Twenty-one
By the time Sunday morning rolled around, all Xander wanted in this world was to sleep until the sun came up. Three road service calls Friday night had pulled him away from practice for a Saturday-night gig, and dragged him out of bed. Twice.
They’d rocked the bar in Union, good exposure, good times, good pay—but he hadn’t flopped into Naomi’s bed until two in the morning.
He met Tag’s five A.M. wake-up call with a snarl.
“I’ve got it,” Naomi told him.
With a grunt of assent, Xander dropped back to sleep.
Mildly disoriented, he woke, alone, three hours later. He thought, Naomi, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Christ, he needed a shave—not his favorite sport. Then he remembered it was Sunday, and didn’t see why anybody had to shave on Sunday.
The sun shined through the glass doors. Through them he could see the blue lines of water, the quiet spread of it beyond the inlet. A couple of boats—early risers—plied the blue.
He wasn’t a fan of boats any more than he was of shaving, but he appreciated the look of them.
But at the moment, he’d appreciate coffee a hell of a lot more. He got up, pulled on his jeans, saw a T-shirt he’d left there at some point neatly folded on the dresser.
Grateful he didn’t have to wear the shirt he’d sweated through the night before, he pulled it over his head—and discovered that whatever she washed stuff in smelled better than whatever he washed stuff in.
He’d had to tap Kevin and Jenny for the favor—then persuade Naomi to drive with them to Union for a couple of hours. He’d liked seeing her there—and more, he’d liked knowing Kevin would make sure she got home, got in the house, locked up safe until he’d made it back.
She’d given him a key and the alarm code, though he wasn’t sure if it had been for the single night or what. He didn’t think she was sure either.
The . . . arrangement would be easier if he could leave a few essentials at her place. He wasn’t sure of his ground there—brand-new territory.
He’d never lived, even half lived, with a woman before. He’d been careful not to. His space might not have been as big as Naomi’s, but he liked his space all the same.
Yet here he was, getting out of her bed again, wearing a shirt she’d washed, and thinking about hitting her up for coffee.
This thing between them had a lot of moving parts, and he’d yet to figure out how they all fit.
But he would, he told himself as he walked out to find her—and coffee. He always figured out how things fit.
He heard her voice, pitched low, so he changed directions from the pursuit of coffee and walked to her temporary work space.
She had the windows wide open and the dog sprawled under her makeshift worktable.
The sun flooded her hair, turned it into a hundred shades of gold and bronze and caramel as she used a long tool to cut some mat board while she muttered to herself. Nearby a big, slick printer hummed while it slid a poster-size print into a tray.
It took him a minute to realize the poster-size print was of his hands holding the Austen book.
He saw himself again, already framed and matted and tipped against the wall. That shot she’d taken in the early morning, with the sunrise at his back and his eyes on her.
She had other poster prints—his book wall, his hands again, sunrise over the inlet—clipped to the arms of some sort of stand and a stack of smaller prints in a tray.
The dog’s tail thumped good morning, and since hope sprang eternal in Tag, he uncurled himself and brought Xander a ball.
Distracted, Xander laid a hand on the dog’s head and just looked at Naomi.
Immersed in her work, immersed in sunlight, slim hands competent with her tools, dark green eyes focused on her art. That long, slim body in a pale blue shirt and khaki pants that stopped above her ankles, her feet bare.
So this was what it was, this was how it fit. How his half fit anyway, he thought. It fit, all those moving parts, because he was in love with her.
Shouldn’t the universe have given him a heads-up on that? He needed a little time, needed to adjust, regroup, needed to—
Then she glanced over, and her eyes met his.
It blew through him, that storm of feeling, all but took his breath. For an instant he wondered how people lived this way, how they could carry so much for someone else inside them.
He crossed to her, yanked her up to her toes, and took her mouth like a man starving.
This. Her. His life would never be just what it had been as of that moment. And he would never be only what he’d been.
Love changed everything.
Thrown off balance, she gripped his shoulders. He made her head spin, her heart race, her knees weak. Overcome, she held on, rode the hot, fast wave with him.
When he eased back, she laid her hands on his cheeks, let out a long breath. “Wow, and good morning.”
He rested his forehead to hers a moment while tenderness twined with heat.
“Are you all right?” she asked him.
No, he thought. He might not come down to all right again for years.
“You should always wear sunlight,” he told her. “It looks good on you.”
“I think you should always sleep in.”
“No one in the actual world considers eight on a Sunday morning sleeping in.”
To give himself a moment to settle, Xander turned to the prints. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve got orders. The gallery, the Internet, Krista.”
