Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) (41 page)

It all came back to her in a flood—Dylan, the white-knuckled drive, lying awake in the wee hours weighing her bad decisions.
Flynn.
Hadley was suddenly aware of her body; the ache of unused muscles, the tender dampness between her legs, the faint sting of beard burn along her chest.

“She’s awake!” Genny bounced on the sofa bed. “Can we go help Ron with the chickens?”

“What?” Her head was still spinning.

“They got real chickens in the barn,” Hudson explained. “Ron said we could help feed them and pick up the eggs, but Steve said you had to say it was okay first.”

“Yes,” Hadley croaked. “Sure. Go. Wait! Are you dressed?”

“Mo-om. We’ve been up for
hours.
” Hudson and Genny ran out, slamming the door behind them.

She waited until she was sure they wouldn’t come bursting back in for some desperately important item, then swung her legs out of bed. She smelled like sex, she had no clean underwear, and she was going to have to wash Steve Obrowski’s T-shirt before she could give it back. She scooped up her clothes and fled into the tiny bathroom.

Door safely locked behind her, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her lips were still swollen, and there was a rosy streak along the side of her throat where Flynn had—she shuddered. Good God. She had had sex while her children were practically next door. What had gotten into her?

Wetness on her leg told her exactly what.
Unprotected
sex. She shook her head in disbelief. She hadn’t done that since she set out to get pregnant with Genny.

Steve and Ron had left a jug of water on the counter, and she splashed some into a washcloth and scrubbed herself down. She toweled off and got into her clothes, all the while planning her next moves; collect the children, thank the innkeepers, get the kids back to Granddad’s—

Don’t play me. I can’t survive it. Don’t play me.

She stopped. Leaned against the counter and hung her head. She was planning on running away. She took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding, and she realized she was terrified.

This thing with Flynn wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just for fun—it was something new, so new she felt raw-pink and tender, blind and utterly vulnerable. She had set aside all her shields and defenses, and right now, staring at her almost unrecognizable face in the mirror, she knew Flynn could break her with a word.

But he won’t. He loves you, too.

He loves you, too.

I love him,
she mouthed to the mirror, not daring to say it aloud.
I love him.
She held the thought close against her still-thudding heart. Terrifying, yes. But there she was.

Back in the living room, she stripped the sheets and blankets from where she and the kids had slept, packed up the rest of their things, and, squaring her shoulders, walked down the freezing hallway to the kitchen.

Flynn wasn’t there. Ron Handler was whisking something in a stainless steel bowl and Steve was frying an entire hog’s worth of bacon atop the enormous iron range. An old-fashioned pendulum clock—no electricity needed—told her it was nine o’clock. She winced. Lyle MacAuley probably thought she and Flynn were dead, and when they made it in three hours late for their shift, they would be.

The kids—
her
kids—were setting napkins and silverware around the big butcher’s block island. “Who are you and what have you done with Hudson and Genny?” she asked.

“Good morning!” Steve Obrowski smiled at her as if oversleeping were a personal compliment. “These two are great little helpers.”

“Steve says we’re gonna eat in here because it’s the warmest place in the inn,” Hudson explained.

“I got to use the feather duster.” Genny almost dropped a napkin onto the butter dish. “It has real ostrich feathers.”

“And I got to help Steve fix the loose sconches—”

“Sconces.”

“Sconces in the hall. I got to use the hammer and everything.”

“My God,” Hadley said.

“I know.” Ron crossed to the stove and poured what looked like a gallon of scrambled eggs into two skillets. “Child labor. The Victorians were really onto something.”

The door swung open and Hadley’s heart surged, only to drop back down in disappointment as a couple in their seventies and the woman they had rescued last night pushed into the kitchen. “They’ve gotten the Smiths’ car out,” the woman said. “They’ll be in in a minute.”

“Great timing,” Ron said. “Everybody pull up a stool for breakfast.”

“Officer Knox.” The woman smiled brightly at Hadley. “Your—I mean, Officer Flynn explained we had been saved by the Millers Kill Police Department. Thank you again.”

