Twenty-six

A nna approached and straddled the picnic bench, Wyatt's shadow falling over her. His sunglasses hid his eyes as he sat atop the wooden table, but the lake beyond him sparkled as blue as those eyes would be. And, of course, he looked like a model for an outdoor photo shoot in his casual moss-green sweater. He'd pushed the long sleeves up to his elbows and tucked the sweater behind a brown leather belt threaded through his khaki cargo shorts.

White ducks were quacking around him as he tossed torn pieces of bread. Half the loaf was gone. Garrett must've been right. Wyatt had been waiting a while.

Now, his head turned toward her, then Garrett, and a shiver coursed over her. Great. He was in attorney mode. Assessing his opponents.

"Wyatt, have you ever seen Anna ride a coaster?" Garrett added a wink. "She's a screamer."

Her cheeks heating, she cleared the bench and walked toward the lake.

"We're hungry." Garrett slapped the tabletop, evoking consternated quacks from their guests. "You pack a lunch for us or just the ducks?" His teasing followed her.

"Nah." Wyatt hopped to his feet and brushed off his hands. "It'd be better to eat at the burger stand. They have good burgers and secret sauce for Anna's fries."

As the guys took off, chatting as if they were friends, she walked behind, dodging rolling balls and running children.

Laughter and oldies music mixed with the smells of garlic fries, grilled burgers, and caramelized onions when they neared the crowded outdoor pop-up restaurants. Excited chatter and bustle created a buzz while blue, green, and red tents hovered over tables filled with vintage or custom jewelry, carved wooden sculptures, and blown-glass designs.

"The one called Burgers and Fries is my favorite." Wyatt pointed toward an outdoor building with an eager line. Hickory smoke drifted from the rustic wooden structure. Two women floated back and forth behind the counter like synchronized swimmers.

Wyatt pulled out his wallet. "I'll get the burgers if you get the drinks."

Loaded up with the juicy smoked burgers, icy drinks, and spicy secret sauce, they headed back to the wooden table to eat. Afterward, Wyatt disappeared and returned with three root beer floats.

"Don't ask." He beamed. "I'll return the mugs when we're done."

"Okay, I'll need to make a quick call to check on a patient." Garrett accepted his frosted mug, foam and ice cream escaping down the chilled glass.

"I'm so full. I'll have to walk it off, take a stroll." She slurped up shivery cream. "Maybe snap a couple pictures."

Five minutes later, she headed down the path toward a playground filled with kids. One running young girl looked back at her friend and crashed into Anna's leg.

"Are you okay?" Anna knelt and smiled at the girl.

The girl's eyes went as large as saucers, and she bounced backward, then raced back to her staring mother. Anna pushed to her feet and brushed the debris off her jeans. A prick pinched her heart as the girl flung herself into her mother's loving arms.

Then someone tapped Anna's shoulder.

She gasped, spun, and clamped a hand to her mouth. The man from the plane! He was so close his shoulder almost touched hers. She wobbled a few steps back to give herself some space.

"Hey." He fidgeted, jingling his keys. "I need to talk to you."

Wyatt and Garrett weren't in view.

"Look, I didn't try to hurt you. I was paid to do a job, and I did it. But I have information that might be worth something if you're willing to pay. It'll be a bargain for what you'll gain."

Mothers and fathers were still at the playground within sight. They would hear her scream. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Who I am doesn't matter, and I just told you what I want. You want the info or not? Don't you want to know what happened in Houston? Wouldn't you like to know who hired me? It's probably not who you think." He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her to the ground, falling on top of her.

Her chest heaving, she couldn't catch her breath to scream under his weight. She couldn't breathe. She pushed hard, but she couldn't budge him. Her hands were wet and dark red. Her throat was full. She needed out!

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself, but her mind kept replaying her dark-red hands.

"Anna, Anna, where does it hurt?"

Someone adjusted her arms and neck with a gentle movement. The weight was now off her stomach. She opened her eyes.

