Secret Triplets(19)

 

We got there without warning. Everything was trees, trees, and more trees, and then, all at once, water.

 

It was a little pond just big enough for two people who didn’t want to get too close. Who couldn’t get too close.

 

“It’s not too deep. Or cold. Even after a big snow, somehow, it never gets too cold,” Brock said, already taking off his shirt.

 

“Good,” I said, walking over behind a pine so I could undress.

 

I didn’t want to get to talking to Brock, to joking as if things were like they had been before, like last night hadn’t happened or even like we were friends or lovers or something stupid like that. Brock Anderson was the target, nothing more. I had made a mistake, sure, but I was going to do the right thing now and distance myself so I could do my job properly and hand over what I’d found to my client.

 

A splash indicated Brock was already in the water.

 

“It’s nice!” he called.

 

Once my shirt and pants were off, I dashed in as fast as I could. Brock had been right: the water was cool, not cold; in between shallow and deep, it stopped just above my chest, thankfully. I swam from one side to the other and then floated on my back, my eyes closed.

 

“Look up,” Brock whispered from right beside me.

 

Surprised, I jumped and then did as I was told. The sky was a patchwork of tree branches, bright, happy blue between the black, red-leaved branches. It was beautiful; it was more than beautiful. It was awe-inspiring.

 

“Wow,” I said softly.

 

“Wow,” he said beside me.

 

And then we lay there, the criminal and me, quiet before the majesty of nature’s beauty.

 

After a few minutes of enjoyable escape, however, pesky worry started to return. How long was I planning to stay here, really? What if, as I lay here, another storm started up and I couldn’t leave again?

 

When I turned to look at Brock, I saw he was doing the exact same thing. Our gazes met, each flicking to the other’s lips. As we neared, a thousand more thoughts arose: You shouldn’t do this—Stop—There’s still time—Stop! So I did. An inch from him, I paused. My gaze searched his, for permission, for reassurance, for I don’t know what. But all I saw in the black of his pupils was the worried reflection of my own eyes. One last thought snuck in: You know what to do.

 

And I did. So, as Brock’s lips pressed against mine, I turned away. Then I swam to the shore and hurried behind the same pine as before to get dressed.

 

Once I was dressed, I came out from behind the tree. Brock was still in the same place as before, floating on his back again, lost in the sight of the branch-patchwork sky.

 

“I think we should go now,” I said in a tone colder than I had intended. I added in a kinder tone, “Please, Brock.”

 

Looking at me with wide, startled eyes, Brock slowly made his way to the shore.

 

“Yeah. Of course, yeah,” he murmured half to himself.

 

He pulled his clothes on in the same daze and then, with a shy smile at me, started walking. I followed him. We returned the same way, though we were not the same people as the ones who’d walked there. Maybe Brock didn’t feel it, but I knew without a doubt that something had been decided. I had decided. I had chosen myself and my job, not the criminal I had unwittingly fallen for. Finally, I had made the right choice. And as we walked in silence through the forest, I smiled a little at that.

 

When we got back to the cabin, Brock stopped.

 

“Sorry about before,” he said.

 

I strode on ahead.

 

“Don’t worry about it. What’s going to happen with my car though?”

 

“Oh yeah, your car.”

 

Brock scanned it for a minute and then said, “I can tow it into town. Here, you can wait inside my pickup while I hook them together,” he said, gesturing to his maroon truck.

 

I got in, still gripping the fuel pump in my pocket. This job couldn’t be over soon enough.

 

A few minutes later, Brock was getting in beside me and starting the car.

 

“Oh, wanted to be sure you didn’t forget this. Your car was open and I saw it left on the seat there,” he said, handing me a piece of paper.

 

I gaped at him. Did he know? Why did he sound so casual if he did?

 

There, clutched in his hand, was the balled-up photo printout of him.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

 

 

 

“What, was it for me?” he joked, starting to unravel it.

 

“No!” I barked, snatching it out of his hands and shoving it into my bakery bag.

 

Brock stared at me for a minute, his eyebrows raising in surprise and then in a questioning look.