Security Measures. Sara K. Parker

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      “People learn to hide their pain,” Hunter pointed out.

      “I won’t argue with that. Another possibility is an accidental overdose. He was a bit of a drinker and he’d had a beer or two that day. His daughter also mentioned she thought he’d started to show signs of dementia. He was scheduled for an evaluation later this week.”

      Hunter nodded. “My mom suffered with dementia. Caught her consuming a whole stick of butter one day. She’d ingest anything that wasn’t locked up.”

      “Exactly,” Triss agreed. “Which is why I know this sounds crazy. There’s a logical explanation for all of these deaths. But something doesn’t sit right with me. That’s a lot of death in a short amount of time.”

      “At a residential community for the elderly,” Hunter added. He glanced over at her. “But?”

      “But my gut tells me something else is going on,” Triss responded.

      She filled him in on the lax security at Harmony and her ideas for tightening it up—if for nothing else, then for her own peace of mind. She told him about the meeting she’d held two days ago to get the other grad students and some staff on board—and how no one seemed to take her concerns seriously. And she told him that she’d started to wonder if she simply was being paranoid and not dealing well with grief.

      Hunter was mostly quiet as she told the story, but that was his way. She’d been with him on enough interviews to know how he operated. When drawing up security plans, he believed in long silences and letting clients tell their stories until they ran out of words. That’s when he would start asking questions. She let silence fall over the car and waited.

      Finally, Hunter glanced over at her. “This is a lot to handle alone,” he said. “I would have backed you up at that meeting.”

      “We haven’t exactly seen much of each other lately.”

      A beat passed, and she immediately regretted her words. It was no one’s fault but her own that they hadn’t seen much of each other. She had a phone. She had his number. She’d purposely stayed away.

      “No,” Hunter said. “We haven’t.”

      She suspected he wanted to say more on that topic, but he didn’t. Their exit was coming up, and he slowed, pulling off the highway. “So, four people have died in three weeks. On Monday, you held a security meeting and no one supported your ideas, and today your car catches on fire leaving the funeral.”

      “I told you it sounded crazy.” She refused to look at him, afraid to see the doubt in his eyes. She could handle that look from almost anyone. But not from Hunter.

      “It does sound crazy,” he finally said, and her heart sank.

      When did she get so soft? When had words gained the power to hurt her again? Why did she care if Hunter believed her? It wasn’t as if—

      “But I believe you,” Hunter added.

      Relief flooded over Triss. The truck turned onto the winding road that led to the senior living community, fall leaves swirling along the path. She wanted to thank him. And hug him. Strangely, she also wanted to cry. She didn’t do any of those things. Instead, as he pulled up to the security gate, she said, “Good. Now is when you help me figure out what to do next.”

      She gave him the code to open the wrought-iron gate, and as he drove through it and onto the property, he glanced her way. “The next order of business would be to file a report with the police. You may not have had much to go on with the residents’ deaths, but what happened today definitely gives your concerns more credibility.”

      “Right.”

      “And upgrading security measures like you mentioned would be a reasonable next step.”

      The narrow road opened onto the well-manicured property, tufts of golden leaves scattered along the drive and the walkways.

      “I’ll get in touch with Roman tonight and see what we can pull together. They have a security team here?”

      He pulled into a parking spot.

      “Sort of. Two officers patrol on twelve-hour shifts. You can usually find one of them in the admin offices over there.” She pointed to a small whitewashed brick cottage across the parking lot.

      “Good. I’ll try to get with one of them before I leave.” He turned off the truck and focused his attention on her. Triss forced herself to meet his gaze, to pretend that the warm concern in his soft brown eyes didn’t affect her one bit.

      “You sure you’re okay? We can turn around now and get you checked out.”

      “I’m fine,” she insisted, and she meant it. She hadn’t hit her head, and she wasn’t the least bit tired. She was overwhelmed. She’d almost died, and then Hunter had shown up—the man who had spent the past couple of years slowly chipping away at every wall Triss had built around her heart. The very man she’d been successfully avoiding since August.

      She started to open the door, but Hunter reached past her and opened the glove box.

      “Hold on.” He pulled out a packet of wet wipes and handed them to her. “Unless you want to answer a bunch of questions, you’ll want to get rid of the evidence.” A hint of a smile played on his lips, and Triss flipped down the visor mirror.

      Traces of smoke residue were smudged along the side of her nose and the edge of her jaw. She took a wipe and swiped it over her skin, erasing any signs of the accident. Then she grabbed a new one for her hands, a warm thankfulness rising at Hunter’s thoughtfulness.

      She handed the pack to him. “Better?”

      His gaze traveled over her face, his eyes too soft. He nodded and popped the packet back in the compartment, which was also stuffed with a pack of crackers, two Pull-Ups and a box of Disney-character Band-Aids.

      He glanced up at her as he closed the console, humor in his expression as he caught her observing.

      “It’s my emergency stash,” he said.

      Somehow, the stash made her heart ache, but Triss forced a small smile. “Always prepared.”

      Of course, he would be as a single dad of two young kids.

      She opened the door and stepped out, pushing away the emotions threatening to rise again. What was wrong with her?

      Death. Funerals. Families weeping over graves.

      And Hunter, crouching on the hood of her car, locking eyes with her and renewing her strength as her breath started to fail, just as her body started to give up.

      If she was the type of woman who dreamed of happily-ever-afters, he was the type of man she would dream about. Courageous, quick and smart at work. Tender and lighthearted with his kids. Kind to everyone he met.

      Of course, Triss wasn’t prone to dreaming. Even if she was, Hunter was off-limits, and she would never tell him why. The reminder wrenched at her heart as Hunter came around the front of the truck and walked alongside her. Sure, she’d moved here to cut her expenses and get out of her brother’s house. But the move had also allowed СКАЧАТЬ