Witness Pursuit

“True, but we don’t want yours triggering an episode.”

Cassie shook her head, mortified. To have her illness mentioned in front of Nate made her feel broken and pitiful.

“Could I get some cream?” Nate asked Mom.

Not what kind of episode? Or how bad is Cassie’s issue with anxiety?

Her big brother had probably told Nate the whole ugly story.

“Of course.” Mom went back into the kitchen.

“I’m okay,” Cassie said to Nate. “You don’t have to stay.”

“But your mom said—”

“I’m fine.” She stood and paced to the front window. “I’m not going to freak out if you leave, and I haven’t had an episode since I was a teenager.”

“Oh, okay.”

She turned to him. He was staring into his coffee.

“Go ahead, ask,” she said.

He glanced up. “Ask what?”

“About my anxiety, my—” she made quote marks with her fingers “—episodes.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You mean Aiden hasn’t told you?”

“No.”

“I’m shocked. Well, you should probably know since everyone else seems to. I had a childhood autoimmune disease,” she started, wandering back to the sofa. “Juvenile idiopathic arthritis. It’s hard to diagnose in kids since there’s no blood test for it. I’d be stiff in the morning, tired throughout the day, and not the most coordinated person on the planet. Aiden used to call me lazy bird. Since the symptoms would flare up and go away, it took a while to diagnose. Mom blames herself for not figuring it out sooner.”

“Wasn’t that the doctor’s responsibility?”

“Sure, but she was the one who took care of me, saw me wince when I’d get up in the morning. I’ve outgrown it, but Mom can’t see me as anything but that sick little girl.”

“She loves you. It’s her job to worry.”

“But not her job to shame me in front of people.”

“Shame you?”

“Telling you how my anxiety could trigger an episode? It’s like I have no control over my health, but I do. I follow an anti-inflammatory diet and get my share of exercise.”

“She might have some post-trauma issues related to your illness, Cassie. Try to see it from her point of view.”

“Here we go,” her mom said, breezing into the living room with cream for Nate’s coffee. “Sorry it took so long, but I was looking for an appropriate accompaniment to the coffee. I know you said you weren’t hungry, Chief, but I thought I’d tempt you anyway.” She placed a tray of pastries on the coffee table and sat on the sofa beside Cassie. “So, what are we talking about?”

Nate’s phone buzzed and he eyed the screen. “They need me.” He glanced at Cassie as if waiting for her permission to leave.

Cassie stood and motioned toward the door. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

“Wait,” her mom said. “Let me put some sweets in a container to take with you.”

Before he could respond, she’d dashed into the kitchen. Good old Mom, always feeding people to make them feel better.

“You’ll be okay?” he asked Cassie.

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m tough.”

* * *

The container of sweets on the seat beside him, Nate pulled away from the farmhouse. Glancing in the rearview, he couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach.

Don’t worry about me.

Which was asking the impossible. Sure, the house had a new security system installed after the break-in last year, but the property was off the beaten path, and if Cassie and her mom needed emergency services it would take a good ten minutes to get to them.

A lot could happen in ten minutes.

Yet Nate couldn’t be in two places at once. They might not have a large staff at the Echo Mountain PD, but SAR had its share of former military. Nate decided to see if Harvey, retired security manager for Echo Mountain Resort, could watch the farmhouse.

Harvey answered on the second ring. “Hey, Chief, heard you’ve had a busy night.”

“Word gets around.”

“How’s Cassie McBride?”

“That’s why I’m calling. She’s staying at her mom’s temporarily and I was wondering—”

“I’d love to.”

“I haven’t asked the question yet.”

“You want me to keep an eye on Margaret and Cassie.”

“If you’ve got time.”

“Got plenty of that. Fishing trip was canceled so the timing is perfect. Besides, Margaret makes a dynamite cup of coffee.”

“That she does. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

“Roger that.”

Nate ended the call and pressed the speed dial for Cassie’s cell phone. It rang a few times and went to voice mail. He fought the urge to turn the truck around and speed back to the farmhouse. He was overreacting. Cassie must be away from her phone, or maybe she’d gone to bed. She’d looked exhausted.