Cold Pursuit - Carla Neggers [84]
“No, Devin. Don’t. Please.” Nora’s voice was just a croak as she pictured Alex’s death for the hundredth time, at least. “Let’s just get through tonight and think. I hate Melanie. I don’t trust her.”
“I know, Nora. It’ll be okay.” Devin started off painfully, clearly more hurt than he wanted to admit.
Nora pulled herself out of her jumble of crazy thoughts. The woods were so quiet at dusk. So beautiful. “I’m really sorry about Drew,” she whispered.
“He wasn’t easy, but he was a good guy.”
“I don’t have anyone in my life like that. Everyone I know has an agenda—nothing unconditional. It wasn’t that way with you and Drew.”
“Your folks love you, Nora. Don’t give up on them, okay?”
She tried to smile, but couldn’t. “You spend time up here, and you begin to realize how insignificant we all really are. It doesn’t matter if we’re alive or dead. The world keeps spinning. I thought of Alex this morning. He’s gone, and the sun came up just like always. The birds twittered. The squirrels chattered. Nothing changed because of his death. Nothing that matters, anyway.”
“Let’s get your tent out.”
She set her pack down and unzipped the main compartment, but her fingers were frozen now. She slipped on her gloves. She wanted to see her mother—she wanted to cry with her about Alex.
“I didn’t hate him,” she said.
“Alex?”
“I keep telling myself I did, because I think it’ll make losing him easier, but I didn’t. He could be a real prick and everything, but lately…” She cried openly now, tears streaming down her cheeks, raw already from the cold and wind. “I want my mom, Dev. I want to see her.”
“You will.”
“If something happened to me—she couldn’t stand it, on top of Alex.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.” Devin took out her tent and unrolled it on the ground, steady, competent. He gave a low whistle. “Look at that. Your tent poles are color coded. That’s the coolest thing ever.”
Nora smiled through her tears. He was totally in his element out here. She felt better just having him with her. “You’re my best friend, Dev.” She sniffled, not crying so much now. “It’s so quiet. It’ll be just us and the owls up here.”
“I don’t know. I saw a big bull moose—”
“You did not.”
“And a bear, a coyote, a fox and about a dozen snakes.”
She laughed. “Thank you, Devin. Thank you.”
He got up stiffly, with a little wince of pain, and hugged her, more of a reassuring, brotherly hug than anything romantic. “We’ll figure this out. Now, let’s just pitch this fancy tent of yours.”
Twenty-Two
Jo wasn’t in the mood to let Elijah out of her sight, but he’d slipped back through the trees just as the Whittakers arrived at the guesthouse and invited her up for tea. She went with them, Vivian chatting breezily about leaf raking and getting the place ready for the winter, Lowell making the occasional amiable comment as they entered their farmhouse through a side door. Vivian pulled off her barn jacket and hung it on a hook. She had on just a short-sleeved polo shirt underneath but looked warm enough. Lowell stayed bundled up in a zip-front charcoal sweater. Jo removed her fleece but kept it with her—she didn’t plan on staying long.
The interior of their farmhouse wasn’t what she had expected. There was no cozy decor or pictures of cows and fall foliage. The walls were stark white, the wood floors shining, the furnishings bright and modern, the artwork abstract and striking. The Whittakers took her back to a sunroom that looked out on a garden and an open field that stretched down to the river.
Vivian carried in a tray from the kitchen and set it on the glass table. “I know Nora’s a capable young woman but she shouldn’t hike by herself, particularly at this time of year, with or without the shocking news of poor Alex. If Devin Shay is with her…” She hesitated, lifting a white pottery teapot off the tray and placing it on a thick fiery-red pot holder. “He knows the mountains, of course, and he’s an experienced