She and the couple hitched themselves up onto stools at the far end of the island, chatting as if they were old friends. “Officer Flynn and Mr. Keene are shoveling out the drive,” Steve said, handing her a jug of orange juice. “The Smiths are doctors; they couldn’t wait any longer to head home.” He glanced out the window. “Although maybe the snow will help the driving.”

“What?” Hadley set the pitcher on the table and went to the window. It
was
snowing. She had been so distracted, she hadn’t noticed the cessation of the rain drumming on the roof. After three days, the temperature had finally fallen far enough to turn the precipitation into snow.

The kitchen door swung open again. The husband from last night—Mr. Keene—stomped in, brushing snow from his jacket and shaking off his pom-pom hat. Hard on his heels, Flynn.

She met his eyes and he blushed, which would have been funny, except she could feel her face heating as well. She tried to look away, tried to look casual, but there was an invisible wire humming between them.

“How’s it look out there?” Steve Obrowski’s bluff voice broke the spell. Hadley crossed back to the island, taking the first stool she bumped into.

“We got the cars relatively clear of ice and shoveled from the parking area to the road,” Flynn said. “It should be enough to get anyone else out who needs to go.” He stripped off his snow-spattered parka and hung it on a hook near the door.

“Is it safe to travel?” the seventyish woman asked.

Flynn shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it, ma’am. At least, not until the plow gets through.”

Mr. Keene slapped him on the back. “Well, there are certainly worse places to get stuck!” He hopped up next to his wife.

“Fritattas are up!” Ron Handler wheeled away from the stove and deposited the two skillets onto iron trivets on the island. “You’re all welcome to stay as long as you like.” He winked at Hadley as he took one of the stools at the near end of the island. “It’s the dead time of year for us.”

“I’m afraid Officer Knox and I need to leave as soon as possible.” Flynn sat next to Hadley. She knew she must be imagining it, but she could swear she could feel the heat of his body all along her side.

The kids let out wails of disappointment.

“Do you have to go?” Steve asked, setting a wooden tray piled with bacon on the center of the island. “I mean, how much crime could be going on in weather like this?”

Flynn glanced at Hadley. “They’re going to need us for traffic control and accidents.”

“The department needs everyone with—” She stopped herself before blurting out
the chief missing.
“With the chief away on his honeymoon.”

“Oh. Well, then…” Steve sounded disappointed. Maybe that was what made someone an innkeeper—actually
wanting
people hanging around.

Ron sliced the fritattas into wedges, and the noise level rose as people handed over plates, poured themselves orange juice, passed the bacon—“Might as well eat it before it spoils,” Steve said—and exchanged stories of storms and strandings. Hadley ate silently, unable to slip back into her role as Flynn’s partner, unwilling to act more intimate in front of a crowd of near-strangers and her kids.

Flynn didn’t seem to have any problems, handing out advice on the most likely routes to travel, telling funny stories about his run-ins with Lyle MacAuley. It irked her, because dammit, she was the one with all the experience. She ought to be calm and collected instead of sitting next to him like a Catholic schoolgirl on her first date.

“—right, Hadley?”

She blanked. Flynn was looking at her so normally, waiting for her to say something. “Oh. Yeah. Our deputy chief is a bear. We’re going to have to do some fast explaining for being late as it is.” She laughed. It didn’t sound quite right to her ears.

By the time they had finished breakfast, she was desperate for just a couple of minutes alone with him. When Flynn said he was going to start up his truck, she said she’d go with him, but then Genny barreled back into the kitchen looking for help gravity-flushing the toilet. By the time they had finished, Flynn had come back inside to pick up the bags and thank the innkeepers for their generosity.

They loaded the suitcases and the kids and set off for town. Flynn drove at a conservative ten miles an hour, which made Hadley want to screech, except she knew he was only playing it safe. He remained focused on the almost invisible road ahead, his face set, his hands tight on the wheel.

Route 57 had been plowed at some point, and the road into town was a patchwork of bare asphalt, ice slicks, and packed snow. When they finally reached the house, there was just enough space to park. Flynn snugged his Aztek nose-to-nose with her granddad’s old Dodge and grabbed the kids’ luggage while Hadley steered them inside.

