The Last Sister (Columbia River)(69)

“It was interesting,” Zander said. “I think hanging and shanghaiing have a tenuous correlation—weren’t men hanged back then for abandoning their ship’s duties?”

“I don’t know. Could be. But the relationship seems to be a stretch.”

“Agreed.”

She studied his profile in the pale light. He was preoccupied, his mind hard at work on the case, no doubt. “I feel like I’ve distracted you from your primary investigation.”

He glanced her way in surprise. “Not at all.”

“First my accident and now Simon—”

“Stop right there. Nate Copeland’s shooting requires me to take a closer look at your shooting. Yes, I’m juggling a few things. The Fitches. Nate Copeland. The skeleton we found—who I hope is confirmed as Cynthia Green with dental records soon. It’s all important. Interviewing Simon Rhoads had to be done. Just because it didn’t pan out doesn’t mean it was a waste of time.”

“But your manpower has been reduced.”

“The sheriff is helping, and I’ve got another agent coming tomorrow.” He stopped at the curb in front of the mansion. “Someone shot at you. I don’t take that lightly. Especially since you were at the Fitch deaths.” He turned off the engine and faced her, determination rolling off him.

He meant every word.

His gaze went past her, and he frowned. “Who is that?”

Turning, she spotted Isaac loading an armful of small fir branches into a wheelbarrow. A hood covered his head, and rain ran down his coat. “It’s Isaac. I asked Madison to get our uncle over here to hang around—a male presence at the house, you know? But it looks like she recruited Isaac instead and gave him some outdoor busywork. There’s no point in picking up those branches until this storm is over.”

“He’s scrawny.”

Her mouth twitched. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

“Your safety is a concern.”

“So is the safety of my sister and the aunts,” she said pointedly. “We take what we can get. If deputies driving by the home is a deterrent, then I think seeing a man working around the house can help too. Hopefully my uncle is also here somewhere.”

“True.” He continued to stare past her, following Isaac’s movements.

She wanted to know what he was thinking. He often wore a perfect poker face, probably necessary in his line of work. But at the hospital, she’d caught a glimpse behind it. Zander Wells had very strong emotions; the FBI-agent attitude was a front.

“Thank you for telling me about your wife and daughter today,” she said softly, watching his eyes in the fading light of the evening.

He met her gaze, and the agent mask lifted a bit. “I’m sorry that I—”

“I was married too.”

His gaze intensified. “What happened?”

“Nothing at all like what you went through.” She felt a little embarrassed for bringing it up. “It ended five years ago. He was . . . controlling.”

Anger flickered. “He hurt you?”

“No. He never laid a hand on me.” She gave a shaky laugh. “He slowly tore me down inside. It was emotional and mental. His words, his actions, some gaslighting . . . I was no longer myself. He’s a narcissist. Everything is about him, and he wanted everything about me to be about him.”

“You mentioned him in the present tense.”

“He’s still around.” Emily snorted. “In fact, I saw him yesterday morning. Would you believe he has the gall to think we could get back together? The narcissist in him still doesn’t understand why I filed for divorce.”

“Sounds like a prince.”

“He’s a cop in Astoria.”

“Emily.” Zander leaned closer. “Could he have shot at you?”

She sat very still. “No—I would have known it was him.” But her brain raced through a million possibilities.

“He’s a cop, so I assume he’s a decent shot. Could he still be bitter? If you saw him yesterday, you’d be on his mind.”

Emily couldn’t speak. Her limbs were frozen. Would Brett . . .

“No,” she whispered. “I would have recognized his stance, his shape. Even though I didn’t see a face, every part of me says the man I saw wasn’t him. I know Brett.”

Zander didn’t look convinced. He pressed his lips into a tight line, and his gaze softened, making her face warm.

He cleared his throat. “This is inappropriate and poor timing, but when this case is over . . .”

Emily instantly understood. “I have a lot of baggage,” she murmured, unable to pull her gaze away from him.

The way he’s looking at me . . .

I could get lost in his eyes.

His smile was wistful. “Then that makes two of us.” He took her hand, holding it and running his thumb over her palm.

Her heart rate quickened. He feels it too. She’d been immediately attracted to him but had shut the feelings away. Until now.

“One time I made a mistake by keeping my feelings to myself,” he said. “I swore I’d never do that again. I know now is not the time . . . but I had to say something in case time slipped away from me again.”

“I understand. And I’m glad you said something.” Happiness bubbled deep inside her chest.