Garrett touched the side of her neck. "Are you okay?"

Anna tried to speak. Her crushed chest ached. She checked where it hurt. Her blue shirt was now red. Gasping, she tried to push up from the ground.

The man from the plane lay a few feet away. He wasn't moving.

Sirens whirred.

She needed to get up.

"You were knocked down. You seem okay. Do you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm o–okay." She held up her red hands, her voice shaking as much as they were. "My chest and back are aching from him shoving me."

"Do you know him?"

"I've seen him. Why isn't he moving?" She wiped her wet hands down her stained shirt. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, and her woozy head wobbled.

"He's been shot. He's dead. Did you see anyone else? I thought I recognized a guy beside the tree."

She closed her eyes and her mind. She hummed a sweet song from her childhood. Strong arms pressed tight as they wrapped around her. Someone wiped her hands. She was warm. She didn't open her eyes as she was lifted from the ground. She didn't want to see the dead man.

After she'd been carried several cautious steps, she opened her eyes. Her legs dangled limp and wobbly, but Garrett had her in his muscled arms, his jacket wrapped around her, his body providing the strength. She couldn't hear his calm, soothing words now. Sirens blared—or was she imagining that? She overplayed all sound and thoughts by humming the song over and over.

Wyatt sprinted toward her like he was trying to win a race. He was speaking, but she couldn't hear him or Garrett. She kept humming her song.

"Now that the police and paramedics are here, we should take Anna to your house," Garrett said. "She may be in shock. I have something in my vehicle that might help her, but I need to keep an eye on her."

"I'll get the police our limited information and make sure it's okay for her to leave. I'll let 'em know where you're taking her, and I'll unlock the cottage door on my phone. Whatever you need, take it." Then Wyatt clamped a hand on Garrett's shoulder. "Take care of her."

"Of course." Garrett shrugged off Wyatt's hand. "Take it easy, man."

Wyatt opened the sports car door, and Garrett settled her inside the car. Wyatt handed Garrett a business card. "This is my card for special contacts. It has my personal cell number on it. Call me if you need anything."

After Wyatt walked toward the police, Garrett waited. One officer headed over and asked some brief questions, then informed her that he would be in contact to schedule a time to come in for a follow-up interview.

At the cottage, Garrett found a fresh shirt for Anna and now stood looking out at the patio as she changed on the couch. Then he covered her with a blanket and fluffed the pillow he retrieved from her room. He tucked it under her head, set two white pills from his bag on a plate, and carried it to her with a glass of cold water.

"Take these. They'll help you rest."

The last thing she needed was to be incapacitated now. Anna shook her head.

"They're not strong." He held the plate closer to her. "At least take one."

She settled back down after taking the pill and closed her eyes. She barely heard Wyatt's truck rev and only imagined his concerned face when his steps entered the cottage.

"How is she?"

"She's okay. I worried we might have to take her to the hospital. She's pretty shaken up."

Wyatt hit a fist into his other hand and stomped into the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Nah."

Wyatt's footsteps paced the kitchen, then returned to the living room. When she peeked, the guys were sitting in recliners, staring at her. She closed her eyes again.

Sometime later, Wyatt's phone rang. "Officer Daniels, thanks for the follow-up." Wyatt started pacing again. "Yes, this is Attorney Wyatt Stone. We want to help but don't have much to add to the statement given by Ms. Stanten at the park. She is currently under medical care and isn't in capacity to give her testimony at this time. However, I'll bring her to the station when she is able. Here's what I can tell you, though."

After a few minutes, he hung up. "The victim was Clyde Beason. They've linked him to Anna because his mother is the head chef at Anna's great-uncle's house. The police are looking at park cameras for further information. Interestingly, according to the officer, camera footage at the hotel already identified him as the man who broke into her hotel room. Plus, in his wallet, he had a ticket stub for the flight she was on. She isn't safe."

Bessie's son? Anna tried to even her breathing.

