Crimson River (The Edens)

Whenever the bell rang at Eden Coffee, I smiled. After so many years, it was automatic.

Jingle. Smile.

I’d trained my ears to listen for that ding. Even from the kitchen, I could hear when someone came into the shop. But the way I’d listened for that bell in the past three days was nothing less than obsessive.

Whenever it rang, my attention whipped, not wandered, to the door. My breath would catch and hold, hoping it was Vance. Each time it wasn’t, I’d hide my disappointment in that automatic smile. And I’d wait, greeting customer after customer, wondering when he’d finally stop by.

Until, like now, that bell chimed for Vance. And the smile I gave him was filled with relief.

The coil of anticipation that had been winding tighter and tighter as the afternoon wore on sprang loose. The stiffness in my spine melted as he strode into the café, tugging off a pair of leather gloves.

Vance’s long legs made short work of the space. The half-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth made my heart skip. He stopped on his side of the counter, bringing with him the scent of clean soap and earth and wind. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Even with the rasp in my voice, it came out breathy. This man made me nervous, in a good way. “You were out in the mountains.”

He nodded. “I was.”

“Anything?”

“Not yet.”

He’d given me the same answer for the past three days. But I liked that he said not yet instead of no. The subtle difference meant he still had hope.

So I’d keep some for myself too.

“Coffee?” I moved for a mug, expecting him to nod. He did. “Hungry?”

“I am.” He reached for his wallet but I shook my head. Vance pulled out a twenty anyway, setting it on the counter. No matter how many times I offered to give him a meal, he insisted on paying. “Surprise me.”

“All right.” I bit back a smile, filling his mug. When I set it on the counter, he took it and retreated to the table by the window. The same table he sat at each day, in the same chair.

Vance’s chair.

My family members didn’t have a regular table, no area in the café that I considered theirs. But somehow, in less than a week, Vance had claimed that spot as his. Whenever another customer sat there, it irked me.

Luckily, every afternoon when he’d come to the shop, that chair and table had been empty.

Vance was settling into a routine. He’d eat a late lunch. He’d drink a few cups of coffee. And he’d sit here for an hour, sometimes two, reviewing maps and notes.

We hadn’t spoken much since that day we’d hiked along the river. Partially because I wasn’t exactly chatty at the moment. Partially because I didn’t know what to say.

Something had happened between us. First, along the river. Then, in his truck.

When we locked eyes, it was like the world around us vanished. Like there was this rope cinching us together.

The pain in my throat was gone. The fear Cormac had planted in my mind, erased. The turmoil in my heart, ancient history.

There were only his eyes the color of a winter storm.

Would he have kissed me? Would I have let him?

With everything happening in my life, the last thing I needed was some romantic attachment with a stranger. Yet I couldn’t stop my pulse from quickening when he was in the room. I couldn’t fight the blush of my cheeks when he gave me that crooked smile.

And no matter how many times I told myself to leave the man be, my attention wandered to his chair as automatically as the jingle, smile.

Vance was left-handed. Something I’d learned in the last three days. He always drank his coffee black. He seemed to like my food—I had yet to clear a plate with more than a crumb left behind.

His dark hair was unruly and a month overdue for a cut. But like today, he covered it with a beanie. After he’d warm up, usually after his first cup of coffee, he’d shrug out of his coat but the hat would stay on. His beard was filling out, the scruff becoming thicker each day. Sexier.

And whenever I met his gaze, the world tilted beneath my feet, like my stomach was full of butterflies trying their hardest to carry me away.

Maybe I was just imagining a spark between us. Maybe I was clinging to anything that seemed normal, and crushing on an incredibly handsome man felt normal. Maybe I was drawn to him because he made me feel safe.

Whatever the reason, Vance was constantly on my mind.

Did he feel that tether too? More often than not, when I’d look over to his chair, his stormy gaze would be waiting.

I made Vance a sandwich—grilled chicken with avocado—and delivered it to his table with a pastry from the display case, leaving him to eat. As other tables emptied, I cleared dishes to the kitchen, working quietly. Efficiently. Feeling Vance’s gaze on me each time I left the room and returned.

The bell jingled again. My smile appeared. My attention wasn’t as quick to shift to the door, knowing that it wasn’t Vance.

It was Winn.

Her expression was granite, her shoulders stiff. My stomach pitched. This wasn’t my sister-in-law coming to check on me. This was the chief of police here to deliver an update for the victim.

Fuck, I hated that word.

