The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I rounded the edge of the living room, peering out into the night. It had only taken an hour for me to memorize the location of each troublesome plank. I could move through this entire cabin without making a sound.
But sometimes those sounds were a comfort, a reminder that the world still registered our presence.
I slowed by the window and then stopped. I’d stood outside with Lawson earlier, putting myself in the lurker’s shoes. From that position, you could see just about everywhere in the house other than the two bedrooms and the single bathroom. They would have a clear shot of the entryway, hall, and living room. Most of the kitchen and a good chunk of the loft upstairs, too.
My eyes moved to each spot, and even as tension thrummed through me at how exposed Wren would’ve been, the corner of my mouth kicked up as I took in the loft. Wren had turned it into an open-air screening room of sorts. A deep sectional lined two walls, bean bags were scattered on the floor, and she had a projection screen set up where everyone had a good vantage point.
I wondered how many times that room had seen Little Women. I swore I still knew the whole thing by heart, simply from how often Wren and Grae had forced me to watch it. But I would’ve viewed it a million times more—anything to have Wren’s body curled around mine. To hear the soft whispers of her breath and how it hitched in certain parts and whooshed out in others.
Those memories were burned into my brain. And as painful as they were, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
I forced myself to keep moving, one more loop of the tiny cabin. As I did, I checked the lock on each window and door. Almost all of them needed replacing.
Crossing to the couch, I sank onto it and grabbed the notebook from my go bag. I pawed through the contents until I found a pencil. For the next hour, I drew diagrams of each room, marking where I’d place cameras and alarm sensors. I had a friend who lived not too far from here who owned a security systems company and could send me the gear.
My pencil scratched across the pages as I listed everything Wren would need to secure this place. I swiped my thumb back and forth under my bottom lip as I studied the drawings, the list. Something was missing.
I twisted my head to the side, cracking my neck. The answer still didn’t come. I tossed the notebook onto the coffee table and returned to my duffel, searching for the smaller bag I had inside.
It didn’t look like much, just a small canvas pouch. But it had been my salvation more than once as my brain tortured me night after night. It gave me something to focus on. And I’d learned that it was a great way to puzzle through jobs or problems. My team had learned that whenever we were on a tough case and got stuck, they should leave me holed up in a room with my watches.
Unzipping the bag, I carefully dumped the contents onto the table. I always had a few different watches to choose from. Different eras and issues.
Tonight, I grabbed the one I’d picked up at a flea market in London. The timepieces came from anywhere and everywhere. Some had extravagant names like Rolex and Patek Philippe. Others were classics like Timex and Swatch.
This one looked as if it had been a kid’s first watch, maybe from the eighties. The art deco face held splashes of bright colors only slightly muted by the passage of time. The second hand ticked in a steady rhythm but stuck in the same spot.
I grabbed the set of tiny screwdrivers from my kit and set to work opening the back of the watch. Before long, I had it taken apart so I could assess the damage.
A floorboard creaked. I was on my feet in a flash, pulling the gun from the holster at my back.
A second later, Wren emerged from the hallway. Her eyes zeroed in on the weapon in my hand, and she swallowed hard.
Slowly, I moved to holster it again. “Did I wake you?”
She shook her head, making her hair cascade over her shoulders in waves that I wanted to trace with my fingers. “No.”
“Sleep not coming easy?”
Wren huffed out a laugh. “Can’t imagine why. Triggering dispatch call, creepy lurker, oh, and my ex-boyfriend deciding to take up residence in my living room.”
“Hell of a day. Decide which of the three is the worst?”
She made a humming sound. “Still figuring that out.” Her gaze traveled to the coffee table. “What are you doing?”
I glanced down at the hobby that had become a lifeline. “Fixing a watch.”
Wren’s brows rose. “You can do that?”
“Fix clocks, too.” I inclined my head to the antique timepiece on her wall. “That’s four and a half minutes off, you know.”
“I don’t really use it to tell the time. That’s what my phone is for.”
I shrugged, but my fingers itched to grab it off the wall and get it running smoothly again. “Wouldn’t hurt to fix it anyway.”
“Who taught you how to do this?”
I sat back down on the couch. “No one, really. The internet is a beautiful thing sometimes.”
Wren eased forward a couple of steps. It wasn’t much, but to me, it felt like the world’s greatest victory.
“It’s a cool thing to teach yourself to do.”
I lifted my gaze to hers. “Want to see?”
Wren stilled, tension grabbing hold of her muscles. My lungs had a stranglehold on the air inside them, refusing to let go until I got her answer. She worried the side of her lip, that familiar little tell taking root in my chest.
“Okay.”
