His eyes dancing, Brock grabbed the bag, his fingers closing over mine. Again our eyes met. Again he pulled back, then stood up.
“Looks like the storm is getting worse. I should get more wood while I have a chance.”
And then he was out the door before I could ask him if he would have liked any help.
Which was good, really.
My glance at the five logs in the fireplace confirmed my suspicions: Brock was going to be gone a good while finding more wood. Now was my best chance to snoop and find the evidence of criminal activity that I needed. I took one long look around the cabin before I got to work. The place was small, but there were still numerous places to hide things if you were clever, which Brock clearly was.
Still, my search went slower than I had even feared. First I checked the loft, careful not to disturb the swaths of Aztec-patterned blankets or the smooth slats of wood, none of which moved or concealed any hidden compartments. Then I checked the bathroom, felt under the bathtub, even peered behind the toilet. Back in the main room, I checked the cupboard, the kettle, the pot, the fridge. Still nothing, and Brock could be back any minute. I slipped my hand behind every painting frame, craned my head under the couch, and finally lay back on the floor and stared at the ceiling dismally.
What if there was nothing? If Russell Snow had been so sure there had been evidence, wouldn’t he have known what it would be? Then my gaze fell on the chest, and suddenly it was so obvious that I almost laughed at myself for missing it.
Sure enough, inside the chest were several guns, all with the serial numbers scratched off.
Just then footsteps sounded around the house. I ripped my phone out of my pocket, snapped a picture of the chest’s contents, and then slammed the lid shut just as the front door opened.
I scrambled back to the couch and then rose as Brock staggered in, his arms overflowing with logs.
“Went a little overboard,” he grumbled as he heaved the logs into the fireplace. “Though that should be it for tonight,” he said, answering my next question.
He collapsed on the couch beside me, closer than last time though not as close as the first time.
“Can I?” he asked, with a flick of his wrist at the cookie bag next to me.
“Sure,” I said, adding, “just a few” right as his hand came out of the bag with two cookies in it.
He shot me a guilty smile and then asked, “What, are you hungry? Do you want some real food?”
A glance in the bag revealed six more cookies.
“No. This is fine,” I said.
As I reached for another, my phone rang.
One glance at the caller and I immediately hung up.
What was Russell Snow doing calling me now?
A few seconds later, my phone rang again. Again, Russell Snow.
I declined again, this time turning off my phone completely.
“They must really want to get ahold of you,” Brock said.
He wasn’t looking at me, but he could’ve been before. Had he seen the caller ID? Did he know?
“It was my mom. She’s always calling me nonstop, checking up on me,” I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Brock said. “I can go outside or whatever.”
I shook my head.
“No. It’s fine. One night off will be nice.”
A slight smile slid over Brock’s lips.
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
“Oh?”
“I’m changing professions. Only problem is, my profession is…well, it’s not the best profession to be in, and it’s a damn hard one to get out of.”
His tortured gaze was once again on the chest. Pity panged through me.
“So…this job...how bad is it?”
“Bad. That’s all I’ll say,” Brock said. “Can’t tell you any more than that.”
I nodded, and Brock shook his head.
“There is a bit more than that. I used to be a Navy SEAL, you know. I was good at it too, the fast pace, taking orders and giving them, helping my friends, serving my country. Even had a bit of time for painting every once in a while. And then I got booted. Dumb politics I hadn’t even wanted to get involved with in the first place. Me and a few friends, one day we were in, the next we were out. There wasn’t much left for us; I didn’t know how to do anything else. My friend—Garth, the funny one—he was the one who came up with the idea for the two of us, a just-for-now scheme that swelled until it was out of control.”
Brock shook his head.
“But it’s over now, and everything will be fine soon. I told him I was through a month ago, and I’m making a new life for myself here. This is just the beginning.”