Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(54)

They fell into silence. She watched the growing dawn. They were allies now. All it had taken was one long, strange night. She hadn’t even known he existed two days ago. She hadn’t known who she was. How can someone exist in such rampant ignorance? She had stepped out of the painting, and the painting shattered.

The early morning traffic thickened as they neared Big Rapids. They passed through the city at a quick pace and into the quieter landscape beyond.

“Tell me what your life has been like,” he said. “You said you worked an ER shift.”

She stirred. “I work—I worked at a community hospital. Cue back to the fussing. People got better out of self – defense.”

“You’re good at your job.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question. She gave him a quick glance and a wry, lopsided smile. “Actually, yes. I had my choice of residencies at more prestigious facilities, but I liked the idea of contributing something to an underprivileged area.”

The rare pleasure that had lightened his expression vanished. He became the hard-edged soldier again. “You said your house burned down.”

Her fingers jerked under his. “That’s right.”

He flicked a finger in the direction of the dashboard. “I heard about it on the news too. Missing doctor’s house burned in the St. Joe/Benton Harbor area. In the news segment on the radio, the police had yet to—” His words cut off.

His abrupt silence had her twist in her seat to face him. She searched his profile. “Police had yet to, what? What happened?”

He gave her a quick glance under slanted brows, his mouth grim. He said, “The police have yet to issue a positive identification on a body they found in the house. All the newscast said was that it was a six-foot male between twenty-five and forty-five years of age.”

“Oh shit,” she said. Her eyesight blurred.

His long hard fingers curled around hers. “You know who that was?”

“It had to have been Justin, my ex-husband.” She pinched the bridge of her nose as hot tears spilled over. After a moment, she could speak again. “He—we—it’s a long, stupid story, but we figured out fast we never should have gotten married, and we ended up friends instead. I knew he was going over to my house yesterday afternoon, but I left anyway. I’ve been so worried about him.”

After a blank pause, he said, “I’m sorry.”

She bent her head to wipe her wet face on her shirtsleeve. “Why was he killed? What purpose did that serve?”

He tightened his hold on her hand, a sure steady grip. “We may not ever know the answer to that. But when we can, we’ll try to find out.”

Silence descended in the car. She looked out the window as she struggled with grief and rage. Finding comfort in the contact, she kept her hand on his thigh. He covered it with his own whenever traffic allowed.

Some distance north of Big Rapids, he signaled and exited the northbound highway, turning west. A large portion of Michigan was National Forest. With the turn, they entered old-growth woods then they turned north again onto a gravel road. Soon she saw a small cluster of cabins and buildings, and a sign that said Wolf Lake.

Michael pulled into the gravel lot of a small building with the words WOLF LAKE STORE painted on the side. He said, “Stay in the car. Your photo may have been released in the news. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, sliding down in a self-conscious hunch in her seat as he strode into the building. Even though she kept a wary eye out, she didn’t see anybody.

Less than ten minutes later, he stepped outside, carrying two full grocery bags in each hand. He set the bags in the backseat before climbing back into the car. They drove at a gentle pace in silence for a few more miles, until he turned onto a drive that was guarded by a weathered NO TRESPASSING sign.

She had rolled down her window in the growing heat of the morning. The forest was alive with an old green presence that wrapped around them in welcome.

They pulled up to a rough-looking cabin. Michael turned off the engine, and even though the car ran at a soft, powerful purr, in that quiet place the change seemed loud.

She sighed at the peaceful sounds of birds singing, and the soughing wind as it braided fronds of leafy branches. The sunlit, green clearing emphasized a huge absence as the weight of stress lifted off her body.

“I’m never living in a city again,” she said. “This place is wonderful. Is it yours?”

“Yes. I come here when I can. The lake is about a third of a mile down a path that ends behind the cabin. Sometimes I fish.”

He got out of the car and she followed. He handed her the four grocery bags. As she took them, she saw that two of the bags were filled with food, and the two other bags were stuffed with simple, new clothes. She caught a glimpse of a gray sweatshirt, and a packet of white women’s socks.

Then he reached into the backseat again, and he pulled out two large black canvas bags. One of them seemed an ordinary bag one might pack for a weekend. The other was longer and he hefted it with more effort, so it had to be heavy. She looked at that bag for a thoughtful moment.

He turned and walked up the porch steps to the door, warning over his shoulder, “The cabin is pretty rustic.”

“Is there any chance of hot water?” She followed him onto the porch.

He unlocked the door and shoved it open with a foot. “In about a half an hour.”