“So you were right about the hands.”
“Oh yeah. Many hits on my website, and a nice bunch of orders for downloads and prints and posters on that and the book wall. I have to order more supplies.”
He looked around at boxes and stacks. “More.”
“More. I can’t set up in here as efficiently as I will when they have my studio done. I might break my own rule and nag Kevin on that. But for now I can make do. You got in late,” she added, and took the finished poster print out of the tray.
“Yeah, I got here around two, I guess. Woke the dog up.”
“I heard him—and you.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s reassuring that he barks and runs down like he’d rip an intruder to shreds. Though I suspect he’d run the other way if it was someone he didn’t know. You all sounded good last night.”
“Yeah, we had it down.”
She clipped the poster in place, moved over to her tray. “What do you think of these?”
He started to tell her he’d look after coffee, as the need for it reared up strong, but he saw the print of the band, one with the tools, the broken windshield. Taking the stack, he paged through.
“Jesus, Naomi, these are great. Really great. Dave keeps saying how he can’t decide what to use, which for what. On and on until you want to punch him.”
“That’s why I printed some out. You’ve all seen them on the computer, but sometimes prints help the choice.”
“I don’t think so. They’re all great. You did some black-and-white.”
“Moody, right?” As if checking for herself, she looked over his shoulder. “A little dangerous. You should all pick one for yourselves. I’ll frame them for you. And you should pick one to go in Loo’s.”
“Yeah, maybe. Yeah. This black-and-white for Loo’s, because it fits the atmosphere better.”
“I agree.”
“Dave’s going to develop a nervous tic trying to decide.” He set the prints back in the tray. “I need coffee.”
“Go ahead. I’ve got a couple things to finish up, then I’ll be down. You could let the dog out,” she added. “It’s too nice a day for him to be inside.”
“For anybody. We could take a drive along 101. GTO or bike, your choice.”
“If we did that, took the convertible, I could take some equipment. And the dog.”
“We’ll go by my place and pick it up.”
Even as Xander started out, Tag raced ahead of him.
He’d take the day off—from work, from shaving, from thinking about what to do, or not, about being in love.
He knew people who fell in and out of love more regularly than they came in for an oil change. But he wasn’t one of them.
He’d fallen into his share of lust, even into serious like, but this ground-just-shifted-under-my-feet feeling? A whole new experience.
He’d just let it all sit for a while, he decided. Make sure it wasn’t some sort of momentary aberration.
Halfway down the steps Tag let out a low growl and bulleted the rest of the way to the door. He snapped out two sharp barks, then looked back at Xander as if to say, Well? Let’s take care of this.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Why didn’t I go for coffee from the jump?”
Xander opened the door, saw the black Chevy Suburban pull beside Naomi’s car. And walked out as a tall man with light brown hair stepped out.
He wore sunglasses, a dark suit and tie—and a nebulous official air that said cop to Xander.
Not a local badge, but some sort of badge. And it pissed him off that Naomi would have her Sunday spoiled by more questions about Marla.
The man looked at the dog who stood by Xander’s side, then at Xander.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You’re the one who drove up here,” Xander countered just as abruptly, “so I get to ask who the hell you are.”
“Special Agent Mason Carson. FBI.”
Mason took out his credentials, held them up—and wasn’t subtle about the hand that flipped back the suit jacket to rest on the butt of his service weapon.
“Now, who the hell are you?”
“It’s all right.” Xander set his own hand on Tag’s head. “He’s okay. Xander Keaton.”
The sunglasses might have blocked Mason’s eyes, but Xander knew they narrowed and assessed.
“The mechanic.”
“That’s right. Naomi’s in the house. Upstairs finishing up some work. I’d appreciate it if you took your hand off your gun. I haven’t had coffee yet, and it’s starting to piss me off.”
Since Tag sidled over to sniff at Mason’s FBI shoes, Mason gave his head a rub. “Do you usually have coffee here?”
“It’s gotten to be a habit. If that pisses you off, it has to wait until after coffee.”
“I wouldn’t mind coffee.”
Tag raced off, raced back, ball in his mouth, dropped it at Mason’s feet.
And when Mason smiled, Xander saw Naomi.
She didn’t smile all the way often enough, in his opinion, but when she did she shared that same slow build to blinding with her brother.
“She’s going to be really glad to see you.”
Xander waited for Mason, who wasn’t so official he couldn’t throw a ball for a dog, then started back into the house.
“If we drive north,” Naomi began as she came downstairs, “I could get some . . . Mason. Oh God, Mason!”
She flew.
Mason caught her, swung her around, then swung her around again.
