Chapter 26: : Chapter 26

For the first time in months, Nash put on a suit. He found he didn’t mind it so much, especially since it reminded him he no longer had to wear one daily.

When he picked her up, looking every bit as good as he’d imagined in the little black dress and heels that must’ve added a solid four inches to her height, she just grinned at him.

“I knew it. I knew you’d have a selection of superior suits to fill that amazing closet you’re building.”

“I ditched half of them. Donated,” he corrected when her mouth dropped open.

“Okay then. Good thing you kept this one.” She took a leather jacket out of the coat closet. “Because you look, as Sari would say, fine in it.”

Since they’d dressed for it, he took the jacket from her, helped her on with it. “You look fine yourself.”

She sent him a look over her shoulder. “Yes, I do. We do. So let’s get this party started.”

The fact she knew just about everyone—bartender, several servers, a good chunk of other diners—didn’t surprise him. She’d grown up in this little spot, after all.

Just as it hadn’t surprised him just how good she looked in that little black dress.

It did surprise him, at least a little, how much they had to talk about beyond her work, his work, house plans, and paint samples.

Maybe it shouldn’t have. They’d had plenty of conversations. But it seemed different sitting in a restaurant over a good bottle of wine.

“I saw your couple dozen medals at your parents’. For track.”

“And cross-country. I could run. Still can. I did indoor track to keep in shape, but outdoors was it and cross-country the biggest it. Did you have a sport?”

“Tennis.”

“I’d have guessed football. Got a quarterback build on you, Littlefield.”

“Not on the approved list. Tennis or golf. Country club sports were acceptable activities. I went for tennis. Wasn’t bad,” he remembered. “Theo was better. We both went for piano—also required. I’m better there.”

“You play the piano?” Those magic eyes widened. “I want to hear you play. Why don’t you have a piano? You have to get a piano.”

“I’ve got one in storage. I was going to sell it when I sold the condo. Theo talked me out of it.”

“Good for Theo.” She reached over to sample some of his salmon. “You’ve got plenty of room for one. Do you like to play?”

“Now and then.” He reevaluated. “Yeah, now and then. I bought one telling myself I could play when I wanted, not when required. It worked. Do you play?”

“I play nothing. I could never sit still long enough to practice. I tried guitar awhile, during my rock-stars-are-dreamy stage.” Head angled, she lifted her wine. “I guess I never moved out of that stage, but even though you can stand up and move around with a guitar, it didn’t stick.

“Try some of this shrimp.”

She transferred some to his plate.

“Drea was ballet girl. I liked it okay. It’s athletic, physical, demanding, but—”

“Too much time indoors.”

She tapped her fork in the air. “Exactly. So tennis and piano? Any other lessons and hidden talents?”

“We had to learn suitable dances. I consider myself fortunate ballet wasn’t in the mix.”

“Athletic,” she reminded him. “Physical. But, that aside, what’s a suitable dance?”

“Waltz would top the list.”

She sat back, pointed at him. “You can waltz? You have to teach me. It always looks so pretty, especially in those movies where the women are in those sweeping gowns and the guys wear tuxes. Do you really have a tux?”

He had two, but just shrugged.

“I don’t have a sweeping gown, but I’d get one if I knew how to waltz.”

She angled her head. “What’s funny?”

“Not funny so much as interesting. You’re an interesting woman.”

“You teach me to waltz, and I’ll crochet you a throw. After I crochet mine, so it’ll be a few years. But it’s a good trade. Or I could do a scarf, which you’d definitely have by next fall. You can choose.”

“I’ll decide after I see how long it takes you to learn the waltz.”

“That makes sense.” She leaned toward him. “Tell me something else?”

“About what?”

“About you. We’ve known each other for months now, and I’m just finding out you play the piano and know how to waltz. You probably fox-trot, too, even though I don’t know exactly what that is. Favorite TV show, early 2000s.”

“Alias. We weren’t allowed to watch, but Sophia would record it and let us watch it when they weren’t around. Hot, kick-ass woman. Everything a young boy could want. I will forever have a crush on Jennifer Garner.”

“That shows excellent taste. I wasn’t a young boy, but I loved that show. And I’m sorry I keep blundering into what you had to do or couldn’t.”

“It’s hard not to, and it’s fine. And it gets less … important every day. I have what I want. I was happy enough in New York. I’m happier here.”

“What would you do on an average evening in New York?”

“This. Dinner out. Not now and again, but most of the time. Taking clients to dinner or a dinner meeting, a date or meeting up with Theo. In Annapolis?”

