She took a breath, moved around the sculpture as Simone opened a bottle. “Years ago, back in Florence, at your first show, your use of Tish, your Emergence, grabbed me just this way, brought me to tears this way. You do beautiful work, Simone, some of it stunning. But this, like Emergence, has your heart and soul in every line, curve, angle.”
She took the glass, the tissue. “He’s magnificent. He breathes. You won’t have to tell him you love him when you show him this. Unless he’s an idiot. Which he’s not.”
“I’m ready to tell him.”
“Then go do it.” CiCi drew Simone close. “Go get your man.”
*
In her beach cottage, Patricia used the second bedroom for weapons—guns and ammo, a night-vision scope, poisons, syringes, knives. Her HQ, she thought. She would put up maps of town, document her target’s routines, his close associates. She’d learn where he drank his beer, ate his lunch, who he fucked.
She’d keep the door locked, tell the housekeeper her husband was territorial about his office space. No entry allowed.
She set men’s toiletries in the master bathroom, put men’s clothes in the master bedroom closet, the dresser. Later in the stay, she’d leave men’s shoes here and there and other items carelessly tossed around.
She set out a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, which she’d dog-eared and marked up in advance. Hiking gear that read male, a bottle of top-shelf gin, which she’d pour out into the sink a bit now and then, her unblended scotch—which she’d drink herself—a couple bottles of fancy wines and craft beers, the food supplies she’d bought at a stop at the market.
Satisfied, she went out for her first stroll through the village.
Easy to mix and meld with groups and crowds, simple to wander into a shop and buy a few trinkets—including a pair of bathing trunks and a Light of Tranquility T-shirt she told the shopkeeper her husband would love.
She spotted Reed within a half hour, holding a dog on a leash while he—from the looks of it—gave a bunch of people some directions.
You’ve come down low, big-shot detective, she thought.
She didn’t follow him directly. She strolled, crossed the street, window-shopped. But she kept an eye on him all the way back to his rinky-dink police station. And considered it a good start.
*
After Simone’s text, Reed decided, for once, he could go home before dark. Maybe the day only seemed quiet after the craziness of the holiday, but it was quiet enough.
He walked Barney toward home. The itch between his shoulder blades had him circling a little, scanning a lot, but he saw nothing and no one that drew his attention.
“Can’t let the waiting psych us out, Barney. Take it a day at a time.”
Seeing Simone’s car parked in front of the house lifted him up. Seeing her sitting on the porch, sipping wine, finished the job.
“You’re early.”
“Pretty quiet today. The chief of police is taking the night off.”
“That’s handy. So am I. I’ve missed nights off with you.” She pulled a chew bone out of her pocket. “And you, too, Barney.”
“Just sit right there. I’m going to get a cold beer, and we’ll sit awhile.”
“Actually, I have something to show you.” She took his hand. “And things to say,” she added as she drew him inside.
She’d found a stand for it at the flea market—knowing he’d appreciate that sentiment, too. It stood in the entryway, a statement, to her mind: He’d protect all within.
And there, the bronze caught the early evening light just as she wanted.
He stared, speechless, and she saw on his face what she’d hoped to see. The stunned wonder changed to something else when he looked at her.
No, she thought, he wasn’t an idiot. And still, cautious.
“I … I need a second. Or an hour. Or a month. It’s hard to take in. I never expected—I don’t know why I never expected … when I’ve seen your work.”
“It’s different when it’s you.”
“That, yeah, but…” He just couldn’t wrap his brain around it. “It’s— You put Barney in it.”
“I thought at first I’d use a woman, or a child. And then I watched you with him, him with you, saw how his trust in you has changed his life, his world. Like mine for you has changed mine.”
“It’s the most amazing thing. You made me look—”
“Exactly as you are,” she interrupted. “Every hour I spent on this work showed me more and more of who you are. More of who I am. And we are. I didn’t fall in love with you during the work.”
She laid a hand on his heart. “You can give Barney some credit for when I did, how I fell when I saw you, the first time with him, washing that poor, skinny, scared dog, laughing when he soaked you and licked at your face. I fell realizing you had that inside you.”
He closed his hand over hers. “Say it, okay? I don’t care if he gets the credit. I’ll buy him caviar Milk-Bones. But I really want you to look at me, Simone, look at me and say the words.”
“This is who you are to me.” She touched the sculpture. “This is who you are,” she repeated, pressing her other hand on his heart. “This is the man I love. You’re who I love.”
He lifted her to her toes, then an inch higher, capturing her mouth as she hung suspended, holding it as he brought her down. “Don’t ever stop.”
“I cast your heart, and mine, together in bronze. That’s forever.” She gripped him tight, pressed her face to his shoulder. “You waited for me. You waited until I could tell you.”
“Waiting’s over.” He took her mouth again, circled her toward the stairs. “Come with me. Be with me. I need—”
His phone went off. “Fuck. Just fuck.”
He yanked it out. “Yeah, yeah, it better be—” His eyes went flat, cold. “Where. Anybody hurt? Okay. I’m on my way. Sorry. Damn it.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, no, cop business.”
“What cop business?”
“Somebody shot through the window of a cabin up on Forest Hill.”
“Oh my God.”
“Nobody’s hurt. Cecil’s already there, but … I need to go.”
“Be careful.”
“Probably some asshole trying to shoot a deer, and probably long gone. Let’s go, Barney. I’ll be back.” He caught Simone’s face in his hands, kissed her.
*
When Reed arrived at the cabin, one neatly tucked into the inland woods, Cecil walked out.
“Hey, Chief. I heard the dispatch go out when I was on my way home, so I radioed Donna I’d take it, since I was close.”
“What’ve we got?”
“Family from Augusta renting the cabin for a week—couple and two kids. They’re having some ice cream, talking about going for a walk, and hear a shot—a sort of pop—and breaking glass. This window here.”
He walked Reed over to examine a side window with a hole and radiating cracks from it in the glass.
“Hit a lamp inside, too,” Cecil told him. “The wife grabbed the kids up, kept them down and away from the windows. The husband called nine-one-one. He looked around out here some after, but didn’t see anything.”
Reed examined the damaged window, turned to study the trees and the shadows deepening in them with dusk.
Inside, he spent some time soothing nerves and tempers before hunkering down by the broken lamp. Avoiding the shards from the globe, he pulled out a penlight, shined it under a chair.
And came up with a BB.
While he soothed, reassured, apologized to the frazzled family, Patricia watched the cabin through field glasses. She’d noted Reed’s response time, the make, color, tags of his car for future reference. When he stepped out again, she lifted the BB rifle onto her shoulders, softly said, “Bang!” and laughed.
“No island kid’s stupid enough to shoot a BB gun like that, Chief. It has to be some dumb-shit summer kid.”
“We’re going to go by all the cabins and cottages in this area, see if we can find a dumb-shit. I appreciate the overtime, Cecil.”
“Aw, that’s no problem.”
They split up to handle it, but Reed’s thoughts kept circling. A small cabin, he thought, four people inside. But the pellet hits in an area no one’s near at that time. And bull’s-eyes a lamp.
Maybe a dumb-shit. Maybe not so dumb.