“I’m not doubting your word,” Sam assured her. “Just trying to get a sense.”
“I think I was at least an hour in the forest. And I took some shots from where it thins and you can see the channel. And after I went down, I took more from that big flat rockthe first one you come to from the track. That’s when Tag ran up with the shoe. I didn’t notice the time, but it had to be after nine. Then the dog kept barking and whining and I turned to tell him to knock it off, and I saw her.”
“Okay. I’m sorry about this, Ms. Carson.”
“Naomi. Naomi’s fine.”
“I’m sorry about this, Naomi, and I have to say I’m grateful you walked that way today. It might’ve been another day or two before anyone found her otherwise.”
“You’re going to tell Chip,” Xander put in. “I know he’s not next of kin, but you’re going to tell him before he hears somebody talking about it.”
With a nod, Sam took off his ball cap, scraped fingers through gray-streaked brown hair, set it back on again. “I’m going to see him right after I talk to her mother. If you think of some other details, Naomi, or if you just need to talk it through, you give me a call. This house is looking better than it ever didwell, in my lifetime. I’m a phone call away,” he added, and gave the dog a quick rub before leaving.
She woke herself from the nightmare, ripped herself out of the cellar, under a nurse log in the dark, green forest. The cellar where she’d found Marla’s body. The fear came with her, and the images of the killing room her father had built, and all the blood and death in it.
Her breath wheezed out, wanted to clog up. She fought to hitch it in, shoved it out again.
Then hands gripped her shoulders. She’d have screamed if she’d had the air.
“It’s me. It’s Xander. Hold on a minute.”
He turned her, one hand still firm on her shoulder, and switched on the light.
One look at her had his hands taking her face, a hard grip.
“Slow it down, Naomi. Look at me, slow it down. You’re okay, just slow it down. You’re going to hyperventilate and pass out on me otherwise. Look at me.”
She pulled air inGod, it burnedfought to hold it, slow it before she let it out. She kept her eyes on his, so blue. A deep, bold blue, like water she could sink into and float.
“Better. You’re okay, slower, slow it down some more. I’m going to get you some water.”
She lifted her hands, pressed them to his. She needed those eyes, just that deep blue for another minute.
He kept talking to her. She didn’t really register the words, just the hands on her face, the blue of his eyes. The burn eased, the weight lifted.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“Don’t be stupid. Water’s right there, on your nightstand. I’m not going anywhere.”
He reached around her, picked up the bottle, uncapped it. “Slow on this, too.”
She nodded, sipped. “I’m all right.”
“Not yet, but close. You’re cold.” He rubbed those work-rough hands up and down her arms. He looked over her shoulder, said, “Ease off now.”
She glanced over, saw Tag with his front paws on the bed.
“I woke up the dog, too. At the risk of being stupid on your scale, I am sorry. Nightmare.”
Not her first, he thought, but the first time he’d seen the full-blown panic. “Not surprising, considering. You should get back under the blankets, warm up.”
“You know, I think I’ll get up, try to work awhile.”
“Nothing much to take pictures of at . . . three twenty in the morning.”
“It’s not just taking them.”
“I guess not. We should go down, scramble some eggs.”
“Scramble eggs? In the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the middle of the night on your time clock. Yeah, eggs. We’re up anyway.”
“You don’t have to be,” she began, but he just rolled out of bed.
“We’re up,” he repeated, and walked over to open the doors. Tag bulleted out. “Up and out. Waffles,” he considered, glancing over to study her as he pulled on pants. “I bet you could make waffles.”
“I could, if I had a waffle maker. Which I don’t.”
“Too bad. Scrambled eggs, then.”
She sat a moment, bringing her knees up to her chest.
He just handled things, she thought. Nightmares, panic attacks, hurt dogs on the side of the road, dead bodies at the foot of the bluff.
How did he do it?
“You’re hungry.”
“I’m awake.” He picked up the cotton pants and T-shirt he’d gotten off her in the night, tossed them in her direction.