Grant shifted in his seat but didn’t say anything.
“I saw Danny in the morning before I left for work. He . . . was drinking from a water bottle and had just been for a run.” Her voice cracked. “I blew him a kiss. He was sweaty and I didn’t want to . . . I didn’t want him to hold me.”
Lying at her feet, Olive sighed and stretched her four legs out.
“And that was the last time you saw him?” Grant said.
Kaine lifted her eyes. Grant’s were serious and searching. Somehow she could tell he understood not just her pain but her guilt. She should have held Danny. She should have let him love her that morning. But, like every other morning, a list of names riddled her mind. Names of women she needed to check on, to help, to shelter, to save. Her kiss had been blown with familiar complacency. How Danny’s hand had swiped the air as he caught the imaginary kiss would forever be tattooed in her memory. He’d held his hand to his lips, his eyes pleading with her to stay, deep with desire to love her. Then they had dimmed as she reached for her car keys. He never understood the compelling drive she had for her work. He never understood what she’d always hidden from him. But he had supported her, in spite of it.
“Kaine?” Grant’s soft voice broke into her reminiscing.
She bit her lip. Hard. “He’s dead.”
“Yes,” Grant acknowledged, and his head tipped to the side.
“Someone killed him and now . . .”
“Now?” Grant leaned over and set his mug on an end table.
“Now his killer is after me.” Kaine watched concern return to Grant’s face. “He followed me from San Diego. He’s playing with my mind, Grant. He leaves daffodils for me, my favorite flower. He used to break into my apartment and move things around. It was subtle. But I knew he was there. I knew he killed Danny. It’s as if he’s trying to tell me something and I don’t know what it is. I don’t understand why he took Danny’s life. I don’t know what he wants—” Rising fear choked Kaine’s words.
Grant reached out, taking the mug from her hands.
“Maybe I know how my great-great-grandmother felt,” she whispered. “That house—it draws wickedness. I thought I could come here to escape, but I’ve come full circle to the place where someone tried to murder her. Where they murdered the girl called Gabriella.” Kaine clutched the blanket, pulling it higher. “I’m afraid it’ll happen to me.”
“Kaine.” Grant’s deep voice barely broke through her growing panic. “They’re not connected. Ivy’s story is different from yours, and so is Gabriella’s. Don’t associate Foster Hill House with your husband’s death and this stalker.” Grant shook his head.
The blanket wasn’t enough anymore. She pulled her knees to her chin and rested her feet on the couch. “Maybe the circumstances aren’t connected, but we are.” Kaine wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I am not giving up. I’ll find out who he is and I’ll stop him. I’ll—” Kaine stopped and drew a deep breath, gathering her courage—“I’ll survive this, Grant. I’ll fight.”
Chapter 16
They said Hell was a place of darkness. Kaine flicked on her flashlight, and it lifted the shadows. Nothing good ever came from wandering in the dark. The attic of Foster Hill House was barren, the rafters low, and Grant was forced to duck in some areas. His six-foot-one frame wasn’t going to be friends with the low ceiling. Kaine shifted her attention from him. She battled guilt over his decision to take a weeklong vacation from work. She was practically a stranger to him, and being on the receiving end of sacrifice was far more difficult than giving of herself. At least he wasn’t treating her with pity or patronizing her with random, sad smiles.
Grant bent to peer out one of the small attic windows. “You can see a long way from up here.”
“I know.” Kaine never wanted him to leave now. She’d had the most peaceful night’s sleep on his couch. He left Sophie with her and Olive, along with the comforting statement, “She was an abused dog the shelter rescued, so she hates men and will alert us if your stalker tries to get in.” His wink was meant to ease her anxiety, and it worked.
In the morning, she awoke to the smell of fresh Guatemalan coffee. Grant had showered—his hair was damp and he smelled like minty soap. Kaine watched the morning news with him and avoided the idea of returning to her motel or Foster Hill House. Avoided it until Grant announced his impromptu vacation from work and his intention to continue to help her with the repairs and renovation.
She stole a glance at him now. He still stared out the window like he was studying the landscape. His worn sweatshirt wasn’t exactly sexy, but it was passable considering Grant wore it.
“So, where do we start?” Grant turned and brushed his hands down his jeans.
Kaine turned away quickly so he didn’t catch that she’d been watching him. “The moldy wall, downstairs in the bedroom. It’s not the dangerous mold that has to be removed professionally—at least that’s what the contractor thought. Also, the floorboards are very warped. I need to pull them up and have them replaced. I guess I’d rather start there and make an appointment for someone to come out to do a mold test, just to be on the safe side.”
Grant grimaced.
“What?” Kaine pressed.
He shrugged. “You’re right about the mold test, but floorboards? Seems to me there’s more concerning things. Like the roof, for one.”
Kaine knew he was right, but she would need to hire a roofer to do that. Besides, cosmetic repairs were less daunting than the list of other, more involved repairs. The surface fixing only required a few crowbars, hammers, face masks, and aggression. And she had enough aggression inside her to tear down the entire house.
“I’d prefer to tackle the easy stuff first,” she said. It was her house after all, and she really didn’t have any obligation to Grant Jesse. He might make her feel safe, but outside of that . . . yep, no obligation whatsoever.
“The easy stuff doesn’t take care of the root issue.”
Part of Kaine bristled against his stating the obvious. He was making a barely veiled point.
“If the roof collapses, new floorboards won’t matter.” Grant stomped on the attic floor. It was sound, unlike the floor in the third bedroom.
“Fixing the big stuff is painful,” Kaine admitted. She swiped at a tiny spider that swung from the ceiling.
Comprehension filled Grant’s eyes, empathy that made her own eyes sting with tears. He didn’t pity her, he understood her. There was a big difference.
“I know.”
Two words. But they were poignant.
Kaine wrestled with her swirling emotions as she moved toward the stairs leading out of the attic. It was one thing to face the loss of a spouse, but it was entirely different when he’d been murdered and her own life was—
Kaine halted, and Grant caught himself on the wall before he stumbled into her.