“A lot of takeout or toss something together. Maybe dinner with friends, or over at Joel’s if Sari took pity on us. Maybe a date. I was happy there, and I didn’t really expect it, but I’m happier here. I’ve got what I want, too.”

Because they both wanted it, they spent the night together within the soothing walls of her bedroom.

He left before her in the morning, and as she dressed for work, she dubbed her weekend—a truly off weekend—perfect. She’d put her mind and her efforts into her home, herself, and by doing so, her relationship with Nash.

She liked who he was, who he’d made himself into. The more she learned about him, the more she admired the man he’d made himself into.

If her feelings ran deeper than she’d intended, well, he was the kind of man she wanted to invest those feelings in.

And she was, beginning, middle, and end, responsible for her own feelings.

She’d come through a hard fall, a shaky start to the winter. And now with spring finally here, she had her footing, and someone she cared about who cared about her.

She had what she wanted, Sloan mused. And the weekend had only given her more.

She put on her Stetson—the straw one for the warmer season. And with it, put on the cop again.

She kept the cop on when she got home at the end of her day. Though she sat a minute or two in her car just smiling at the house. She’d put chairs on that porch, a little table, some flowerpots. She should do window boxes—just the right touch for the cottage look.

Inside, still in her jacket and hat, she ignored the kitchen and stepped through to the mudroom.

“Plumbing roughed in, thank you, CJ. Next, inspection, insulation, and drywall!”

She went back, hung up the jacket, stowed her hat, secured her weapon.

She took the Chinese takeout she’d picked up on the way home into her office. Sitting, she studied her wall, ate some noodles.

“All right. Where did I leave off?”

As Sloan ate and worked, Clara came home. She sat, took her crepe-soled shoes off her aching feet, and let out a long, deep “Ahhhh.”

She’d been running around all day, with barely a chance to think. And thinking’s what she had to do.

Maybe it was best to take another one first, before the witch. Gain some strength and insight from that.

She’d had one selected. The man had been struck by lightning and survived it. If that wasn’t a sign from the Almighty, she didn’t know what was.

What to do, what to do?

She took her shoes into the bedroom to put away, put on her house slippers.

She needed to make a meal for Sam. That was her sacred duty, and her sincere pleasure. Though her feet ached and her lower back with it, she went to the kitchen.

With the TV on for company, she put together a meatloaf, boiled some potatoes for mashing. Frozen peas would do fine with it, she thought, and set the timer on the meatloaf, turned the potatoes on low.

She needed just a short nap, just twenty minutes down, after this hard ten-hour day.

She lay on the bedspread, and fell instantly into a dream.

A vision.

She saw the man—his name was Terrance Brown, and brown he was, with a white mama, a Black daddy. A good-looking, well-built man of thirty. Head chef in a fancy restaurant in—it turned out—Heron’s Rest.

When the storm came, it filled the sky, shook the earth. The man, Terry they called him, went outside. He liked to take pictures, and wanted one of the lightning that pitchforked the sky.

“I didn’t know it was coming for me,” he told Clara. “I didn’t know.”

He moved away from the house, one he shared with a woman he got engaged to. Rain lashed, whipped over him, but he didn’t seem to mind it. He wore nothing but the boxers he’d slept in before the storm came.

And he lifted his phone toward the sky, waiting for the next strike.

It struck with a blast like a bomb, cleaving the tree beside him.

His body shook; his hair stood straight up. The tree split in half as he fell.

Clara smelled sulfur and brimstone.

The woman in a shirt and panties—and neither did much to cover her butt cheeks—ran screaming from the house.

She ran to him, dropped down, and shouting, started pumping his chest.

“Terry! Terry! Don’t leave me. I called for help, don’t leave me!”

The witch stepped up beside Clara and laughed.

Clara saw her true face, those wicked eyes, the sharp, evil smile.

“Who sent the lightning, Clara? Your master or mine? Where did his soul go before they pulled it back into him? Heaven or Hellfire?”

The witch’s hair, long and wild now, blew in the rise of wind, untouched by the rain.

“You think to take me on, Clara? Be prepared to pay the price.”

She flicked out a hand.

Clara felt the burn, scorching, searing. And felt it even as she woke.

Panting for air, shaking so her bones seemed to rattle, she pushed up to sit on the side of the bed. She wept a little, prayed for strength.

In her heart, and that heart ached, she understood the terrible battle to come. She understood the price could be her life.

She would need that strength to continue the work. She needed courage to face what would come.

And she would need faith that if she fell, Sam would continue the mission.

In the bathroom she rinsed her face with cool water. And studied herself in the mirror.

