Page 111 of Finding Noah

MURDER OF ONE

Me: Hey, babe. I didn’t want to call and wake you up, but I'm leaving Aunt Stormy’s now. I’ll be home in a few hours. Love you.

I sent the text, then buckled up. Charlie was already in his truck, waiting to lead the way to the gate and send me off.

I couldn’t wait to be back home.

I’d only been away for a couple of days, yet it felt like weeks had passed since I’d slept in my bed. I guessed what people said was true—distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever. I was eager as hell to close the gap between myself and the woman waiting for me at home.

She wasn’t the only one struggling with the idea of me working a job that pulled me away from her. The moment she had told me she was pregnant with our baby, something had changed. A shift in the universe. A realignment of the planets or something.

Suddenly, I no longer wanted to stop the bad guys and put them away.

I wanted to patrol my house and keep them from infiltrating the cozy, happy bubble we’d built.

I wanted to make sure that, even though the world was full of villains, the place where I’d raise my kids was protected by heroes.

Maybe that meant I should find detective work inside Connecticut. There were bigger cities not far from River Canyon. I could handle a short commute if it meant I came home every night to my wife and kids.

I just didn’t want to leave.

Not again.

I slowly followed Charlie through the winding roads until we were at the cemetery entrance.

He parked his truck while I kept mine running, and I got out to ask, “Want some help?”

“I won’t say no,” he replied with a smile, climbing out of the cab of his pickup.

I followed his dark, lanky frame through the morning gloom toward the heavy chains hanging from the joined sides of the monstrous iron gate. He pulled a ring full of keys from his pocket and flipped through them until he found what he was looking for.

“I feel like a castle prison guard, walking around with this thing,” he muttered sardonically with a shake of his head, fitting the key inside the large padlock on this side of the gate.

“Nah, you need one of those gigantic rings,” I said, making awkward conversation as I peered up through the fog and toward the outstretched limbs of barely visible trees. “And, uh … those old fancy-looking keys. Whatever they're called.”

“Skeleton keys?”

I shrugged stupidly. “Sure. Sounds right.”

Charlie lifted one side of his mouth in a smile as he unwound the chains from one side of the gate. I didn't offer to help with the task and instead marveled at how quickly he maneuvered the length of heavy-duty steel. I guessed he would, considering he'd been doing this every single day for the past … God, I didn't even know how long. Well over a decade at least. But, man, as I watched him work with nimble dexterity, my mind traveled toward wondering what drove someone to do this. The different paths of life each of us went on to eventually guard cemeteries or protect cities or manage grocery stores.

The unfortunate twists and turns that caused some of us to fall into lives of crime.

It wasn't all by choice—I knew that—and I wondered if Charlie had chosen this … or if it had chosen him. If life had forced this world of seclusion and death on him in one way or another or if he'd sought it himself, but I didn't think now was the time to ask. Not when I wanted to be home with Meg, back to the life that had chosen me.

Charlie gave one side of the double gate a push and nudged his bearded chin toward the other. “Just push it until it stops.”

“You got it,” I replied and gave the cold iron a shove, surprised to find just how heavy it was. “Whoa …”

He had already swung the gate halfway when he glanced in my direction with a chuckle. “Hey, if you can't handle it—”

I held a hand up, stopping his words in their tracks. “I didn't say that. I just wasn't expecting it to weigh more than a fuckin' car. I'm good.”

Charlie snorted. “A car,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And here I thought, the force kept you in shape.”

“Oh,” I said with a grunt, swinging the gate across the driveway with startling effort, “it's not the force that keeps me in shape. That's all on me, man.”

“Oh, yeah?”