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Vera was another reason Vivian couldn’t move. She couldn’t tear her children away from their “Nana.” They’d never forgive her. Then there was Claire, who’d become such a big part of her own life. Claire was always willing to help out with the kids but usually had to work.

“I try to avoid the trip, if possible,” she said.

“Here’s your problem.” He held up the metal piece from which she’d removed the wires. “These are supposed to be attached.”

She frowned as if this was surprising to her. “I wonder what could’ve happened to them. Could a rat have done that?” She felt like a rat just saying this.

“It’s possible.”

“So…can you fix it?”

He turned the part over. “It’d be easy if this wire wasn’t so damaged. It isn’t safe with so much of the protective coating gone. But I might have some wire in the garage that’ll work.”

Rubbing damp palms on her shorts, she blew out a sigh. “That’s really nice of you. I appreciate it.”

He went home and returned a few minutes later with a piece of wire, and put the motor back together—which left Vivian scrambling for a way to keep him longer. She hadn’t broached the subject of the murder; she was afraid to blurt out her questions for fear she’d give away her true intention in having him over.

“I think we’re set,” he said when he plugged the refrigerator back into the wall and it began to hum.

“Wow. That’s amazing. Thank you so much.” The guilt she felt about lying made it difficult to meet his eyes.

“No problem.”

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked as he packed up his tools.

She’d surprised him. That was obvious from the way he straightened. “Okay.”

It’d been so long since Vivian had had company, she felt awkward, out of practice. Her life wasn’t conducive to socializing. Even after coming to Pineview, she hadn’t entertained. Not a man, anyway. Claire and Vera dropped by every now and then. But she tried not to get too attached. What if she had to pull up stakes and leave?

That question hung over her. Always.

At least she was the only one who had to endure the weight of it. Her children didn’t understand why she was so guarded. And she didn’t want them to know, didn’t want them to become as paranoid as she was. But that left them unprotected from possible disappointment.

“Did you grow up wanting to become a cop?” she asked as she poured chardonnay from a new bottle.

He put his toolbox by the kitchen door, which led to a mudroom on the side of the house facing his property, and took a seat at the table. “Pretty much. My uncle was in law enforcement. He used to come over on the weekends, help me work on whatever project I had going. And while we worked he’d talk about his job. His stories not only fascinated me, they made me passionate about seeing justice done. I wanted to get involved in that fight.”

She set his wine in front of him. “You didn’t want to be a lawyer, like your father?”

“No. Definitely not enough action in that.”

“What about an electrician?”

“I figured that could be a fallback. But I was more interested in police work.”

She’d already drank enough wine for one evening. It didn’t take much to make her tipsy. But she was so self-conscious. And the alcohol was doing a great job of relaxing her.

One more glass… “If you want action, what are you doing in a sleepy little town like this?”

He studied his wine, swirled it around. “My wife visited here once, with her parents, when she was a child. They spent the whole summer. She’d always dreamed of coming back to live. So once she got sick and the doctors said there was nothing more they could do, I thought it might be the best place for her.”

He’d done everything he could, even built her that expensive deck. Claire had told Vivian how, in her last days, he’d carry Amber Rose outside and hold her on his lap so she could feel the sun…?.

Did it hurt him to talk about his late wife? Vivian wanted to ask, but such personal questions fell into what she’d designated a restricted area. She had to respect other people’s boundaries if she wanted them to respect hers.

“Where did you live before?” she asked.

“Phoenix.”

She cradled her glass. “That’s a big change.”

“And yet I love both places,” he said with a shrug.

“Will you ever go back?”

His nicked and scarred hands served as a testament to all he did with them. And they were so large they made his glass appear small by comparison. “No. Marley’s settled here. She’s happy. After she lost her mother, I’d never take her away from her friends. I think stability’s important, don’t you?”

Very. That was the problem. Thanks to The Crew, stability wasn’t an easy thing for her to provide. “But do you think it’s as safe here as we once believed?”

Weaving his fingers together, he clasped them behind his head. “You’ve heard about the murder.”

She’d found the lead-in she’d been searching for. But she was afraid she’d given herself away. He could read people so well. She’d seen him do it many times—watched him step in to defuse a disagreement at the Fireworks by the Lake show last July fourth before it could erupt into a fight, watched him steer various inebriated people away from the bar so he could drive them home before they tried to get behind the wheel, watched how gently he deflected unwanted female attention. He kept his finger on the pulse of everything that went on around him, noticed changes and figured out the reasons for them. And inviting him over had definitely been a change. So he had to be wondering. And watching for clues.

“I think most people have heard about the murder,” she said. “You know what gossip is like in this town.”

“I do, which is why I’m curious…”

When his eyes latched onto hers, she knew he wasn’t going to limit his comments to the superficial and polite. And that made her uncomfortable enough to drain her glass. “What?”

“Why no one ever has any dirt on you.”

Her stomach muscles tensed, but she smiled. “You’re changing the subject.”

“Maybe I am. But I can tell my statement doesn’t surprise you. And that makes me even more curious.”

“I haven’t given anyone a reason to talk,” she countered.


Tags: Brenda Novak Bulletproof Thriller