Paige woke up early. Or, rather, she got up early. She’d woken a long time before.
Two days of too much stress on her leg, and she was paying the toll. She hadn’t been able to stretch enough during her travel day, and she’d spent yesterday on her feet, not to mention returning to the daily workout necessary to rebuild her strength. This morning, the steady, dull ache and the sharper, pulsing throb, the Pain Brothers, had woken her during the dark hours. At five-thirty, she gave up on sleep and got out of bed.
Focus, she told herself as she limped out of the bathroom a few minutes later. Live.
Pull the drapes to reveal the first light of dawn tinting the sky a glowing, unreal pale-blue and pink, making the mountain shine gold. Feel the chill that was a May morning in northwest Montana, dawn in the mountains. Breathe in the light, the colors, the unaccustomed space. Find Lily’s neglected workout mat in the closet, where it had been gathering dust, and stretch out the leg. Work through the throb and the ache. Pay attention.
Be here now.
She hadn’t bothered to change from the clothes she’d worn to bed, Lily’s least-girly set of pajamas, and now, she lay on her back, adjusted the yoga strap over the ball of her right foot, raised the leg into the air, and looked at it, forcing herself not to avert her eyes from the depressed, ragged purple pit near the outer side of her upper thigh. Her leg sent up the protest of inflamed nerves all the way from hip to toe, and she breathed the tension of it out and visualized the air she drew in being tinged with that soft, glowing morning light, warming and healing all the way along the ricocheting path of the bullet.
Two scars, one each on the front and back of her thigh, a limp when she was tired or her leg was tight, and that was all. The visible wounds always healed first. Inside took longer.
She breathed in and let herself see the faces, to feel the pain and to roll with it. The dark eyes of veteran officer Patrick Washington, humor there even after nineteen years of service. A mentor and a friend, his retirement in sight. The face that was on a plaque now, his name and dates etched beneath, hanging on the wall of honor.
And the face of a woman, Frankie Roberts, whose picture wasn’t on any wall, who’d been given no memorial but some flowers laid on a city sidewalk, long since withered and tossed, and two motherless children. And the last face, another mistake of a boyfriend for Frankie in a life filled with mistakes.
As for Paige? She still had everything. Including a couple of purple craters in her leg and a head full of memories that wouldn’t leave.
Of fumbling a tourniquet onto her thigh as the blood pumped out too fast around her hands, of telling herself, You’re bleeding because you’re alive. Stay alive. Of gasping her status into her radio, then dragging herself over to her partner, fashioning the webbing strap to Pat’s utility belt the way she’d practiced so many times, then bringing her weapon up to cover the two of them while she began to pull him backward with one arm, one leg, and the superhuman strength fueled by adrenaline. Of the sound of the sirens, faint at first, then growing louder, the wails converging as unseen cops in all directions pulled U-turns and screamed toward her position, because they’d heard the two words every cop dreaded most.
Officers down.
Now, she breathed, pushed into the pain, and accepted it for what it was. The price of still being alive. She was going to finish healing, go back to work as soon as the investigation ground to its end, and do that work better next time. That was her job, and she always did her job.
She was putting the mat away, drained from a bruising hour of riding those waves, when she heard the vibration and headed over to the bedside table, setting her teeth against the limp that kept trying to escape despite the stretching.
“Hey,” she said. “Too early for a woman on vacation.” If Lily weren’t worrying, she wouldn’t be calling, and Lily wasn’t supposed to worry.
“I woke up because I hurt so bad, but then I didn’t,” Lily said. “So I knew it was you. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Paige sat on the rumpled bed, put the phone on speaker, and began to massage her thigh, digging in hard with fingertips and thumbs. “Same old thing. Who’s Madison Knightley? Blonde. Teenager. Entitled. Dad who’s a lawyer.”
“What? Oh. Jarrod Knightley’s daughter. He’s the real estate attorney working for Brett Hunter on the development, and he’s also on the county commission. You could say he’s upset with me.”
“Is there anybody in this town who isn’t upset with you?” Paige kept up the kneading motion on her leg, working down to her shin. Pain liked to move around just to keep you paying attention. Pain was a sneaky bastard.
“That’s what I told you,” Lily said.
“I didn’t realize.”
“You thought I was being dramatic, or just a baby, maybe.”
“Oh.” Paige thought about it as she worked her calf. “I hope not. If I did, I’m getting it now. Anyway, I banned Madison and a couple of her friends for shoplifting, so don’t let them in.”
“Really. You caught them?”
“I sure did. They’re good, Madison and the friend. They’ve practiced.”
“Wow. I wondered about them, but I could never see anything. You always get some shrinkage, and those richer town girls come in a lot, but they don’t always buy. Lots of ‘just looking.’ And she’s the leader of the pack. So I wondered.”