That, Xander thought, was a connection, a bond, a love that went as deep as they ever get.
She laughed, and he heard the tears in it, saw them sparkle in the jubilant sunlight that pumped through the open door.
“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You’re wearing a suit! You look so— Oh, oh, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” Beaming right back, Mason held her a few inches away. “You have a house. And a dog.”
“Crazy, isn’t it?”
“It’s a hell of a house. Great dog. And you’ve got . . . a mechanic.”
“A . . . oh.” She laughed, gave Mason another squeeze. “Xander, this is my brother, Mason.”
“Yeah, we met outside. I’m going for coffee.”
“I’ll get it. I’ll show you the house,” she said to Mason. “We’ll start with the kitchen. Right now it’s the best part.”
“It’s a big house.”
“With plenty of room for you and Seth and Harry to visit. And I’ve talked Gram and Pop into coming out, at least by the fall. Your rooms aren’t finished yet, but we’ll figure something out. How long can you stay?”
“Mmm.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Had a bagel on the ferry.”
“We can do better than that. The ferry? Where’d you come from? I thought you were in New York.”
He made another noncommittal sound, one that put Xander on alert. It didn’t bump against Naomi’s delight, not yet. And Xander changed his mind about getting a coffee to go, and leaving the siblings to themselves for a while.
He’d stick around.
“I set up a FaceTime with the uncles for later today. They didn’t say a thing about you being out here.”
“I had to come to Seattle.” Mason stopped, looked over the kitchen space, out to the view. “Wow. Nome, this is amazing.”
“I really love it. Xander, maybe you could take Mason out on the deck. I’ll bring coffee.”
“Sure.”
“Sweet,” was Mason’s opinion when Xander opened the accordion doors. “Yeah, this would grab her. The first time she saw the ocean, she fell for it. I always expected her to end up on the East Coast, but yeah, she’d fall for this. How long have you been sleeping with my sister?”
“That’s a conversation you should have with her first, then we can have one. No problem. The quick one we should have now, before she comes out, is why you’re here. Because it’s not just a surprise visit to your sister. You’ve got business here. She doesn’t see it,” Xander added, “because she only sees you.”
“I have a meeting with your chief of police in about an hour.”
“If you’ve come to talk to him about Marla, is that FBI or the brother who’s FBI?”
“My supervisor signed off on it. You knew her, Marla Roth.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know Donna Lanier?”
A cold blade sliced into Xander’s belly. “Yeah. What happened to her?”
“I don’t know, yet, that anything has. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get to this with Naomi in my own time.”
She came out with three white mugs on a tray. “How about waffles? I bought a waffle iron,” she told Xander. “We can have an early Sunday brunch, and toast the uncles. No champagne, but I’ve got OJ.”
“Coffee works for now. Relax.” Smoothly, Mason put an arm around her shoulder, rubbed the top of her arm. “You must have taken a million pictures right from this spot.”
“It might be two million. And the town’s a charmer. We’ll have to take you through it. We could rent kayaks. I’ve been dying to. Xander, why haven’t we rented kayaks?”
“Why would I want to sit in a hole in a boat with a paddle?”
“It’s a whole new perspective.”
“I like this one fine.”
“For those who prefer land, there’s plenty of hiking. You didn’t say how long you can stay.”
“I’m not sure yet. Seth and Harry are coming out.”
“What? When? Today?”
“No, jeez, not today.” Amused, Mason sipped his coffee. “They’re probably going to spring it on you when you call later. A couple of weeks maybe—they’re working on it.”
“God, I have to get beds. And champagne. And serious supplies. If you think I can cook,” she said to Xander, “wait until Harry makes a meal.” Obviously buoyant, she jumped back to Mason. “Do you think you can put in for some time off so you can be here, too?”
“I’ll look into it.”
Sipping his own coffee, Xander saw it start to get through, when some instinct, some tone, maybe some body language told her something was off.
“Is something wrong?” The moment she asked, she went pale. “Oh God, Harry and Seth. Is something wrong? Is one of them sick?”
“No. No, they’re both fine.”
“Then what? It’s something. You . . . you didn’t tell me you were coming,” she said, stepping back to look at him more keenly. “You aren’t telling me how long you’ll be here. You aren’t telling me something else.”
“Why don’t we sit down?”
“Don’t do that. Just be straight with me. Is this about Marla Roth? Are you here about the murder?”
“When someone’s murdered near my sister, and my sister finds the body, I take an interest.”
“So you’re here to talk to Chief Winston.”
“I’m here to see you, and to talk to Chief Winston.”
