Twenty-four

A nna inhaled and held her breath, hoping to store a little of this magical place. The silver truck bumped along the dirt road as they left, the morning sun streaming through the trees. The tires hit ruts and hurled rocks to the side.

"I'll miss this place. The letter had one thing correct. I belong here. This is my home. Not Houston, not Grandville. This is where I belong."

"It's a good place to let into your soul." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The people in this remote area were strong and independent. They fought for their way of life and asked nothing except for everyone to let them be. Hard not to admire their strength and their character."

Like her mother.

"Do you think you should stay at the hotel? It could be a risk." His fingers flexed their grip, and his stunning eyes slanted her way. "You're welcome to stay at my house. We've done fine staying at the cabin together, and this way, I wouldn't have to worry."

She tried to maintain a blank expression, hiding her inner conflict as she considered his offer. Spending more time with him sounded appealing. But a nagging voice kept reminding her to slow down.

"I don't know." She smoothed wisps of hair from her eyes. "I like being on my own, but I can also see your point."

"I can work from home for the week. I need a break from my office—from Devlin. I have a four-bedroom house on Warm Springs, a couple of miles from Atticus." He grinned. "It makes sense. Then you don't need a rental, and you can have coffee anytime."

"Oh, playing the coffee card." She matched his grin. "You could be right, especially after the spiked drinks and break-in."

"Well, that's decided. I'm glad. I want you near me all the time now, it seems." His voice was husky and upbeat. The console clicked open. He reached inside, pulled out a new pack of spearmint gum, and offered her a piece while opening his.

She shook her head.

"Maybe we should talk about our list." A mosquito distracted her when it buzzed around her arm. She slapped it a little too late. "Sorry. They love me."

He had an odd expression, then said, "At least you got it. Must've been hiding in the back." The console snapped open and shut. A white napkin rested on top.

She grimaced as she folded the red inside the napkin.

"We still have quite a few people on our list." She wiped a spot she missed on her arm. "They cannot all be involved in the recent events."

"I always wondered if Martha was in love with Atticus, although I can't imagine why." One hand steady on the steering wheel, Wyatt tossed the gum wrapper in a cup holder, then rubbed at his chin. His jaw muscles flexed as he chewed the gum, spreading the minty aroma. "Her obsession seems to suggest it. You often hear about women attracted to famous murderers or criminals in prison. He's never been what you might consider nice. He's ill and doesn't have much to lose. You have to be cautious because that's when someone reveals their true character. What he reveals might be more than anyone can handle."

"I agree. So… should we call Atticus, show up, or contact Martha?"

"Well, she started all this. Maybe we should start with her."

"I'll call her, then." She pulled out her phone, then frowned. "Never mind—no cell service."

She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She could feel the green grass as she smelled Wyatt's flowers. It was a good dream.

"We're getting close to Boise."

At his words, she opened her eyes. They were passing Lucky Peak Dam. Her phone let out endless chimes, announcing the return of cell service.

He glanced over, then returned his focus to the road. Good. He trusted her to tell him if there were any important messages.

She reached over and placed her hand on his arm relaxing on the console, slid it down his muscled forearm to a hand strong and warm. With no way to predict the next few days, they'd need to be strong together. Expect the unexpected, Anna.

Most of the texts were from Garrett, the messages brief, just asking if she was okay. Sandy didn't leave a voicemail. Martha did the day Anna left the house.

"Martha left a voicemail on my phone. Should we listen to it now or wait until we get settled at your house?"

"Let's wait so we can both listen carefully."

They didn't go on I-84 but along East Warm Springs Avenue. Historic homes and charming landscapes lined the scenic drive.

"I traveled this road with Mother. She said the street was named for underground hot springs." Huh, Martha had texted an address in Boise. Anna had Atticus's address all along. Why was she still forgetting things? She'd have to ask Garrett.

She scrolled for the text, then inspected the house numbers to determine if they were close. It could be near here. She had no memory of her arrivals at or exits from Atticus's house, not even which side of the street she was on when Wyatt came to get her those times. "Which house belongs to Atticus?"

His eyes narrowed and his lips flattened. Why? She'd already been there. She even had the address. She might as well see it from the outside.

"It's about ten more houses."

"I really only saw it from the inside—you know, being drugged the first time I went there and distracted the second time with you."

"It's coming up on the right now."

She scooted forward in her seat and moved closer to the window. What was this feeling? More anxious, not eager or excited.

"There it is." He pointed.

Most of the houses were close to the road. Magnificent and historic, they hinted at all the exciting and glamorous parties the important people within may have celebrated over the years.