“A sport for her, I’m guessing,” Paige said. “Not a nice girl. Hates you for being pretty, too, I’ll bet, and for having all the pretty things. She needs to be the queen. And you need security cameras.”
“It’s on my list. It’s not like I could review the footage, though. When would I?”
“Deterrent. It works. Don’t try to hide them. Make them obvious. Post a sign. ‘Security cameras in use.’”
“What kind of impression would that make, though?” Lily asked. “I want the store to be welcoming, a luxury experience even if you don’t buy. I want walking through it to feel like wandering through the best kind of flower garden. A sign saying We’re watching you, so don’t get any funny ideas doesn’t quite give off the relaxed ambience I’m going for.”
“You could give off the ambience that people shouldn’t try to rip you off or you’ll take them down. That’d be a good one. I can get that going for you, if you want.”
Lily paused a minute, and Paige forced herself to shut up and started to work on her hamstring, always the tightest and toughest. Finally, her twin said, “Maybe the cameras, not hidden, but no sign. If you’re looking to shoplift, you’ll see them, and if you wouldn’t shoplift anyway, you probably won’t even notice as long as the sign isn’t there to put you off.”
“Could be,” Paige conceded. “I tend not to think about the law-abiding people as much.”
“I’ve noticed. Since they’re my customers, I have to think about them. And if you’d talk to the security company and get it scheduled, that’d be helpful. Hailey will know where to put the cameras. Ask for her opinion. She likes to be consulted, and I want to hang onto her.”
“Gotcha. I’m on it today—well, tomorrow, I guess. Monday. And while we’re on the subject of women who don’t like you much—who’s mid-to-late forties, Caucasian, five-six, one-thirty, brunette, and has some kind of weird extra stake in all of this?”
“I’m not sure. How? Where?”
“In the store. She was buying underwear. Overemotional.”
“Still not sure. You could ask Hailey.”
“I don’t recall this woman, who probably cuts my hair or something, because of what, my amnesia? Does Hailey know we’re twins, by the way?”
“I don’t remember if I told her or not. I think I just said ‘sister.’ I’m sure I didn’t say we’re identical. People are so weird about it. Why?”
“Because she knows about my injury, and I haven’t exactly been covering myself with glory work-wise. She’s probably thinking you got hit on the head on your vacation.”
“Oh, I see. Do you think you should tell her? That way she could help you.”
“I sure don’t.” Paige had thought about that. “She’s chatty, and that’s an awfully juicy piece of gossip to keep to yourself. If everybody knows I’m not you, I can’t speak for you, and all this toughness I’m putting out there doesn’t help you at all, does it?”
“Well,” Lily said, “I’ll let you decide. This isn’t really my specialty.”
“I’ve decided I’m not as good at it as I thought, either,” Paige said. “I’m better than I was at being a hooker decoy when I was working Vice, though. So there’s that. The guys on the squad said I was the worst they’d ever seen. They made me a medal. That’s a precious memory.”
“That’s not possible,” Lily said with her usual misplaced loyalty. “I’m sure any guy would— oh, wait. I’m not sure it’s good to say that you’d be a very appealing prostitute.”
Paige was laughing, feeling so much better, feeling like herself again. “Street hookers don’t tend to be great-looking. It’s not like the movies. They have drug habits, and sad backstories, too, or they wouldn’t be doing it. Their pimp is abusing them, and he’s only the latest in a long line. They’ve checked out, because they hate it. Who wouldn’t? I was way too focused. Way too healthy. I’d do better now. The limp would be good. Kind of like those birds that drag their wing so the predator will follow them instead of looking for the babies in the nest. Now if I could only develop a skin condition…”
Lily was laughing, too. “That’s just gross. I don’t want to know. Go sell underwear for a while and think happy non-law-enforcement thoughts. And I’ve thought about your hostile customer. Raeleigh Franklin, maybe? Owns the Timberline Motel. Or possibly half of the couple who own the gym. I think they may have a plan going for the new resort—spa, or something. Just a rumor. I can’t remember her name. Jennifer something. And really? People are coming up to you and saying they hate you? Maybe I should just sell my place. It’s good money. But I hate to let them make me.”
“Why should you? OK. I’m starting to know the players and the stakes, which is good. And yes, even though you didn’t ask, Brett Hunter, too. I’ve got his number. Literally. Don’t worry, and have fun. But I’ve got to go. Things to do. Goats to milk. A store to open all by myself.”
“Just don’t burn it down,” Lily said. “With the steamer. Try to keep me in business one more week.”
“Don’t worry,” Paige said. “I’m on it.”