Known (5 page)

“Most people say ‘gross things.’”

“That, too.” He deftly maneuvered a sandwich onto a plate and slid it in front of her.

“It looks incredible,” Gianna stated. She took a look at her daughter. “I’m not waking her up. I suspect she needs sleep more than anything right now.”

“She’ll have plenty of time to eat. We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

Gianna carefully inched down the ladder from the loft. Dim light filtered into the cabin from the moon outside. She’d slept, but had spent the last hour staring at the close ceiling with images of the destroyed roof of her cabin and the mystery path in the snow bouncing around her brain.

How did the fire start?

Is Chris right that it was arson?

She’d finally gotten up, hoping a glass of water would put her back to sleep. She stepped off the last rung, turned, and sucked in a breath.

Chris stood ten feet away.

“Jeez! You scared me to death.” She tried to calm her racing heart. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I was up.”

He didn’t expand on his statement.

She silently stared back at him, caution creeping up her spine. She couldn’t see his eyes in the faint light. “What’s going on?” He was tense. Wide awake and standing where he could see out the front window and the side window at the same time. She knew the curtains had been drawn when she went to bed. Now they were completely open.

“Nothing. I don’t sleep much. Sometimes I just like to listen so I’m aware of what’s going on.”

She listened and heard a whole lot of silence. “You’re worried.”

He looked away, and she realized he was still in the jeans and shirt he’d worn that day. Violet had napped for several hours and woken up starving around dinnertime. Chris had heated them a simple meal of leftover stew and steamed rice that both she and Violet swore was the best thing they’d tasted in months. Later Gianna had picked a mystery from his shelf of novels while Violet entertained herself with games on her phone. Everyone had gone to bed early. Or so she’d thought.

“Did you hear someone outside?”
How long has he been standing like that? I’ve been awake for an hour and haven’t heard a peep.

“No. It’s quiet.”

She moved to look out the front window. Moonlight reflected off the snow, doubling its radiance. She scanned for fresh tracks and paths. The snow sparkled and the frozen branches of the trees glistened. It was beautiful, but marred by her knowledge of the burned husk of a cabin a mile away. And the odd mystery path. Turning around, she saw Chris still hadn’t moved.

“You’ve been standing there all night, haven’t you?”

“No.”

Yeah, right.

“I slept on the couch for a while,” he admitted. “I’m awake a lot during the nights out here. Actually back home, too.”

“Why?”

He paused before answering. “I don’t need much sleep. Never have.”

His head moved slightly and the moonlight illuminated two of the scars on his neck. Gianna focused on the scars, wondering about his past, and decided not to ask more questions. If he wanted to play vampire, she wasn’t going to stop him.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

“Just water. Unless you have something stronger.”

A wisp of a smile crossed his face as he lit a lamp. “Sorry. Water it is.” He drew the curtains.

The gas lamp would reveal us to anyone outside.

He poured some water from a refrigerated filtered pitcher, and she sat on the stool where she’d perched to eat her sandwich the previous day.
Is he always extra cautious or just tonight?

“Sometimes I have a hard time falling asleep after a particularly rough day at work,” she said to fill the silence. “I get images in my brain and can’t let them go. I’m better about it now.”

“Do you like your work?” Chris asked, pouring his own glass of water.

“I love it. I’m nosy and curious and it’s fascinating to see how actions during our lives are reflected in the cells and tissues after death.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, a simple example is a chronic alcoholic. When I cut them open, I might find a liver that is almost crunchy, not spongy and flexible, and even after death their bodies still exude a sweetish alcohol smell. Or what about a smoker? Most people know smokers’ lungs are hardened black lobes, right?”

He swallowed hard.

“What do you do?” She politely changed the subject.

“I write software and manage IT for a few small companies. I can do it from anywhere. I just need a computer and the Internet.”

“Then you’re obviously not working while you’re up here.”

“It’s good for me to break away. Back home I’ll automatically reach for my laptop even when I don’t have work to do. Being disconnected forces my brain to do other things. Or simply be bored. We’re raising a generation of kids that doesn’t realize it’s okay to be bored. They constantly crave stimulation. They’re addicted.”

Gianna agreed. Violet had been annoyingly vocal about the lack of Internet at the cabin and constantly played the games she’d downloaded to her phone.

“Sometimes it’s good to simply listen to the silence,” Chris added. He ducked his head a bit, and she wondered if he’d revealed more than he’d meant to about himself.

“How much school did you attend to become a forensic pathologist?” he asked. He sipped his water and leaned against the counter in the small kitchen area. His constant awareness had mellowed, and Gianna wondered if it was because she’d provided a distraction.

“Four years of college, four years of medical, four years of a pathology residency,” she stated. “Then I spent two years training in New York in death investigation and autopsy pathology. During my residency I studied what every single cell and tissue in the body looks like. I also learned what they look like when things go wrong. I could have gone and worked in a nice quiet lab after that, staring in a microscope all day long, but that sounded a bit dull.”

“You didn’t want to be a regular doctor?”

Gianna grinned at the common question.
What is a regular doctor?
“I’ve found I prefer patients who can’t complain, and I like knowing that I can’t make them more sick by working on them.”