This house, tall with high pitches and darkened windows, was farther back, ensconced behind a brick-and-metal fence. She didn't wonder about exciting events and parties. This house only knew sorrow. There were shrubs, but no flowers. "It might be the tallest house I've seen." She pressed her palm to the glass. "It's magnificent in its own way, all alone back there. The property must be vast."

A quivering started in her legs, then jittered to her teeth.

"What's going on?" Wyatt frowned at her, then freed a hand from the wheel, and reached for hers. "Anna, what is it? What's wrong? Did they do something to you when you were at the house?"

"I remember it." The memory came with a dark, bitter feeling. "I've been here before—with Mother."

It wasn't a good memory. She could hear crying. She wasn't crying. She looked over at the driver's seat and saw her mother, broken and crying.

How old was she when this happened? "Oh my. That was the only time we came back to Idaho."

Anna couldn't think. Tears were flowing. Not her tears. Her mother's tears. Why was her mother so sad? Her mother never cried. "Wyatt—I can hear the sobbing and feel the seat vibrating with each sob. It's as though she's right next to me, her heart breaking. Oh, this is a dark house, indeed."

She set her jaw. "He did something to my mother. He tried to break her somehow. I remember coming here as a child." She planted her elbows on her knees and leaned her head down, her forehead braced on her hands. Cold fingers rubbed her temples as even colder feelings flooded her veins. "Atticus is not a good man. Nothing good will come from that house. I need answers, and I won't stop until I have them. Somehow, I added to her sorrow, so I owe this to my mother."

"Are you okay?" Wyatt rubbed her shoulder, still somehow concentrating on the road.

Was she? No, but she would be. She would make this right. She nodded. About a mile later, they pulled into a driveway.

"This is my home."

She raised her head. The white cottage was as she'd have imagined. Antique lights lined the entrance, and flower beds surrounded the welcoming front porch. "Hmm, I'd forgotten how well roses grow here."

"Let's get unloaded," he said. "I'm famished."

Whoa, he was already on her side of the truck. The door clicked as it opened, and his warm hands grasped her waist as he helped her down. He lingered there, his grip on her, his gaze on her, his heart open before her. His head lowered, but rather than kissing her, he pressed his forehead to hers. How safe that felt! "I thought you said you were hungry?" she whispered.

"I am." His breath feathered over her cheeks, his lips lowering.

She scooted away. "We'd better go get you something to eat."

He gave her a hooded-eye look that sent her blood rushing. Then he swung her bag from the truck box.

"Ugh, my back!" he teased as he lugged her two-stickered bag up the stairs.

Wood floors added just enough wood embellishment to the white interior to make the place feel rich and warm. "Not bad, Wyatt." She trailed her fingers along the back of a tasteful dark-brown leather reclining couch. "Looks comfortable and inviting."

A quartz waterfall island sectioned off the kitchen, with a dining table to the side. Tall white cabinets, warm lights, and hidden appliances created a welcoming atmosphere for someone who enjoyed cooking and spending time with guests. "It's nothing like Atticus's home."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is, trust me."

He nodded to the stairwell. "You'll find three guest rooms to choose from. The two upstairs each have a bathroom. Choose whichever you prefer."

Her feet made a tap, tap, tap as they took her upstairs. She found a room with French doors onto a balcony with a clear glass rail overlooking an amazing backyard, and the rose aroma drifted in. This was the room she'd enjoy during her stay.

Wyatt's feet tapped on each step, making their way to her. Her heart skipped a beat with each footstep. She hoped this feeling would never go away. He stopped, braced his shoulder against the doorjamb, and crossed his arms. "Chose the one with the balcony, did ya?"

"How come you didn't?" She spread her arms and twirled. "This is spectacular. I can't imagine how your room looks."

He flashed a knowing grin. "This would be my favorite too. After mine, of course, which is just down the hall from the room you selected." Then he pushed off the jamb and crossed to her side, invading her space with his sandalwood-spice scent and Caribbean eyes. He tapped her lips. "Why are you smiling so much? Doesn't the quote that goes with that grin mean I should worry?"

She swatted at his hand. "It's a happy place, a lovely home. Welcoming and bright. Your backyard smells alive with the roses in bloom."

Wyatt brushed her hair away from her face, waited for a beat as if asking permission, then bent in, and kissed her. Leaving her breathless, he pulled back enough to rock their foreheads together. He breathed in deeply. "Hmm… I see what you mean about the roses. Intoxicating. I wish I could take all the credit for that, but I have an excellent gardener. He has a green thumb like your mother. She always had something beautiful growing on your property."

A laugh bubbled free as she scooted away. "I can't believe you remember that."

