When I get back to the cabin, I snap several pictures of the glass but don't touch it. The remaining potato skins go right in the trash can sitting to the side of the porch. I'm fairly certain the Styrofoam is sturdy enough to withstand sitting on the glass without it getting through, but I'm not risking it. The lid to the trash can slams closed, and I'm turning around to head onto the porch when the light attached to the side of the cabin catches my eye. I take a few steps back and look up at it.
It's shattered.
The light that led me back here out of the woods last night is destroyed. Only the metal rim and one jagged piece of glass are left where the dome around the bulb used to be. A chill runs down my spine, joined by a shock of searing hot anger. They twist together, making my palms sweat and my head throb.
I didn't imagine it. He was following me last night, and he followed me today. It isn't just the glass strewn in my car that's the message. It's the destruction of what brought me to safety. He's getting closer, and at some point, one of us has to strike.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I am wrapping the cut on my hand in the cabin bathroom when my phone rings. Not bothering to look at the screen, I hit the speakerphone button and answer.
“Do you want to come up and have dinner tonight?”
I don't even want to think about food right now, but hearing Jake's voice brings a slight, much-needed smile to my lips. I realize I haven't even checked in with him since he dropped me off at my car, and he doesn't know about anything that's happened since then. I don't want to give him too much information. He has enough to think about right now without having to worry about me getting shot at and chased through the woods. Especially considering the person doing those things is the same one he's relying on to resolve the situation with his father's grave desecration.
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “What time?”
“Meet me up here around 7?”
“Sounds perfect to me. I'll see you then,” I tell him and disconnect.
It will do me good to get out of the cabin and clear my mind. I need time to think about everything and find the threads to tie it all together. Being at the bar with Jake will help me think about something else while the deeper parts of my mind tumble through the clues and evidence I have found so I can finally fit all the pieces together.
As soon as the thought goes through my mind, sadness tugs on my heart. Part of me has lost myself in this persona in so many ways I've gotten used to being here and living this life. I've gotten used to Jake. But soon it'll be time to leave all that behind and go back to my real world. Until now, I haven't even thought about that or considered what I'm going to do when this is over. I'll have to find a way to explain myself, and I dread how he may react.
I walk into the tavern exactly on time and feel the rush of warmth. It's not that everyone here is friendly or even welcoming. In the time I've spent in Feathered Nest, I've learned well enough that's not true. This town is all secrets and dark corners. The people here hide more than they show. But despite all that, there’s still an overriding sense of camaraderie and a rhythm of life stitched into the fiber of each person who lives here.
Jake sees me when I'm only a few steps inside the door and gives me a broad smile. It's good to see his eyes sparkle again. I know he hasn't completely gotten over what happened, but he seems to be moving past it. He gestures at me, pointing to a spot at the bar he has reserved with an empty pint glass and a menu.
“Hi,” he says happily when I take my place and accept a quick kiss to my forehead.
“How are you?” I ask.
He nods, letting out a sigh and looking around like he's surveying the surroundings and making sure nothing has gone wrong before he answers.
“Going well. Good to be here and have plenty to distract me.”
He laughs. “How about you?” His eyes drop to my hands folded on the bar. I try to move them out of the way before he sees the bandage, but I'm not fast enough. “What happened?”
“Nothing. It's fine,” I protest.
Jake reaches out and puts his hand over mine, gently easing it across the bar toward him. He turns it over in his palm and runs his fingertips over the bandage.
“This doesn't look like nothing.”
“There was some broken glass,” I explain. “I just wasn't paying attention and got cut on it. It's really not a big deal.”
He searches my eyes like he's trying to see if I'm being honest with him. He must be satisfied with what he sees because he tenderly lifts my hand and touches his lips to the bandage. My heart aches even more. I never thought I would be the type of woman to get confused by emotions or things like this. The closest I've ever gotten to being wrapped up in my feelings and struggling with them is when Greg broke up with me. Our relationship felt like it was going so well, and things were moving forward. Then it was suddenly over, and just as abruptly, he was gone.
Now I'm tangled in a way I couldn't imagine. Struggling with my feelings for both men and what either of them really are is confusing. It feels close to betrayal, but it’s hard to tell which of the men I think I am betraying more. Greg for developing any feelings for Jake at all, or Jake for letting him fall for me when he only knows a fabricated version.
“What were you up to today when you weren't cutting yourself on glass?” he asks.
“I did a little driving around.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Not really. Just exploring. How about you?” I ask.
“Just work stuff. I did go up to the police station and talk to the chief about what's going on with my father,” he explains.
“You did? Any new developments?” I ask.
“You could say that,” he mutters.
Before he can continue, the door behind him opens, and a man with a round belly and cheeks so red they are almost glowing comes out from the kitchen. I recognize him as the cook who brought us the basket of French fries when we stood in Jake's office talking to Nicolas the day they found his father's bones. He hands two plates to Jake, who gestures for me to follow him with a nod of his head. I hop down from the stool as he comes around the bar and leads me to a booth. We sit across from each other, and he slides one of the plates toward me. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, and vegetables. It smells amazing.
“What's the new development?” I ask.
The tines of my fork gather a scoop of the potatoes and gravy, and I slide it off onto my tongue. The flavor is rich, savory, and nostalgic. Jake eats a few bites, staring down at his plate. A bartender brings each of us a beer, and he washes his bite down before looking at me.
“They let him go,” he says.
“What?”
“Cole Barnes. The cops let him go. Just opened up the door and let him wander on home,” he vents angrily.
“They must have had a reason,” I say.
“They're terrible at their job. That's the reason. How could they just let him go like that? They had him. He couldn't do anything else. Finally, he was going to be the one to answer for what he did. But they couldn't even manage to keep hold of him.”
“Jake, it's not like he escaped. They released him,” I point out.
He takes another deep swallow of his beer.
“Why? What good reason could they possibly have for not holding onto him? They have everything stacked up against him. Everybody in this town knows the blood went bad between Barnes and my father well before he died, and that the way my father met his end is up for debate. Then his grave gets destroyed, and his body stolen, only to be found in Barnes's shed. How can any of that be open for interpretation?” he asks. “He did it, and they know he did it.”