure." Wyatt came around and opened her door, and she stepped into the brisk morning.

Soft grass whispered underfoot. Blue jays squawked high-pitched warnings in the distance. She ignored them. She needed air—to breathe. She closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and listened. A river's roar came from the distance, beyond a dense grove of trees. Rocks crunched under her feet along the path toward the alluring sound. The trees opened up to an oasis. Water rushed down the mountain and crashed against the rocks on its way into a pool of crystalline blue water.

"I've been to the park many times." He tossed a pebble into the pool. "I knew it had a couple waterfalls, but I've never taken the time to find them. I'm glad you found this, and I'm glad I saw it for the first time with you."

Tiny droplets of water hung in the air with his affectionate words, sending a chill through her bones.

"For some reason, it's exhilarating and poignant. The rushing water crashes against the rocks and flows like a river of tears."

The damp cold pressed against her skin when she sat on a flat boulder along the mountain pool. The sun sparkled across the blue water, creating a God-made hypnotic charm.

"It's magical. I want to be part of it—part of the water and the mountain—part of it all." She dipped her hand down into the cold water. It made her feel alive. When her hand began to numb, she drew it out, rubbed it on her pants, then slid it into her pocket. A shadow covered the water, darkening it. "I lost track of time and didn't realize the temperature had dropped. Do you mind if we head back to the truck?"

He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it over her with a slight linger that grabbed her imagination. Then he led the way as she slowed for one last glance back. He stopped to pluck a dandelion, fiddling with the vibrant petals. "If that guy at the gas station hadn't suggested the diner—well, no matter now."

"Greta was the one interested in the diner?"

"She expressed interest from my first call. Because of her relationship with Atticus, she allowed me to contact that jerk of a boss you have and introduce him to Rowan. We wanted Rowan to work there and watch out for our investments and for you, so to speak. Rowan's primary role was to keep track of the books. Because Gray was such a loser, Greta thought it was a good idea for Rowan to report back any concerns, but he was there to make sure the books were in order."

Her jaw clenched. Her hand itched as it thawed. How did she miss this? A shiver found its way into her depths, chilling her from within. Rowan was watching her and reporting to someone else. What stories had he told them?

"He didn't do that part of the job very well." She rubbed one pulsing temple, then the other. "Rowan works for Alan Corporation, and you spoke with Mr. Gray?"

"After Rowan called me about the diner incident, I contacted Mr. Gray and told him whatever you needed was covered."

The thrumming in her temples increased in tempo. She brought her other hand up so she could press against both temples. "Now Mr. Gray's unusual attitude makes more sense. As does why an overqualified Rowan was working at our diner."

But how was this conversation supposed to help her? She bit her lip and scratched at another cuticle. As she pulled a string of skin free, she imagined herself a marionette with multiple puppeteers pulling her strings.

Wyatt slowed their pace. He must see how hard his revelations were on her. He reached as if to touch her hand, then let his fall idle at his side instead. "I wasn't trying to do anything to you or trick you. I was just trying to help you out and give you a break. I mean, that guy was so hard on you. When Greta suggested buying the business, it sounded perfect. Then we could keep a rein on Gray and tamp him down. He was too rough on you—on everyone. It was hard to witness. I thought you deserved better. You shouldn't be treated like that."

He stopped and brushed a hair from her face.

She flinched at his touch. "I want to believe you, but I gotta admit I just keep hearing something from an old horror movie. You know, ‘This is for your own good. We are here to help.'"

"Yeah, I get it." He shrugged and resumed their stroll.

Would he say more? Could she handle more?

"After the incident, Rowan kind of lost track of you. He tried to pump Sandy or Mr. Gray, but they wouldn't provide much. Then Martha, of all people, called me to take you home. That was, as you say, ‘quite a coincidence.'"

She shivered. What did she know about him? They were neighbors as children—or so he claimed. He treated her with respect. He came to her rescue. He stirred something in her and got on her nerves. But could she trust him? Trust him, Anna.

What did she have to lose? They stopped and sat at the base of an aspen. She leaned against the peeling bark and told him about her mother's death, the struggles, the bills, Sandy's kind offer for her to get away, the diner, the attack, the calls, the break-in, and the letter. She even mentioned Devlin and the tampered drinks. She didn't mention the locket, the money, or Dr. Garrett Clarke.

Midway through, Wyatt inched closer and put his arm around her, tightly but not too tight. Just right. And she didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. She regained her focus. Somehow, having him near gave her more strength. When she finished, they sat quietly, emotionally exhausted.

Then Wyatt gestured for them to return to the truck. "We should go to my cabin. We need to go through all this and decide your best move. Heading back to Texas without speaking with Atticus might not be wise. He isn't doing well, but a couple days should be fine."

She let out a slow breath, unwilling to be reckless. "I have to admit I feel safe with you, maybe because of our childhood?"

Did she trust him? For some reason, she did. But did she trust him with her life?

"That might not be a bad idea." She climbed into the passenger seat, then waited for him to settle behind the wheel. "Knowing I'm at risk, I'd be uncomfortable at the hotel by myself. Even though I don't know you, I'm going to trust you because I have no one else. Don't let me down."

"Never." He started the truck's engine. "We'll head to the hotel and get your things. If you check out, you'll have an advantage. No one will know where you are. We can return your rental car. You won't be needing it for a while."

At the busy hotel, the redheaded clerk who served Anna at The Grill gawked, then ducked her head, scratching at her arm and avoiding eye contact.

"She seems nervous." Anna edged closer to Wyatt as the elevator doors bumped closed. "She served the drinks Devlin doctored. We should be careful."

"Agreed. Something doesn't seem right. Let me go into the room first."

At her room, she handed over her key card, and he swiped it and thrust the door open. Then he gasped, and she edged to peer around him. The room had been tossed, and her clothes scattered everywhere. She opened her luggage and sifted through it to identify any missing items. She was still taking inventory when a metallic click came from around the corner. She pointed toward the closet and mouthed the word safe .

A stocky man came charging from that direction, barreling through the room, papers in hand. "He's the man from the plane."