Fiona ran those words through her mind on the drive home. My heart wouldn’t say no.
She thought it lovely, and at the same time felt relief that, at the moment, her heart kept silent. A speaking heart could break—she knew that very well. As long as hers remained content, she’d stay relaxed and happy.
Spring was beginning to show her face as field and hill and forest steeped in green, sprinkled by the bold yellow of wild buttercups, like grains of shaken sunlight. Maybe there was a dusting of snow high up on Mount Constitution, but the contrast of white peaks against soft blue only made the shy blooms of the early white fawn lilies more charming, the three-note call of the sparrow more poignant.
Right at the moment, she felt like the island—coming alive, blooming, busy with the business of being.
Classes and clients and work on her blog packed her days, while her unit and training added the spice of satisfaction. Her own three dogs gave her love, entertainment, security. Her very hot neighbor kept her excited and aware—and had a dog she believed she could mold into a solid, even superior, Search and Rescue dog.
The police didn’t have any news—not that they were sharing, in any case—on the three murdered women, but... There’d been no more abductions reported in two weeks.
As she rounded a curve she caught sight of the iridescent blur of a hummingbird zipping along a clump of red-flowering currant.
If that couldn’t be taken as a good omen, she mused, what could?
“No bad news, Bogart, just the—what is that song?—the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees. Hell, that’s going to stick in my head.”
He thumped his glossy black tail, so she sang it again. “I don’t know the rest—before my time, you know. Anyway, errands are done, we’re nearly home. And you know what? Maybe I’ll give Jaws’s daddy a call, see if he wants to come over for dinner. I could cook. Something. It might be time we had ourselves a date—and a sleepover. What do you say? Do you want Jaws to come over and play? Let’s get the mail first.”
She turned into the drive, parked and walked over to the box on the side of the road. She tossed the mail into one of the grocery bags. “We’d better get this stuff put away so I can see if I actually have anything to make for dinner—the sort you make when somebody comes over.”
As she carried bags inside she wished she’d had the idea earlier. Then she could’ve picked up something, put together an actual adult menu.
“I could go back,” she mused, stowing frozen dinners, cans. “Pick up a couple of steaks. You know what?” She tossed the mail on the table, put away the cloth bags Sylvia had given her for grocery runs. “I could just call the pizza place and sweet-talk them into a delivery.”
Considering the options, she picked up the mail. “Bill, bill, oh, and, surprise, bill.” She lifted the padded mailing bag. “Not a bill. Hey, guys, maybe this is some pictures from one of our graduates.”
Her former clients often sent her photos and updates. Pleased to have something that wasn’t a bill, she zipped open the bag.
The gauzy red scarf fell onto the table.
She stumbled back, revulsion and panic rising in her throat like burning reflux. For a moment the room spun around her, gray at the edges so the snake coil of the scarf boiled red. Pain crashed into her chest, blocking her breath until the gray swam with white dots. She groped behind her, clamped one white-knuckled hand on the counter as her legs liquefied.
Don’t faint, don’t faint, don’t faint.
Bearing down, she sucked in air, hissed it out, and forced her quivering legs to move. Even as she reached for the phone, the dogs milling around her in concern went on alert.
“Stay with me. Stay with me.” She gasped it out as hammers of panic slammed against her ribs. She swore she heard the strike of them cracking her bones like glass.
Fiona grabbed the phone with one hand, a carving knife with the other.
“Damn it, Fiona, you left the door open again.”
Simon strode in, annoyance in every line. Faced with a woman, pale as wax, holding a very large knife and guarded by three dogs who all growled a low warning, he stopped short.
“You want to tell them to stand down?” he asked. Coolly, calmly.
“Relax. Relax, boys. Friend. Simon’s a friend. Say hi to Simon.”
Jaws galloped in with a rope, ready to play. Simon walked to the back door, opened it. “Everybody out.”
“Go on out. Go outside. Go play.”
Still watching her, Simon closed the door behind the rush of bodies. “Put down the knife.”
She managed another breath. “I can’t. I can’t seem to let go of it.”
“Look at me,” he ordered. “Look at me.” His eyes on hers, Simon put a hand on her wrist and used the other to release the vise of her fingers on the handle of the knife. He shot it back into the slot on the cutting board.
“What happened?”
She lifted a hand, pointed at the table. Saying nothing, he walked to the table, stared down at the scarf, the open bag.
“Finish calling the cops,” he told her, then turned when she didn’t speak, didn’t move. He took the phone.
“Speed dial one. Sheriff’s office. Sorry. I need to just...” She slid down, sat on the floor and dropped her head between her knees.
His voice was a vague buzz under the thunder of her heart in her ears. She hadn’t fainted, she reminded herself. She’d armed herself. She’d been ready.
But now, now all she wanted to do was come apart.
“Here. Drink.” Simon took her hand, wrapped it around a glass of water. “Drink it, Fiona.” Crouching, he guided the glass to her lips, watching her steadily.
“Your hands are hot.”
“No, yours are cold. Drink the water.”
“Can’t swallow.”
“Yes you can. Drink the water.” He nudged it on her, sip by slow sip. “Davey’s on his way.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me.”
“I saw a hummingbird. I saw a hummingbird, and I stopped to get the mail. It was in the mail. I picked up the mail, brought it in with the groceries. I thought it might be pictures of one of my dogs—students. I get them sometimes. But...”
He rose, took the bag by the corner with two fingers, flipped it over. “It’s postmarked Lakeview, Oregon. There’s no return address.”
“I didn’t look. I just opened it—right before you came in. Right before.”
“I couldn’t have walked in and scared you if you hadn’t left your door open.”
“You’re right.” The knot at the base of her throat wouldn’t loosen. The water wouldn’t wash it away, so she focused on Simon’s face, the rich tea color of his eyes. “That was careless. Comes from being relaxed and happy. Stupid.” She pushed to her feet, set the glass on the counter. “But I had the dogs. I had a weapon. If it hadn’t been you, if it had been...”
“He’d have a hard time getting by the dogs. Odds are he wouldn’t. But if he did, goddamn, if, Fiona, he’d have taken that knife away from you in two seconds.”
Her chin came up; so did her color. “You think so?”
“Look, you’re strong, and you’re fast. But grabbing a weapon you have to use close in, and can be used against you, isn’t a smart alternative to running.”
Her movements jerky, she yanked open a drawer, pulled out a spatula. The knot dissolved, with anger and insult in its place. “Take it away from me.”
“For Christ’s sake.”
“Pretend it’s a knife. Prove your point, goddamn it.”
“Fine.” He shifted, feinted with his right hand, then reached for her arm with his left.
Fiona changed her leg base, grabbed his reaching arm and used his momentum to drag him by. He had to slap a hand against the wall or run face-first into it.