“Okay.” Though some of the shine dimmed, she nodded. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the assistance. You don’t have to circle around telling me something like that, Mason. I know what you do.”
“It’s not just that. Another woman’s missing. Another local woman.”
“What? Who? When did— Did you know about this?” She whirled on Xander.
“No, and simmer down. Missing for how long?”
“Donna Lanier closed Rinaldo’s restaurant at approximately eleven forty-five Friday night. She was the last to leave, and was last seen by two other employees, who left about the same time. According to statements, she was supposed to drive to Olympia to spend the weekend with her sister and a cousin. Her car’s still in the lot, and she never met her sister and cousin or contacted them.”
“She could have changed her mind,” Naomi began.
“Her suitcase is in the back of her car. She’d planned to drive straight there after her shift. She hasn’t been seen or heard from since eleven forty-five on Friday, she hasn’t used a credit card, sent a text, made a call.”
“Donna. She’s the brunette?” Though she’d gone pale, Naomi’s voice stayed steady when she turned to Xander. “Early forties, round, cheerful face?”
“Yeah. She and Loo are tight. Go back to high school together. You think whoever killed Marla wasn’t passing through, didn’t just grab her up because he saw an opportunity. You think whoever did that has Donna.”
“I think it’s a strong possibility.”
“She calls everyone sweetie.” Slowly, Naomi lowered to a chair. “I noticed that when I first moved here, and I’d go in for takeout, she’d say, ‘I’ll get that right out for you, sweetie.’ Or ‘How are you doing tonight, sweetie?’”
“She has a kid in college. She raised her mostly on her own. Divorced, no interest from him in the kid. She has a daughter away at college.”
“I’m sorry.” Naomi rose again, went to Xander. “You’ve known her all your life. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never known her to hurt anybody. She’s nothing like Marla. Don’t they go for a type? She’s fifteen years older, brunette, settled, steady—and not the sort who’d catch your eye like Marla.”
“I need to talk to your chief of police, get more information.”
“How do you even know about it?” Naomi demanded.
“I contacted Winston after Marla Roth. Did you think I wouldn’t hear about it, Naomi? Christ, I’m a federal agent, I’m going to hear about it when my sister finds a body in her goddamn backyard.”
“It wasn’t, and you’re taking that tone with me to block me from taking one with you. I didn’t tell you because there wasn’t a point. I didn’t want to worry you or the uncles. Is that why they’re coming out here?”
“I haven’t said anything to them about this. Yet.”
Mason let the last word hang a moment.
“I talked to Winston about Roth, gave him my contact information, asked him to let me know if anything else came up. It came up.”
“If you two want to snipe at each other about it, I’ll stay out of the way.” Xander shrugged. “But it’s pretty pointless on both sides. I’m getting more coffee.”
“You could have told me you’d called the chief, told me you’d come here to talk to him.”
“You could’ve told me you found a dead body.”
“Next time I find one, you’ll be the first.”
“Don’t joke about it, Naomi.”
“Oh, I’m not.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not. I’m sick at the thought of it. I don’t know how you do what you do. I know why, I understand why you chose to do what you do, but I don’t know how you face it. Day after day, how you stand being faced with it. I’ve done everything I could to cut all of it out of my life, to put up walls. And you do the opposite. I can be proud of you, and I am, and still wonder how you stand it.”
“Doing this is how I stand it. We can talk about this when we’re alone, and when I have more time.”
“Chief Winston knows who we are. He ran me after I found the body.”
“Yeah, I figured as much.”
“Xander knows. I told him.”
“You—” Stunned, Mason stared at his sister, then Xander when Xander stepped back out. “Is that right?”
“Yes, so you don’t have to worry about what you say.”
“I can’t say much more of anything because I need to go meet Winston. I’ll be back.” Mason took Naomi’s shoulders. “I’ll be back after I meet with him. You can show me the house, what you’ve been working on.”
“All right.”
He kissed her forehead, stepped back. “I’ll be back,” he said to Xander.
As Mason left, Xander sat on the glider. “Can we just sit here for a minute?”
“I should—”
“I need it. I have to hope this isn’t happening to her. She’s one of the best people I know, and she and Loo . . . I need to call Loo. She’d have heard. We’d have heard most likely but we had the out-of-town gig. She’ll need to talk to me, but I need to sit for a minute first.”
Naomi went over, lowered to the glider beside him, took his hand. “We’ll just sit here, then you should go see her. It’s better if you go see her than call.”
“You’re right, but I’m not leaving you here alone. Not until we know what the hell’s happening.”
Not the time to argue, she decided. “I’ll go with you. I’ll text Mason so he knows, and go with you.”