That was the day her feet found her father's footsteps. She didn't follow them exactly. Her feet wouldn't fit in them anyway, but she followed their shadows. She gave herself to learning everything she could about the danger that haunted her life and why she was always running.
She kept running until the day there were no more steps to follow.
That's when the question changed. It was no longer where are you from...
It was where did you go?
Chapter Fifteen
Now
At some point, I fell asleep on the couch. I only know that because I wake up with my head buried in Jake's chest and cold air making me shiver. If it wasn't for the lamp still glowing in the corner, I might think the power went out again. As it is, it's just the ancient heater. Climbing off the still-sleeping Jake, I grab the quilt I left draped over the chair and wrap it around myself. He wakes up as I'm standing over the old furnace, glaring down into the grates with absolutely no idea what to do. The Bureau has trained me for many things, but the 'F' most certainly does not stand for 'furnace'. I don't even know what's under the grates.
“Everything okay?” Jake asks.
I glance over my shoulder and see him leaned over the back of the couch, looking at me. Sleepy eyes and tousled hair make him look younger than he is. The anger and hurt are gone from his face, but it won't be long until they're back. As long as there are questions left about his father, those feelings aren't going to go away. And even after those questions are answered, the pain will linger. The anger will never really go away. Jake might be able to tuck it away. He could compartmentalize it, so he's only forced to experience it when the walls break down. But it's part of him.
“Well, it seems like getting me through that last Arctic blast was the heater's swan song. It's not working,” I tell him.
“Do you want me to take a look at it?” he asks.
“No, you don't have to do that. I can get in touch with the owner. I'm sure he'll send somebody over here to take care of it.”
Or she. Not really knowing who I'm renting this cabin from might make getting the furnace fixed a bit of a challenge. But I don't want to let on.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I don't think you need me treating you like my handyman,” I nod.
The icy air might make me rethink that. I pull the quilt closer around me and glare down into the furnace again. This would be the perfect moment for me to develop some sort of psychokinetic power. I only cling to that possibility for a few seconds before I turn back to Jake.
“Not your handyman,” he says. “Just your man who happens to be handy.”
It's cheesy to the point of being cringe-worthy, but damn if it isn't effective. He climbs over the back of the couch and slips his hands under the sides of the quilt so he can wrap his arms around my waist. His mouth finds mine, and the pressure of his body guides me back toward the wall. His kiss is deep and intense for a few seconds before he steps back. He brushes his lips over mine one more gentle time, and he brushes my hair away from my cheek. Something about the gesture makes me feel off balance like I haven't caught up from the first kiss.
“I'll let you know if he doesn't send somebody,” I say.
Jake smiles. “Good. As much as I would rather stay here and keep you warm, I should probably go and make sure the bar is still standing, and Burke hasn't decided to take over permanently. Thank you again for being so amazing today. I don't know how I would have gotten through it without you.”
“Of course,” I tell him.
“Make sure they get this heater fixed fast. I don't like the idea of you being out here all alone in the cold for too long. If it's not up and working soon, you should come stay at my place.”
He pulls the quilt closer around me, his hands running along the fabric.
“I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in the warmth.”
I want to ask him to call me if he hears any more from the police, but don't want to fracture the calm that has come over him. It's temporary, but he deserves to have it for as long as it will stay.
I wait a few minutes after Jake leaves to grab my phone. The cold makes my fingers ache as I try to dial, but I finally get the number in. It rings a few times before I even wonder what time it is. It might be too late to catch anyone at the office.
“Hello?”
That's was a ridiculous thought. It's never too late to catch anyone at the office. They live and breathe work, especially when they have major cases to juggle.
“Eric, it's me.”
“Emma? Is everything okay? What's wrong?”
“Well, that's just encouraging as all hell. Have you been talking to Bellamy?” I ask.
“Sorry. I'm sure everything is absolutely perfect,” he quips.
“I wouldn't quite jump that far. But I'll start with the fact that my eyes are going to freeze over because the furnace in my cabin decided now was the perfect time to lay down its life. Unfortunately, I don't know who Creagan got this place from, so I can't call and get it fixed.”
“So, why aren't you calling Creagan?” he asks.
“Because I'd rather talk to you,” I offer.
“I'd be flattered by that if it wasn't just a flagrant use of our friendship to avoid you having to talk to him because you know he's going to grill you about the case,” Eric points out.
“That's not true,” I argue. “It's a flagrant use of our friendship to avoid me having to talk to him because I'm afraid he'll call me Brittany again, and I just frankly don't have it in me to deal with his shit right now. I'll pretend to think he's funny some other time. Right now, I have bigger things to think about than the potential of my ass splintering into little ice chips if I sit down too hard.”
“We can't have that,” he says. “Hold on. Let me see if I can find anything.”
“Thanks.”
The phone clicks onto hold, and I shuffle my way back into the living room, sweeping the end of the quilt away from my feet with one hand while holding my phone with the other. Sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, I reach down into the alcove beneath the coffee table and pull out the stack of research I shoved there. It's jumbled up from my hasty clearing of the table, so I get to work trying to organize it again. I'm halfway through reconstructing them as I had them when the line clicks again.
“So, it turns out the house isn't really owned by anybody,” Eric says.
“What?” I ask. “What do you mean it's not owned by anybody? Creagan had to have rented it from somebody. Besides, it has electricity, and water, and it's furnished. Obviously, no one has lived here consistently for a while, but it's not like it's been sitting abandoned for decades. ”
“The town owns it. It was abandoned a while back, but you can imagine there's not a whole lot of real estate opportunity there. When someone is interested in visiting, especially when there are bodies piling up and the reputation of the town isn't exactly thriving, they offer up what they can.”
“And of the options they gave him, this is what he went with. I wonder what that says about his image of me. Wait, so what does that mean for my furnace? If I have to keep staying here, I'm not going to make it without heat,” I say.
“He said to find a repairman and charge it to your expenses.”
“Perfect,” I sigh.
“How is everything going?” he asks.
“Do you mean, have I figured out why all the people are disappearing and getting killed around here? No.” I let out a sigh and rake my fingers back through my hair. I find the picture of the woman by the train tracks again and stare down at it. My skin tingles. “But I might be getting close. Eric, can you do something for me?”