She’d never been a pretty woman, she knew, not by society’s standards. And now, with forty a few years behind her, time showed in lines and droops.

But she’d had a good husband while he’d lived, and she had a strong man now who loved her. She had a calling to heal, and the higher calling to the mission.

She’d had a good life, and had been chosen for righteous work.

If she fell doing that work, she accepted it. And she’d enter the gates of glory with her head high.

When the oven timer sounded, she walked out to finish dinner.

And when Sam came home, she greeted him with a kiss.

He wrapped around her. “Babe, some days I don’t know how I’d get through if I didn’t have you.”

“Good thing you do. Now, you sit down, take a load off. I’ve got dinner ready.”

“Nope, don’t know what I’d do. I could sure use a beer after this one, babe.”

“You know, I could, too. Why don’t you get us both one while I put dinner on the table.”

He opened the fridge, saw a fresh six-pack. His Clara? Best woman there ever was.

“Is that meatloaf? Clara, I swear I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“It’s what you’re doing. What we do together. And there’s a little extra of the extra in the meatloaf tonight. We’re both going to need strength and clarity, doll. We’ll need all of that. I had a vision.”

She told him, but not of her fear—and it was still fear—that the price would mean her life. She would spare him that, and not pit his love for her against his duty.

When she felt sure how and when they’d wage this battle, she’d leave a letter for him. She’d ask him not to grieve too long, and to lean hard on that love to help him continue their work.

“Satan’s whore. I know you don’t like that word, babe, but…”

“Truth is truth. We need to take our time here, doll. She’ll be wily, there’s no doubt of that. She won’t be like the others. The others, they’re victims of human pride.”

“Because men try to be gods,” Sam finished.

“With those others, we’re giving them their release, sending them home. It’ll be different with her.”

The food soothed her, brought comfort. And she felt the strength of the resurrected blood do its work.

“I’ll know when the time comes, when the word comes down and into me. But the vision? It showed me this. We’re to take them both. She was there when the lightning struck the one we’ve chosen. He’s part of this battle.”

“How can we do that? Take two?”

“The way will come, doll. It will come. Until then, we watch, we wait, we prepare.”

As April warmed and blossomed, Sloan welcomed the tulips, the haze of willows greening, the early pop of trillium, the graceful arch of Solomon’s seal in the woods, along the banks of streams.

And as she searched for reports of missing persons, she went beyond the radius on her map.

She found nothing that fit the victim profile, and had to conclude the abductors had changed pattern.

Sickness, an accident, an arrest over something unrelated—any of those could account for the lag in time.

They could have botched an attempt that went unreported.

When she put on her uniform, she set it aside.

To add to the training, she assigned herself and Elana to boat patrol for a week.

Warmer weather brought out the locals and the spring vacationers. Kayaks, canoes, Sunfish, sloops glided silently while boat engines puttered, purred, or occasionally roared.

It felt good to cruise along, feel the air whip, the sun spread.

The swan family kept near the shoreline, where the cob rose up, big white wings flapping a warning if anyone—man or fowl—came too close. Duck families stuck together even as a head went underwater for a snack.

“It’s the same out here as on a trail or any patrol.”

“Education,” Elana said, “assistance, advice. Always those first.”

“That’s right. Now for instance, those two guys at three o’clock, in the outboard? They’re using walleye as bait. We’re going to go over and educate them on the fact that’s illegal on this lake.”

“I know that’s illegal, but how can you tell from here it’s walleye?”

“First, the color. Olive on the dorsal side, and going more gold along the flanks, white belly. Five darker saddles.”

“Okay. That tells me I need to learn more about recognizing fish.”

“Do that. We’re here to protect the waterways, the fish, fowl, and humans in and on them.”

She cruised over to the outboard, judged the two occupants at around fifty in their fishing hats and windbreakers.

“Good morning,” she called out, and idled the boat.

“Good morning, ladies! Sure is a pretty one.”

Not local, Sloan concluded. New York or New Jersey from the accent.

“Where y’all from?”

“We’re Jersey boys,” the second man called out. “Got a week down here. Sure is a pretty spot.”

“We think so, too. You gentlemen may not be aware that Maryland doesn’t allow the use of walleye as bait.”

Their cheery went puzzled, then wary, but Sloan kept the smile on her face.

“I bet you’re hoping to hook some largemouth bass. The best thing to do is head to the bait shop. Rendle’s over on the east side of the lake can fix you up with some shiners or herring. My grandpa swears by shiners.”

“We barely picked our spot. We haven’t even caught anything yet.”

“You talk to Nat at the bait shop. I bet he’ll help you with that. Got your Maryland fishing licenses?”

