River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(79)

She knocked again, louder this time. There was a good chance he wasn’t home. She had no way of knowing his work schedule. When he didn’t answer, Becca stumbled across his porch. A couple of jack-o’-lanterns glared at her through their angry eyes and menacing smiles. Typical Parker. What he needed was a happy-faced pumpkin. If she ever got through this day, maybe she would carve him one.

She peered in the window. Be home, she thought. It was dark inside. She stepped back and tripped over the edge of the rocking chair, banging her shin. She smacked her palm on the wooden door again. Come on, Parker. Be home. She didn’t know how much longer she could stand. The adrenaline that had surged through her veins, accelerated her heart rate, contracted her muscles when she’d feared for her life, had all but evaporated. She understood the science behind the fight-or-flight syndrome, but she’d never experienced it until now. She was left with the shakes, slight confusion, and an unyielding state of exhaustion.

She raised her hand to pound on the door one more time just as it opened.

“Parker,” she said and collapsed in his arms.

“What the hell happened?” he asked and carried her inside. Romy followed them into the living room. Parker put Becca down on the couch.

“I’ll explain everything,” she said. “But first can Romy and I have a drink of water?” She covered her mouth as she spoke, tasting the bitter acid of stomach bile on her tongue, having forgotten that at one point she’d dropped to her knees, retched into the river. It had been around the same time the gun had slipped from her hand. She’d lost it somewhere on her way there.

Parker returned with a bowl full of water for Romy and a large glass of water for Becca. When she’d finished drinking, he took the glass from her hand and set it on the coffee table. He waited quietly by her side, and for this she was grateful, because she needed time to collect her thoughts. He searched her face.

Romy lay on the floor by the couch. She put her head on her paws, feeling the exhaustion of the morning as much as her human counterpart.

“I need you to be a friend and not a cop,” Becca said. “You can do the cop thing later, when I’m finished.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the o. “But I have to admit, you’re scaring me a little bit here.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she said and touched her forehead where a headache was starting.

“You don’t look so good. Maybe you should lie down.” Parker lifted her legs onto the couch. He put an extra pillow behind her head.

“Promise me you’ll listen as a friend.”

“I will. Please tell me what’s going on.” His face was open.

She saw the old Parker in front of her, not the cop, and closed her eyes. She started from the beginning, telling him everything she remembered about that day in the barn, the dogs fighting, the blue hooded sweatshirt, the bloody knife in John’s hand. She told him about the deal her father had struck with Russell and how John had been following her, how she’d been scared.

She’d been talking nonstop and had to pause to take a breath. There was more she had to tell him, but when she opened her eyes, Parker was wearing his cop face. He paced around the room, running his hand over the top of his head, messing his already messy hair. There was a healthy growth of stubble on his face and neck. His clothes looked slept in, the GONE FISHING T-shirt wrinkled and worn, the same T-shirt he’d been wearing when they’d shared a root beer in his kitchen, the same T-shirt she’d slipped over his head.

She hadn’t noticed these things when she’d knocked on his door. But it was a good look on him, rumpled and unkempt, and so different from Matt’s constantly polished appearance. It was the first time she’d thought of Matt in the last several hours. She didn’t have her cell phone with her, so she had no idea if he’d tried to contact her. It was just as well.

Parker continued pacing, passing by the couch where she was lying, his long legs carrying him across the room in a couple of strides. Romy lifted her head and watched him with interest.

On one of his passes, Becca said, “You promised you’d be a friend.”

“I am being a friend, Becca,” he said, but there was an edge to his tone. “But you didn’t think this was something I needed to know sooner? You didn’t think to tell me all of this until now?”

She pulled herself up on shaky arms. “I didn’t understand any of it myself until now.”

“And your dad?” he asked. “He knew about this guy and what he was guilty of the entire time?”

“He was protecting me.”

“Do you know what kind of trouble your dad is in? Do you understand he broke the law?”

“My dad died this morning,” she whispered.

Parker stopped pacing. She felt his eyes on her. Neither one spoke for some time. Romy lowered her head back on top of her paws.

“I’m sorry,” Parker said. “I didn’t know.”

She wouldn’t look at him. If she did, the tears would start. She wasn’t ready to give in to them. She didn’t know if she ever would be. Instead, with some effort, she pulled out the folded sheet of paper from the small pocket in the front of her running pants. She handed it to Parker. “I started to put the pieces together when I found this in my dad’s lockbox.”