Winn didn’t so much as glance in Vance’s direction. But over her shoulder, he tracked her every step. The badge on her belt, beside her gun, was impossible to miss today since she hadn’t worn a coat.

“Hi,” I said warily.

“Hey.” Her face softened. “Got a minute?”

“I’m not going to like what you have to tell me, am I?”

She gave me a sad smile. “Probably not.”

I sighed. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

Crystal was off today. Now that my black eyes had faded enough that my concealer could do a decent job covering them up, I’d given her a day off. She’d been amazing, jumping in to help with longer than normal hours.

I was still sporting turtlenecks and scarves to hide my throat, but day by day, I was healing. The evidence of the attack was vanishing.

Winn followed me into the kitchen, standing beside the prep table with her arms crossed. “Sheriff Zalinski just came by the station.”

“And?”

“They’re calling off the search.”

“It hasn’t even been a week.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“Six days and he’s already giving up.”

“I’m sorry.” Winn came closer, putting her hand on my shoulder. “I tried to talk him into another few days, but he refused.”

My molars ground together as anger surged. “This is bullshit.”

“Yep.” Her nostrils flared. “I called the mayor but he was out, so I left a message. Maybe he’ll have more luck changing Zalinski’s mind.”

“Fingers crossed,” I deadpanned.

Sheriff Zalinski was a lazy asshole. I never should have voted for him.

Search and rescue fell under the sheriff’s umbrella. The team had a few dedicated employees who served the greater county area, but the majority of search and rescue members were local volunteers. People, like my dad and brothers, who had lives of their own.

I bet Zalinski was getting pressure from some of the volunteers to call it quits, and the spineless bastard was caving.

“Now what?” I asked.

“We’ve got the APB posted. Everyone at the station knows to keep an eye out for a redheaded man matching his height and build with a scar. The same goes for the sheriff’s deputies.”

Cormac Gallagher.

Winn didn’t have a name to put with that description because she hadn’t met Vance. Because he hadn’t followed protocol.

Maybe it was foolish, but I kept my mouth shut.

Zalinski had given up. Winn had no control over search and rescue.

The only person actively searching for Cormac was Vance.

I wouldn’t thwart his chances by sharing a secret. If he had any hope of finding Cormac, I wouldn’t put an obstacle—my sister-in-law—in his path.

“Thanks for telling me.”

“If search and rescue was under my control—”

“I know.” I gave her a sad smile. Winn wouldn’t have stopped. Of that, I had no doubt.

“Griff called me as I was driving here. He was on the afternoon team to go out today. He got the notice from the search and rescue lead that they called off the meeting. To say that he’s pissed is an understatement. So is your dad, Knox and Mateo. Apparently, Knox suggested they tell Zalinski to fuck off and just search on their own, but . . .”

But it would only cause trouble for Winn. As soon as someone from the sheriff’s department found out, she’d have a mess to clean up.

She’d dealt with enough messes in the past two months.

“No. They should just leave it alone.”

My dad and brothers loved me, of that, I had no doubt. If I asked them to spend every day scouring those mountains, they’d sacrifice their time and do just that.

But they hadn’t found Cormac either. They weren’t professionals.

Vance? Maybe he had a chance.

“I’m sorry,” Winn said again.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I feel like I’ve failed you.” Her voice cracked. She was so determined to make this right, to be our family’s hero, when she already was.

I pulled her into a hug. “You didn’t fail me.”

Her hands might be tied, but mine weren’t.

She hugged me back, holding tight, until a jingle in the background broke us apart. “I’d better let you get back to work.”

The owner of the jewelry store was waiting at the counter when we emerged from the kitchen. While I went to work on a cinnamon soy latte, Winn slipped out of the shop.

After a quick text to my dad and brothers telling them I knew about Zalinski’s decision and not to make trouble for Winn, I walked to Vance’s table.

“They called off the search,” I said.

His eyes met mine as he reclined in that chair. The way he stared was rattling. Unnerving. I fought the urge to look away.

He stared like he could read my thoughts. No one had ever looked at me like that before. He probably made a great cop. I had the sudden urge to tell him everything.

How I was so tired and just wanted to sleep without a nightmare. How I wavered between anger and sadness each time I looked in the mirror. How my pulse spiked whenever he was around.

Had he replayed that moment in the truck? Would he have kissed me? My gaze dropped to his mouth and those soft lips. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about a kiss? Would it take the pain away?

Vance’s tongue darted out, just a quick, small lick of his bottom lip, and desire coiled in my belly.