His eyes hooded, assessing her, before his gaze slipped to the bed across the room. "I remember more than you think, but I'm too hungry to be in here now." Then he patted her shoulder and strode to the door. "I'll show you my room, and then we need to go get something to eat."

They walked down the hallway, and it was true. His room was better. The airy space with soft sage walls played host to stunning antique furniture. Filmy drapes covered a wall of windows over another balcony. She walked over, glanced at Wyatt, who gave a nod, and then opened the French doors, letting in the aromatic scents.

"Okay, you win. This room is amazing." She poked him in the ribs as she passed by. "Now let's head downstairs and see if we can find something in your fridge to eat before you perish. That way we can stay here, unpack, and relax."

"Sounds perfect."

Anna found enough ingredients to whip up a homemade dip. He slipped a carrot into the dip and sent a nod of satisfaction. They enjoyed grilled sandwiches, chips, and veggies with dip. After a quick cleanup, Anna and Wyatt sat on the back patio, drinking steaming coffee to balance their slices of tart-sweet lemon meringue pie he'd thawed. Hummingbirds fluttered over the flowers until one found the single red feeder on a limb. A bully hummingbird torpedoed as fast as its fluttering wings would fly toward another petite bird, trying to knock it to the ground. I know how you feel.

She went back inside, returning within a minute. Her phone sounded like two taps on a bass drum as she dropped it onto the table. She adjusted the volume to hear Martha despite the backyard sounds.

"Anna, this is Martha. Where are you? I came back to get you, and you were gone. Atticus wanted to see you, and we had everything ready. I don't understand. Why did you leave? Why would you go with Wyatt? Where are you? Atticus is upset."

She set aside her phone. "That's it. No other voicemails or missed calls." She picked up her phone and hit the blue call icon on the voice message. It went straight to Martha's voicemail.

"Hey, let's wait a sec. I'm not sure this gives us much to go on. She's going to be unhappy with us now. It means the world to her to be on his good side." He rubbed his chin, and his blue eyes looked like steel. "We'd better go slow. Too many things have happened over the last weeks. I'm not sure there's any value in meeting with Atticus. If he sets his sights on you, it might not go well."

When he reached over and touched her hand, she jerked it away as if it burned her skin.

"Not meet! Not meet! This is why I came here." Her clenched teeth produced an unpleasant taste in her mouth.

Disappointment hit a nerve. After an awkward silence, she became resolved. "I've always hidden or run instead of standing and fighting, but I'm not going to anymore. It wouldn't even matter if I did. Someone has found me. Whoever this is, well, they're chasing me. I'd rather see them coming toward me than get it in the back like Jon Alan."

"We disagree on this." He folded his arms in front of him, rocking his chair onto its back legs, his jaw ridged. "I don't want to be part of anything that might put you in harm's way."

Her ringtone interrupted her response. She glared her we're-not-done look, then answered.

"Anna, this is Martha. I saw your missed call. Where have you been? Why did you just disappear like that? What kind of child are you?"

Anna took a breath before answering the curt questions. "Martha, I'm sorry. I kinda panicked and needed to get myself together. I'd still like to meet with Atticus and find out what the letter is all about."

Silence came from the phone.

Wyatt's gaze fixed on her, his eyes fierce as if he wanted to turn her to stone.

Anna flinched and raised her chin. A drum in her head began to pound. The chant I will be strong, I will be strong matched the beat .

Martha was speaking over the chant.

"Atticus has taken a turn for the worse, and you're not going to be able to see him. He was agitated and didn't understand why you were coming. I didn't want to tell him everything. I wanted him to be happy to see you. He did love Sabina when they were young."

"Look, Martha, I don't care about any of that. I just want answers." I am strong. I am strong. "See if he'll meet. I'm not too far away, and I can be there within thirty minutes. Wyatt is going to come with me."

A metal chair screeched against the patio stones. The door slammed as Wyatt stormed inside.

"Wyatt?" Martha squawked. "You don't even know Wyatt. Why would you want him here? Is he your lawyer now?" The woman let out a low breath, either exasperated or trying to calm herself. "I'll mention it to Atticus. He'll decide who does what. I'll call you if he'll meet with you."

The phone went dead.

Anna stared at it, then at Wyatt's abandoned chair. She walked inside and pulled open the blinds. The silver truck was still in the driveway. I am strong. I am strong .

The soft tone of her phone began to play. She swiped to answer.

"Atticus can't see you until he recovers. We'll schedule it for nine a.m. three days from today. Don't come unless I confirm."

The phone was dead before Anna had time to speak.

Am I strong? The drum fell silent.