"Not sure you want to tell her all that. She's pretty traumatized by the events today."

How awkward to have them talking about her in front of her. But she wasn't ready to join in.

"We'll have to keep a close watch on her." Garrett's voice rumbled. "I didn't want to say much in front of her while she was so upset, but I informed the officer that I recognized a guy standing beside the tree. It looked like the accountant from the diner. But that couldn't be, right?"

"Rowan?" Wyatt sprang to his feet. "You saw Rowan at the park?"

Rowan? How was that possible?

"Right. He came to the hospital and had me sign some workers' comp paperwork regarding Anna's incident. It sure looked like him, though I can't be sure. But the police can check his whereabouts. If he's in Texas now, that should be easy."

Wyatt's pacing resumed as if keeping pace with her thudding heart. "I have an extra room downstairs with its own bathroom if you want to stay and keep an eye on Anna. It's obvious she trusts you."

Whoa. That was huge of him. Why would he do that?

"That's a generous offer. I'll stay tonight to make sure Anna is okay. I don't have any of my things, though. I've witnessed some of the events Anna's been through, and they haven't been for the faint of heart. This woman is tough. As tough as I've ever seen. That's part of why I'm here. I do care, and I understand how much it's been. I caution you, though. She's been under tremendous stress."

"I hear you. Whatever is best for Anna. Also, no problem with the clothes. I've got you covered." Wyatt's steps drifted upstairs, then came back down. "I imagine you want to get out of your hiking gear. You can pick what you want and leave the rest on the dresser. I'll get them after you leave."

"Thanks, Wyatt."

Rowan? The thought circled her head again and again, overplayed by the blood on her hands and Bessie's son's face before she drifted into oblivion. After a while, she woke up more alert.

Garrett helped her stand up and held onto her as she went up to her room. He added another pillow behind her head and turned on the bedside lamp.

Wyatt came up shortly after, and they all sat and chatted to make certain she was okay, then they left so that she could rest.

Anna came down the stairs the next morning feeling refreshed. "Coffee, please!" She grinned while batting her eyes at the guys.

"How are you?" Garrett pivoted on his barstool, his assessing gaze probing for signs of trauma as he handed her a cup of brew.

"Much better—thanks to my excellent care." She managed a perky voice, even as her insides churned. Maybe she'd even fool him. "I don't know if I'm tough or just becoming numb. Maybe a little of both. Let's have our coffee outside, boys."

Garrett's head tilted. He touched her arm as he moved closer. "You're trying to conceal something. It's okay to tell me if something is wrong."

Her shoulders relaxed. Wyatt was standing in view, just behind Garrett. Anna didn't recognize his expression, so she patted Garrett's hand with a gentle rub as she pushed it back.

"I'm okay, really. It could all hit in a bit, but right now, I feel safe and okay. Thank you, Garrett." Their gazes locked until she noticed movement in the background. Wyatt was gone.

"You still want to drink your coffee outside?" Garrett moved toward the glass doors.

"Maybe we should have it on one of the balconies today." Wyatt beckoned from the top of the stairs. "That way, we have a good view of everything."

"I vote for Wyatt's balcony," Anna chimed in.

Garrett's eyebrows rose as he reached for her cup. Then he followed her up the stairs with a coffee cup in each hand. They didn't discuss the night before.

"You're an amazing patient. Or you're receiving excellent care." He grinned and handed over her coffee. "You seem to be recovering nicely, and if Wyatt is going to hang around to monitor, I'll head to the hotel to take care of a few things." His hand closed over hers as she took her drink. That grip and hesitant eyes said he didn't want to leave.

"I'm not going anywhere." Wyatt spoke with a firm tone. "I'll walk you to the door."

Garrett shrugged and gave Anna a warm hug, careful not to jostle their full drinks.

"Thank you," she whispered in his ear.

Garrett disappeared through the door, with Wyatt turning to follow.

The purr of Garrett's high-performance engine drifted to the balcony as it sped out of the driveway. Anna closed her eyes and saw her red hands and then Garrett's face when she was lying on the ground. She shook her head to clear her mind.