I tore my eyes away, dropping them to his empty plate. He’d devoured the sandwich and chocolate croissant I’d brought him over for lunch. His coffee mug was empty and in need of a refill.

“I’ll get you more coffee.”

“Lyla.” He stopped me and nodded to the seat opposite his. “Sit down.”

I sank into the chair.

“Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I’m mad.”

To everyone else in my life, I’d lie through my teeth, promising I was fine. Pretending to be myself. It was easy to give Vance the truth.

“Part of me wishes they hadn’t given up so soon. The other part hopes this means they’re out of your way.”

His expression changed. He looked almost . . . bewildered?

“What?”

“Nothing.” He waved it off, then dropped his gaze to the table.

Beneath his plate was a map marred with red lines and circles. “What’s this?”

He set the plate on the table beside ours, shifting his mug out of the way too. Then he spun the map my direction, pointing to a red X beside a curved blue line. The river.

The point of attack.

From that X, he’d drawn what looked like a bike wheel, each spoke converging at the central point. Two of the segments he’d shaded in with more red.

“I’ve ruled out these areas. This one with the highway.” He pointed to a shaded section. “And this one that surrounds Quincy. Cormac wouldn’t venture that close to heavily populated areas unless he was desperate.”

“What makes you think he’s not desperate?”

“He’s got food. Water. Everything he needs to survive in the wilderness. The only reason I’d expect him near a town or people would be for medical supplies. You didn’t notice him injured, did you?”

“No. Not that I could tell.”

“My plan is to start here.” He pointed at the map again, this time to the area that led straight north from that red X. “It’s the roughest terrain. If he’s hiding his scent, it would be easiest here where the mountains are dense and steep.”

“So section by section, you’ll search for him.”

Vance nodded. “Exactly.”

“Do you really think he’s out there?”

“I don’t know. But if there’s a chance he is, I won’t stop looking.”

Not just for my sake. But his. “Who is he? What did he do?”

Vance turned his face toward the window, staring out through the glass. For a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer me. “He murdered his wife. And his daughters.”

I gasped so loudly that the couple having coffee three tables away glanced our direction. “Oh my God. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Vance said, lowering his voice. “No one does.”

Was that why Vance was here? Was this a quest to get answers?

He stiffened, those broad shoulders curling inward as he leaned his elbows on the table. His focus stayed firmly on the map, like he was attempting to conjure Cormac out of the paper.

“From the outside, they were the perfect, loving family. He was a model husband and father. Took his wife out on a date every Wednesday. Coached his oldest daughter’s softball team. When it first happened, there were a lot of people who refused to believe he was the killer.”

“I guess you never really know what happens behind closed doors.”

“No. I guess not,” he murmured.

“How, um . . . how did he kill them?” Did I really want to know?

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “He lived on the lake. Had a dock. Boat. He drove his three daughters to the middle of the lake during a thunderstorm and threw them in the water. They drowned.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to cover my gasp this time. What kind of father would do that? Those poor girls. “And his wife?”

Vance dropped his gaze to my neck.

Strangled.

He’d strangled his wife.

My hand drifted from my mouth to the cloth covering my throat. It burned, not from what Cormac had done, but the threat of tears.

“Why did he let me go?” I’d asked that question so many times it was beginning to crawl beneath my skin. “It makes no sense.”

“Agreed,” Vance muttered, rubbing at his jaw, like his beard was new and he was still testing out the feel of it beneath his palm.

“It’s all blurry,” I said. “I’ve thought about that day so many times I feel like I can’t tell what was real and what I’ve made up in my head at this point. But I feel like there was this moment when he looked . . . scared? Sad?”

Vance’s gaze shifted to the window again, letting it sink in. “I’m sorry, Lyla.”

There was so much behind that apology. “It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

The pain in his voice, the guilt, sent me deeper into my seat. He really felt responsible, didn’t he? That because Cormac had escaped years ago, it was his fault that I’d been attacked.

“How did he get away?” I asked.

Vance lifted a shoulder.

I waited, hoping he’d explain, but that shrug was all the answer he’d give. So I stood and collected his dishes. But before I left his table, I paused and took in his profile.

That granite jaw was clenched. He looked lost in an anger four years in the making as he stared through the glass.

“What will you do when you find him?” Not if, when.

“Whatever I need to do.” The menace, the hatred, in his voice was unsettling.

A chill spread through my veins as I carried his dishes to the kitchen.

When I returned to the counter, Vance’s chair was empty.