Hudson and Genny rampaged over Granddad as if they’d been gone a week, while Hadley excused herself to go upstairs and change. When she got back down, Granddad was supervising the children donning their outdoor gear. “I’m off to snowblow the church,” he said. “These two can slide down the hill on t’other side while I’m working.” Past the parish hall, St. Alban’s lawn sloped downhill toward Route 57 and the river. A century-old iron fence kept sledders from disaster.

“It’s still coming down pretty hard,” Flynn observed. “You sure you want to snowblow now?”

“Got to get ahead of it, don’t you?” He held the door open for them. Everyone trooped out onto the porch. There wasn’t going to be any chance for a private moment or a quiet word, Hadley saw.

They made it back to the station house and pulled into the parking lot without having said a word, Flynn killed the engine, and Hadley finally opened her mouth. She didn’t know what she was going to say—something reassuring, or funny, anything except what she was thinking:
Are you having second thoughts?

“Are you having second thoughts?” His lips were drawn into a line. “Because if you are, you know—”

“No!” She blinked at him. “Are you?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not. It’s just you didn’t say anything—”

“
You
didn’t say anything!”

“The kids were in the car!”

“I thought maybe, I don’t know…” She turned away to look out her window. “Some guys, once they’ve caught your heart, they get scared.” She glanced back toward Flynn.

A slow smile curved his mouth. “Have I caught your heart?”

“Oh, God.” She pushed at him. “You know what I mean.” For some reason, she kept her hand resting against his chest.

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I want to kiss you.”

Her breath caught. “I think we ought to keep it under wraps at work.”

“Yeah. I agree.” He did not, however, stop leaning closer and closer, looking at her as if he were going to lay her out in the backseat and—

A siren blurped behind them.

“Shit!” Flynn jerked away so quickly his head smacked his window.

In the side mirror, Hadley could see MacAuley getting out of his unit. “It’s the dep,” she hissed.

“Okay. We play it cool. Like nothing’s changed.”

“Like nothing’s changed. Got it.”

“Once we feel comfortable with it, we talk to the chief.”

“I’m going to need some time to—shit, Flynn, what about your job offer? Syracuse?”

“Hadley.” He laughed. “I’m not going to move half the state away when we’ve finally gotten together.”

MacAuley rapped on the driver’s window. “You two having a nice chat in there? Maybe I could bring you out some coffee and doughnuts?”

Flynn opened his door. “Sorry, Dep.”

“Well, don’t let me rush you. Just ’cause it’s after ten o’clock and the rest of the department’s been on twelve-hour shifts.”

Hadley slid out of the truck. “We helped some tourists on the Sacandaga Road and then decided to stay at the Stuyvesant Inn until the weather broke.” That sounded good. Professional, even.

“Shoulda stayed in Albany like I suggested.” MacAuley snorted. “Can’t imagine they have any power at the Stuyvesant Inn.”

“Well, I did have to keep feeding the woodstove.” Flynn’s expression was bland as they walked toward the station entrance.

“See? You were probably up half the night.” Over the dep’s head, Flynn shot Hadley a wicked grin. “Don’t think you can pull over behind a billboard and take a nap, either,” MacAuley continued. “We’re all gonna be busting our balls today. I just got the heads-up from Harlene. Your federal agents are driving up here.”

Hadley stopped, one foot on the granite steps. “They are?”

“Ayep. Don’t know what you said to light a fire under their butts, but they’re scraping together a task force. They want to take this meth house we’ve all been looking for, and they want our help to do it.”

4.

Tom and Marie O’Day arrived at lunchtime. Lyle had long since sent Knox and Flynn out on patrol, so he had Harlene reel them back in for the briefing. The FBI agents looked around the Millers Kill station, with its layers of past law enforcement architecture dating back to the 1880s, and managed to avoid sniffing. Lyle, in turn, kept from rolling his eyes. He knew how the Feds worked. If it wasn’t the latest high-tech gadget or glass-walled building, they didn’t want it.

He had run into the O’Days before, on an interstate domestic that had lit up Millers Kill because the perp, a New Hampshire guy who had killed his wife, briefly squatted with a cousin in town before fleeing farther west. That had been before Russ became chief, so more than ten years now. Which meant, despite their nose-up attitude toward the local yokels, they weren’t any different from him. They had peaked in their careers and they weren’t going up or out until the Albany office threw their retirement party.