Both of them reached for the inside pocket of their windbreakers.

“And two PFDs on board?”

The one reached under his seat in the stern.

“Good enough. Y’all reel it in now and head over to Rendle’s. Tell them Sloan sent you. With shiners and Nat’s advice, I’m betting you’ll be cooking up some bass for dinner tonight.”

“Smooth,” Elana judged when the outboard putted its way east. “Nice and smooth.”

“They either didn’t know about the restriction or thought they could get away with it. I lean toward the first, but either way, we could’ve fined them. This way, they don’t get pissy, they do it right, and they’ll go back to New Jersey with some nice memories.”

“Including the hot chicks in uniform.”

“Obviously. You take the wheel awhile. We’ll head over to that kayaker trying to get pictures of the swans. She gets any closer, Daddy’s going to capsize her.”

“I love this job!”

“It shows.”

“Really?” Elana sent Sloan a long, hopeful look. “I know my eval’s coming up in a week or two, and I didn’t know a walleye from a shiner.”

“But you will because you love this job. Let’s see how you handle the kayaker.”

A day on the water gave Sloan a yen for fish and chips. She considered getting an order for one, then heading home and diving into yet another search on missings.

Instead, she chose option B and texted Nash.

I’m picking up fish and chips on my way home. I can pick up two orders if you’re not busy. Payment for dinner would include letting me bounce off the last couple days of basically nothing on the missing.

She sat, parked at the curb as she waited for his reply. And leaning back, eyes closed, didn’t notice the car that drove slowly past, or the woman passenger who pulled down the brim of a floppy hat to hide the side of her face.

I’m never too busy when someone’s bringing dinner. Don’t forget the hush puppies. Come to my place and check out the progress.

Smiling she texted back:

I never forget hush puppies. See you inside an hour. Should I pick up for Theo and Drea?

They’re heading out in a bit for pizza and bowling with Robo and his girl. Another first.

Thinking of the double date, Sloan hit a heart emoji as acknowledgment. And had stepped onto the curb when it hit her Nash might think she’d hearted him.

Embarrassing? she wondered. Then shook it away with a mental: Oh well.

Inside, she placed the order, then decided to take the waiting time with a walk. Boat duty meant she hadn’t put in her usual miles on her feet.

The town had its stone tubs full of spring mixes. Daffs and hyacinths, tulips, narcissus. Light jackets replaced winter parkas, and shop windows advertised spring sales.

She considered the wind chimes in one, and promised herself she’d come back, pick one out for her front porch. And she’d take time in a few more weeks to go to the nursery, find just the right pots for flowers for the porch.

Maybe more if she followed through on plans for the patio in the back. Maybe.

As she turned, she noticed the woman across the street. Sunglasses, floppy pink hat over brown hair. About five-four and a hundred and fifty.

She couldn’t see the face clearly, but something struck her as familiar.

Then the woman turned, took the hand of a man—about five-ten, a hundred and sixty, Black, hair in twists.

The woman pointed to something in a shop window, and they moved closer.

The timer on Sloan’s phone signaled. And thinking no more about them, she walked back to pick up her order.

“She looked right at us, babe.”

“I know it. But we’re protected, doll.” She reached up to close a hand over the cross around her neck, and swore she felt its warmth, its light. “In that moment, we were protected. I didn’t feel the burn like in the vision. I know I would have if she’d seen us.”

But she squeezed his hand, as that turn and look had shaken her.

“We’ll give it a minute,” she decided. “See if she stays in or comes out. We’ll stand here like we’re looking at something in this shop. No, no, we’re walking down to the next. We’re just window-shopping.”

“I don’t like the look of her, babe, and that’s the pure truth.”

“Because we see and know what she is. It’s more clear than ever. Didn’t she go into the restaurant where Terrance Brown works? The signs are everywhere, doll.”

“She’s coming out now. Don’t look around! She’s got a couple take-out bags. And looking our way again, like she’s trying to figure it out.”

“Put your arm around my shoulders, give me a hug like you’re laughing at something I said.”

He obeyed, hating that he felt Clara tremble as the witch crossed the sidewalk.

“She’s going to drive away, take the food home.”

“We’ll let her do that,” Clara said. “We’ll wait, give her time to get there. We’ll drive by, see if anybody’s waiting for her, but that’s all for this trip on her. We’ll come back, and get our dinner. See close up where Brown works.”

She took a long breath. “Careful steps, doll. This is too important to rush.”

Sloan drove past her house, but slowed enough for a quick glance. It just made her smile.

When she pulled into Nash’s, she had to admit this one brought a smile, too.