A gust of wind brought the fragrance of roses. She stood and walked toward the glass railing, savoring the sweet scents of roses, lilacs, and honeysuckle. She held her finger to her nose to fight back a sneeze as Wyatt's feet thumped up the stairs.

"Hey. You okay?" He made his way over and placed his hand on her shoulder.

She adjusted her shoulder, causing his hand to fall. "Look, we can't pretend our relationship is the same. You changed everything."

Wyatt crossed the balcony, staring into the distance. "You're still going through with your meeting, then?" His broad shoulders taut, he hunched over and leaned on the hands he had clenched around the glass railing. "The man on the plane was Bessie's son, Clyde Beason. He worked for Atticus."

"I know. I heard you guys last night. That means we need more answers. He wanted me to pay him to know who hired him, said it wasn't who I thought. This might explain the tension between Martha and Bessie."

Wyatt rubbed his temples, revealing his frustration. "There's no changing your mind on this? Even when my suggestion is not to pursue it?"

There was a time in life when one must stand up. Sometimes it came from inside, sometimes from God, sometimes because one was left without a choice. She couldn't speak for God, certainly, but she had no choice. Her body relaxed with confidence, and her gaze found his. "You're in denial. Usually, that's my role. It's not going to stop. Something dark and sinister has begun, and it won't end without everyone and everything coming into the light."

He glanced over his shoulder, his sun-golden skin paling. "I care about you. That's why I think you should avoid a confrontation. Atticus will be gone soon enough."

"And have no answers? I've got to try."

"If you're determined, then I'm here. Maybe you should contact Martha to see what's going on. The house might be in chaos. Bessie has worked for Atticus for a long time. If he had a hand in this, she'll be livid."

"Deal. But right now, believe it or not, I'm starving."

"You're not up to cooking right now, but I can whip something up. Or the bistro not far from here serves a great brunch and delivers. We shouldn't go out yet—at least not until we've met with Atticus." He shifted, turning his back to lean on the railing. "So much has happened. Let's stay close to the house."

"Wise decision. I'm glad one of us is thinking clearly. I'm going to freshen up. Then I'll meet you downstairs." She strode to her room.

The stairs creaked with the tap of his feet as he headed down to the kitchen. She finished up and soon followed.

Wyatt rummaged in the refrigerator. "I'll make French toast and sausage. I have some canned peaches from a neighbor by the cabin. Does that sound okay?"

"Sounds great. Thanks."

Settling into a barstool, she dialed Martha's number, got voicemail, and left a message.

He cracked the eggs, then cocked his head toward her. "You told Martha you had questions. What questions?"

Seriously? She rolled her eyes. "The same questions that haven't been answered. It's time to finish this instead of dragging it out over time. Soon, it might be too late."

"I understand. We just want to be on the same page here. If Martha shows up, we need a unified front. Our meeting with her and our meeting with Atticus might be a one-shot only. From now on, we work it out together—as a team."

Anna's phone rang. She checked the screen. "It's Martha."

Wyatt crossed his arms and set his ingredients aside as she answered.

"Martha, I hope Bessie is doing okay. Clyde's death is all part of this mystery and quite a shock."

"Of course she's upset!"

"Can we still meet with Atticus tomorrow? We're concerned, especially now, so I also have more questions. I'm trying to prepare for what I'm stepping into. Please help me understand why you contacted me. You owe me that."

"Maybe. I don't know." Martha's sigh drifted through. "The house is tense, and I want to get away. Atticus is changing. I could meet you in an hour somewhere—not here."

Great. Anna could almost hear the unsure, erratic version of Martha wringing her hands. "Okay. Please don't let me down. I didn't care about any of this until you involved me. Now I need some answers."

"I know what I've done." She huffed. "You don't need to remind me. I've told you everything I know. I'll meet you, but don't ask again. Send me the address."

The phone went silent.