Home to Whiskey Creek

Adelaide’s chest constricted. “What did you say?”

“The man who attacked you must’ve dropped his knife when he was wrestling you out to his truck, because I found this—” he straightened one leg so he could take something from his pocket “—in the flower bed outside the door to your bedroom.”

If it had been a plain pocketknife, Adelaide wouldn’t have paid it much heed. But it had a wolf carved into the handle, which wasn’t something one saw every day.

Her mind raced. “Couldn’t that have been dropped by someone else?”

“I doubt it. With all the watering in the summer and the rain we get in the winter—” he flipped out the blade “—there’d be some rust if it’d been exposed to the elements for any length of time.” He pointed to the shiny steel. “Look at that. It’s perfect. Someone loved this knife.”

Palms sweaty, heart pounding, she sat in silence.

“So you didn’t see him with it?” he asked.

“He—he said he had a knife. But...I didn’t see it, no. And...I—I assumed he had it with him the whole time.”

Stacy studied the carving. “Okay, I’ll keep asking around. See if anyone can identify its owner.”

“He must’ve used that to cut the screen,” Gran said. “Were there any fingerprints on it?”

Adelaide held her breath. Please, no.

“Unfortunately not. I’m guessing he wiped it clean before he came here.”

“He—he was wearing gloves,” Adelaide said. “I remember that from when...from when he was tying my hands. The gloves made it difficult.”

“Gloves.” Chief Stacy sighed in a way that indicated he found this expected but disappointing. Then he lifted the knife. “But...this is very hopeful. We’ll see what turns up.”

The police chief and Gran moved on to other subjects while he finished his coffee and cake. Adelaide learned that he was recently divorced, that he was suing his wife for custody of their two kids, that his ex was “crazy” if she thought she was going to tell their son he couldn’t play football.

At last Stacy got up to leave—with a final promise to see that her attacker was apprehended.

Closing her eyes, Adelaide stayed where she was while Gran showed him out. She was embracing the silence, wishing her return to Whiskey Creek could’ve gone smoothly and wondering what she should do now.

“I sure hope he can catch the man who did this to you,” Gran said as she returned.

“So do I.” Adelaide twisted around to smile up at her, but the prospect of a police capture scared her more than anything—because she knew where it would lead if Kevin, Tom, Derek or Stephen decided to point a finger in her direction.

6

Baxter stood at Noah’s door, looking at him with that odd sort of expression Noah had noticed before, the one that made him so uncomfortable. He wanted to say something about it—had wanted to address the issue for some time because whatever was going on seemed to be getting worse instead of better. But he didn’t know how to broach such a taboo subject without busting up a friendship that had lasted almost since birth. What could he say: “Dude, sometimes you look at me like you’re dying to get in my pants”?

If Baxter wasn’t gay, Noah knew how much that would offend him. He’d be offended if a buddy accused him of sexual interest. That kind of talk was out of bounds between two guys. But Baxter’s look... It was so damn hungry.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” he snapped.

Baxter seemed taken aback. “Like what?”

Shit. Maybe he’d imagined it. That was another thing Noah hated—how he’d begun to second-guess his best friend’s thoughts and reactions. It seemed as if he was always reading more into what Baxter said and did. Suspicion affected people that way; it messed with their minds. “Forget it.”

Baxter seemed more than willing to let the subject go. “Do you know it’s almost noon?”

With a yawn, he scratched his head. “Haven’t looked at a clock. Just rolled out of bed.”

“So Amy opened the shop for you?”

“She was supposed to. She’s there now, isn’t she?” For a moment, he was afraid that his employee hadn’t shown up.

“She’s there. But...I thought she had school.”

When Baxter’s gaze once again strayed to Noah’s bare chest, Noah grabbed the football jersey he’d left on the couch sometime in the past few days and put it on. It wasn’t as if he’d answered the door nude. He’d donned a pair of basketball shorts, but his state of undress seemed to be a distraction, which added to the creeping sensation that all was not as he’d believed with the kid who’d grown up next door. “She graduated in June, remember?”

“I forgot. Does that mean you’re off today?”

“No, but this time of year weekday mornings can be slow. There’s no rush. I’ll walk over in a bit, spell her for lunch.”

“I can spell her if you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick. Just tired.” He yawned again. “I got in late.”

Baxter glanced beyond him, into his small bungalow. “Do you have company?”

“You mean a woman? No.”

“Then where were you last night? I came by a couple of times.”

Noah ignored the apparent subtext of that sentence—the possessive “where were you?”— because he wasn’t even sure it existed. “Believe it or not, I was rescuing someone.”

“You always wanted to be a superhero,” Baxter joked.

“Now I just need the cape.” Relaxing slightly, Noah held the door. What was wrong with him? This was Bax! They’d been on lots of double dates together. Noah knew for a fact that Baxter had slept with a number of women—at least when they were younger.

His friend grinned as he came in. “Who’d you rescue this time? Yet another chick from the confinement of her clothes?”

See? When Baxter said stuff like that, as if he was just another one of the guys, Noah wondered if he was simply being conceited or...or paranoid to think Baxter was attracted to him.

But there was always that indefinable something, like the feeling that had triggered his desire to pull on a shirt.

Whatever was going on was so damn contradictory and confusing....

“Is that the kind of rescue mission you’d like?” he said with a laugh.

Baxter didn’t rush to convince him. “Now and then. There are too many risks and complications that go with sleeping around to do it very often.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get naked with anyone last night.” He had seen—and touched—Adelaide’s bare ass. That was memorable. But, in deference to what she’d been through, he wasn’t going to mention it. Maybe the rest of the circumstances surrounding her ordeal would go public. The incident was too sensational for word not to spread. But nobody had to know about the private hour he’d spent in Milly’s home, removing slivers. “Do you remember Adelaide Davies?”

Baxter’s gaze lighted on everything that was out of place. He’d been a neat freak since he was a little kid. “Adelaide who?”

“Went to high school with us. Would’ve been a sophomore when we were seniors.”