Daughters of the Lake(60)

They did not see her collapse into his arms, nor did they see him carry her upstairs to the bedroom. Jess and Addie had stopped at the doctor’s house and were home, snuggling together in their own bed, talking of Jess’s upcoming trip to Chicago—very ill timed, he thought—when Dr. Maki arrived at the Connor mansion. And later still, as Addie drifted off into sleep in the arms of her beloved, the doctor was giving Celeste something to quiet the raging fever that had overtaken her.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Kate had poured a glass of chardonnay for herself and a Scottish ale for Nick, and the two of them were sitting across from each other at a table near the window. It was after four o’clock already, and the sun was sinking low in the sky.

Nick took a sip of his ale and gazed out the window. “Photographers call this the golden hour,” he said, pointing outside. “See how the light is illuminating everything so beautifully?”

Kate smiled, noticing for the first time that the trees, the grass, the flowers, and even the houses seemed to be glowing.

“It’s the best time for shooting, when the world is bathed in that soft, golden light,” he said.

“So, you’re a—” Kate was about to say photographer, but the word stuck in her throat. The vision—or whatever it was—she’d had of her and Nick Stone, walking together in the woods, a camera in his hand, replayed in her mind.

“I’m a what?” He smiled.

She shook her head, trying to push the vision away. “Photographer,” she said. “But it seems like I already knew that. It sounds familiar. Did you tell me about this before?”

“Not likely,” he said and took a sip of his ale. “It’s not something I broadcast to a whole lot of people. It’s just a hobby, but I love it.”

“Something to do when you’re not chasing bad guys?”

“I think part of the reason I’m drawn to it is precisely because I chase bad guys for a living,” he said. “I shoot landscapes, mostly. It reminds me of the beauty in this world. And other things.”

“In contrast to the ugliness you must see every day on the job.”

He held her gaze for a moment. His eyes had a clarity to them that Kate hadn’t noticed before.

“That’s exactly right,” he said to her. “Not a whole lot of people get it, but you do.”

Kate fidgeted in her chair but couldn’t contain the smile that broke out across her face. “When did you take it up? The camera, I mean.”

“My dad was a photographer,” he said. “By trade. He gave me my first camera when I was about thirteen years old. An Instamatic.”

Kate grinned. “I remember those! I think I had one, too. With the old kind of film—what was it called?”

“One-ten,” he said, nodding.

“Wow,” Kate said, thinking back to her middle school years, shooting photos of her friends with that same kind of camera. “The technology has changed so much over the years. Who even uses film anymore?”

“I do,” he said. “I know everyone’s a photographer these days with their cell phone cameras, but to me, there’s just something about using an old camera that you have to set by hand.”

“There’s an artistry that has been lost,” Kate agreed.

“I don’t think Ansel Adams Photoshopped any of his images,” Nick said, leaning forward. “That was all his eye, his skill as an artist.”

The air between them began to electrify—Kate could feel the tingle on her skin. Best to tone this down a bit, she thought.

“So, your father was a photographer,” she said, circling the conversation back to safe territory. “What did he think of you becoming a cop?”

“He never knew it,” Nick said, a sad smile on his face. “My dad had his own photo studio. He did portraits to make a living, but he really loved shooting landscapes. And when I got out of school, I worked with him.”

“He must have loved that,” Kate said, thinking of her own father. “But—he died before you joined the force?”

Nick nodded, a sheen in his eyes. “It’s the reason I became a cop, actually,” he said, clearing his throat.

Kate felt the rush of Nick’s emotion—grief—and reached over to touch his hand. The heat was palpable, jolting up Kate’s arm and then all through her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We can talk about something else.”

“I was out of the shop,” he said, his voice hoarse and low. “I came back to find him on the floor in a pool of blood. They got away with about seventy-five bucks in cash. That’s all we had on hand.”

“Oh, Nick.”

“I know it’s cliché, but that’s why a lot of people become cops. I dedicated my life, then and there, to putting the bad guys behind bars.”

They sat there, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment, the intensity of the emotion flowing through both of them.

“Did you ever find the people who did it?” Kate asked, not knowing if she should.

He shook his head, a grimace of disgust twisting his lips. “I’ve never stopped looking.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his ale. “Man, how did this get so heavy?”

“Sharing life experiences will do that to a conversation.” Kate smiled. “But do you know what I’d like now?”