It took a split second for her old joke to sink in, and then Chris gave the first full smile she’d seen from him. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, she abruptly realized. He simply had a way of not calling attention to any part of himself.

He wasn’t shy; he was reserved, she’d learned. He had plenty of self-confidence but didn’t flaunt it. He’d been comfortable with her daughter. Some people didn’t know how to talk to teens, but Chris seemed a natural at it. He’d known exactly what to say to Violet to alleviate her fears.

Impressive for a man who claimed to avoid people.

“You studied computer programming?” she asked.

“No. I have a history degree, but I’m self-taught when it comes to computers. Everything I’ve learned came from books or online or from my own discovery when I’d stumbled into solutions while struggling with a coding problem.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.”

She nodded. She loved what she did, too. It was a hell of a path to travel to get to her position, and there’d been times when she’d nearly given up . . . usually when infant Violet had been up all night or Gianna realized she’d missed another school recital. She said a quick prayer for her passed mother-in-law. She never would have succeeded without her help with Violet. They’d been a household of three since Violet was one.

“Can you imagine doing anything else?” she asked.

“Never.”

“I feel the same way. I swear I learn something new every day, and I get to solve problems. I find that very satisfying.”

“I could say the same thing.” He took a close look at her. “Are all your drugged-feeling symptoms gone?”

She took a quick inventory. “Yes, I feel nearly normal.”

“We’ll find out what happened,” he promised. “To you and to that cabin. We’ll get the police up here and check out the odor.”

“Tomorrow.”

“I can’t promise tomorrow, but soon.”

“Thank you for helping us.” She hadn’t questioned his intentions. At all. If he was a crazy recluse who’d convinced her and Violet that he was helping them when he was actually waiting to kill them in their sleep, she’d walked right into his trap. He didn’t give off a crazy vibe. When she was with him she felt a quiet strength and determination. He didn’t flaunt anything. It would be easy to let her gaze bounce over him in a crowd, but when he was alone in a room, a low hum of energy surrounded him.

He nodded. “Anyone would have done the same.”

Images of victims on her table floated through her mind. “I’m not so sure of that. There’re a lot of evil people in the world and others who simply don’t care. Fate could have chosen someone else to live in this cabin.”

“Do you believe in fate?” he abruptly asked.

She blushed, thankful the lighting in the room was poor. “Not specifically,” she lied. She had a firm belief that everything happened for a reason, but didn’t care to discuss it with other people. The belief belonged to her, one she held close to her heart. It wasn’t a doctrine to share and debate with strangers. Or even her closest friends. To her, fate was made of iridescent colors and fresh air and warm breezes. It was something beautiful she clung to when life grew dark.

Fate had rescued her in the past.

“Things are placed in our paths for a reason,” Chris said slowly. “I almost didn’t come up here this week. I had some projects around the house I wanted to do while Brian was gone, but one morning I woke up and knew I should go to the cabin instead. I wasn’t sure why. Nothing up here needed attention, but I didn’t question my decision.”

Fate rescued me again?

She forced a smile as a chill touched her skin. “You think you were meant to be here to get Violet and me out?”

“Yes.”

She couldn’t see his eyes, but knew he was looking directly at her. “I can believe that.” She believed it 100 percent.

Someone looks out for me.

Flashbacks of another cold night, a long walk, and someone who’d helped her when she was ready to collapse sprung from a dark area of her mind.

You can make it.

Cold feet. Cold fingers. So tired.

Anxiety ripped through her, and she shut down the memories.

Chris had talked more in the last twenty-four hours than in the previous month.

At home Brian talked enough for the both of them. When Chris was a boy, he’d had the same habit.

Before.

Would he still be a talker if he hadn’t spent two years with the Ghostman? Before he’d been kidnapped, he’d wanted to be a politician like his father, and boasted he’d be president one day. He’d been confident and self-assured, brimming with the brashness of youth.

Now the thought of being in the public’s eye made him want to vomit. He’d learned to keep his thoughts to himself and silently observe. Don’t rock the boat, but always be present. Be ready, flexible, and quietly alive. Stay in the background. Don’t be prey. Retain the posture of the predator. Act when necessary.

Survival skills.

He rarely stepped outside his comfort zone. He did so only when the needs of his family dictated the action. He would kill to protect his family. Brian, Michael, and Jamie. He’d been forced to prove it.

Now he’d extended his circle of protection to Gianna and Violet.

Anyone would have done the same.

Gianna hadn’t agreed that anyone else would have helped them, and he knew she was right. Chris didn’t consider himself anything special, but only an asshole would have left the women behind. And one could have crossed their path. The world was a dangerous place. A person didn’t need to travel to the Middle East to find danger. It was present in every American’s backyard and looked perfectly normal at first glance. Even at second glance. The evil being who had stolen his life and murdered children had smoothly interacted with society for years.

During that time Chris had hidden, terrified the Ghostman would find him again. He’d moved on in his life, keeping a low profile and constantly looking over his shoulder. When Brian came, Chris kept him in seclusion to protect him from all predators.