They’d fixed up the porch here with new railings and wider steps. He’d replaced the old and inadequate porch lights and gone with a pair of large lantern-style lights with an oxidized copper finish.

And they’d started work on the decking of the upper porch.

He’d use the same lantern-style lights there, the same finish. And it would look fantastic.

She liked a man who knew what he was doing, who knew what to preserve, what to repair, what to replace.

And took the time and effort to do it right.

Was that part of the attraction? she thought as she parked. Sure it was. Though she hadn’t expected to fall for a man with those particular attributes, she could admit she should’ve known better.

And she hadn’t expected to fall for a man starting an entire new phase of his life. But she’d reached the point where she’d stopped denying she’d taken the fall.

Those weren’t the sum of his parts, she considered, but they counted in that sum.

As she walked to the door, Theo came out of it.

“Hey!” Dressed in jeans, high-tops, a flannel shirt open over a gray tee, he jogged down to her. “That smells good.” He gestured at the bags. “I told Nash you guys could join us for the fun and frivolity.”

“Pizza and bowling, right?” She angled her head to study him. “Have you ever been bowling?”

“Sure.” Then he laughed. “Well, once or twice. Once and a half, I guess. I’m going to get crushed. It’ll be fun anyway. Door’s not locked. CJ’s upstairs with Nash. Wait’ll you see.

“I gotta jump. Running late.”

“She’ll wait,” Sloan told him as she moved by him, “since you’re what she’s waited for.”

He turned at that, caught her in a hug. “Man, it’s nice having a sister.”

Inside, Tic bounded downstairs, sniffing the air.

“Not for you, pal.” She walked back to the kitchen, stowed the foot well out of doggie reach before she bent down to greet him.

“What a good dog. Why don’t you take me upstairs so I can see what’s going on?”

He went with her, then raced up the steps. And stopped halfway to look back as if telling her to hurry up.

She heard the echo of voices, so walked with Tic into Nash’s unfinished main bedroom and into the en suite.

He’d repurposed an old buffet for the vanity, added a more contemporary touch with new pulls on the drawers and cabinets so the matte black popped against the light natural wood. She assumed CJ had installed the two white stone vessel sinks on the long black slab that showed subtle graining of green and white.

They’d framed out and drywalled the WC, framed in the closet area.

But the star of this particular show shined in the wet room area. He’d tiled the entire area in a herringbone pattern that showed off the color variation and movement of the tile. From delicate green to deepest forest.

Now he stood on a ladder installing the second of two big, matte-black rain showerheads. She noted he wore a very new O’s fielder’s cap.

CJ stepped back to examine her work on the wall jets, nodded.

“You’re gonna have water coming at you from everywhere.”

“That’s the idea.”

“That big-ass tub you got comes in, we’ll get that plumbed, but I’m done here today. Hey there, Sloan. You ever see anything like this?”

“I can’t say I have.” She looked up at Nash as he looked down at her. “Bold move, Cotton,” she said, and made him laugh.

“Yeah, and we’ll see if it pays off.”

“Oh, I think it has. It’s stunning.”

“Got the idea from your shower. It’s the same tile, but in green.”

“This makes my shower a pretty phone booth. Good going on the floor. The white, hints of green and black.”

“Heated, too,” CJ told her. “The whole damn thing. Got steam in there, a speaker for music. It had a TV and fridge, hell, I’d live in it.”

Nash stepped down from the ladder. “We couldn’t have done it without you, CJ.”

“That’s God’s truth. I’m grabbing a Diet Pepsi from your fancy kitchen on my way out.”

“All you want. Tub and toilet coming in the end of the week.”

“We’ll get to them.”

She stopped to rub at Tic. “You’re a good job dog. You deserve a big treat.”

At the word, Tic yipped, wagged, bounced. And CJ shot Nash a grin as she left with Tic rushing out with her.

“She got him to do that. And if you don’t come up with the treat fast, he goes nuts.”

“I’m glad you said your place. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. I saw this”—she tapped the vanity—“in progress, and boy, did it turn out.”

“Worth the effort. I’ve got paint samples for in here, the closet, the bedroom. You can weigh in. But right now, I’m seriously ready for a beer.”

But he pulled her in first. “I’m glad you texted.”

“Me, too.”

She leaned into him for a moment. “What are we going to do with all the extra time once you finish the house, and they catch these serial abductors?”

“I guess we’ll find out. And not ‘they catch.’ It’s ‘we.’ You’re a part of that.”

“I feel like I’ve hit a wall.”

“You can tell me about that. But the beer comes first.”