room. She stopped at the yellow crime-scene tape that blocked her path. Fingerprint powder coated the doorknob and the edge of the door. More dusted the wall.
“This isn’t going to be fun on Monday,” Ariel murmured.
“We’ll have things processed and cleaned up by then.” He lifted the tape, and she walked across the threshold and straight to her desk. She grabbed her sweater, opened a drawer and took out her purse.
“You want to check to make sure everything is there?” he asked, and she opened the purse, pulling out a cell phone and a wallet.
“Credit card. Debit card. Cash.” She listed the items one at a time as she looked through the wallet. “Everything is here.”
“Keys?”
She lifted a key ring. “Here.”
“Anything else you want to grab? You may not be able to get in here tomorrow.”
“I can access lesson plans and grades online. I have what I need.” She slid into the sweater, then hitched the purse onto her shoulder. Nothing about her was fancy or overdone. Very little makeup, hair pulled into a ponytail, clothes understated. Her emotions were understated, too. No panic or tears or frantic speculating. She seemed determined to hold herself together.
That was good. It was easier to get information from people who were clearheaded. Tristan might not be working her case, but he could pick her brain, see if the ex-husband who’d died might be the key to the attack. One thing he couldn’t do was walk away and not worry about the case or Ariel. He couldn’t know for sure, but he thought that Ariel might have come to Desert Valley to escape her past and to try to create a more peaceful future. He wanted to make sure she was able to do both. He also wanted to know if the attack against her was personal.
There was a big part of him hoping that this newest trouble wasn’t related to the other crimes that had happened in town. Desert Valley PD was under pressure to solve two murders and investigate two suspicious deaths. Plus there was the attack on Marian Foxcroft, which had to be related. They’d been hunting for a killer for months and still had no suspect.
If Ariel’s shooter proved to be connected, they might have to shift their focus, stop looking for an opportunistic murderer and start looking for a serial killer.
Ariel wouldn’t fall apart.
She absolutely refused to.
And not just because Tristan was beside her, his dark gaze focused on her, his eyes filled with concern and compassion.
No. She wouldn’t fall apart, because if she did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever pull herself back together again.
Legs trembling, heart racing, she still managed to walk out of the school and make her way toward the minivan she’d purchased a week after the divorce was finalized. Mitch had wanted the Jaguar, and she’d been happy to give it to him. She’d still had plenty in her savings account, all the money from her great-aunt’s estate that Ariel had refused to allow Mitch to spend on trips or expensive toys because she’d wanted to buy a house one day. It didn’t have to be big. Just cute and cozy with a nice fenced yard.
How many times had Mitch laughed at that dream? Told her that high-rise condo living in the city limits was more their style?
More his style, but she’d never said that, because she’d loved him and she’d wanted him to be happy. Plus, there’d been a part of her that had thought that eventually he’d get tired of the fast-paced, high-flying lifestyle and settle into the kind of pedestrian family life Ariel remembered from childhood. Before her parents had died, she’d had the pretty little house, the big yard, the fresh-baked cookies when she got home from school. At least, she thought she’d had it. She’d visited the house when she’d moved back to Desert Valley and realized it wasn’t nearly as pretty as she’d remembered it, the yard not as spacious. That hadn’t bothered her. She still cherished the memories she had of her time in the house, but she also realized they’d been made even more beautiful by the time that had passed since she’d been there.
Time changed memories and tricked the mind. Sometimes it made the past into what a person wanted it to be. Sometimes it made connections that weren’t really there. Was that what had happened with the handwriting on the piece of paper? Had it only seemed to be like Mitch’s writing because Ariel had been terrified, the memories of Mitch’s last words to her, still haunting her mind and her dreams?
“Get rid of the baby or I’ll do it for you!”
An idle threat is what she’d thought, words meant to manipulate her into giving him what he wanted—freedom from her, from every obligation and burden that marriage and family brought.
She’d despised him for that for way too long, wasting weeks fuming over what he’d asked her to do, and then he’d died, and she’d had nothing to do with her anger but let it go.
So, maybe all those pent-up memories and emotions had made her see what wasn’t on the piece of paper. Maybe the writing had been nothing more than a note scribbled by a student who’d needed to find her class.
She fished her keys out of her purse, unlocking the minivan as she reached it. She could feel Tristan standing behind her, his presence both disconcerting and comforting.
“I’ll follow you to your place,” he said as she climbed into the vehicle.
She wanted to tell him not to bother. Not because she didn’t appreciate the offer, but because she didn’t want to start needing someone again.
Isn’t that why she’d been with Mitch? Because she’d been alone in the world, and she’d needed someone to connect with, someone to call family?
Look how well that had worked out.
She’d ended up married and alone. Then, she’d ended up divorced and alone. Now, she was alone and in trouble. It would be nice to rely on someone else. Especially when her entire life seemed to be falling to pieces. But, needing someone left a person vulnerable. She’d learned that lesson a little too late to save herself from heartache, but she’d learned it well.
She wouldn’t make the mistake again.
On the other hand, she wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t need protection. With a gunman on the loose, his motive unclear, she couldn’t turn down Tristan’s offer.
She was too afraid.
“Sounds good,” she said, fumbling with her seat belt, because she didn’t want to look into Tristan’s eyes again. There was something unsettling about him, about the way that he looked at her, the way he really seemed to see her.
“Let me,” he offered, taking the belt from her clumsy bandaged hand and reaching over her stomach. He snapped it into place easily and moved back quickly, but for some reason, her cheeks heated, her face flushing a dozen shades of red.
“When you get to the house, stay in the van until I check out your property, okay?” He closed the door before she could respond, jogging to an SUV and opening the back hatch for his dog. Jesse jumped in, the lab’s golden fur nearly white in the evening light.
It took a couple of seconds for Ariel to realize she needed to start the van and a couple more to actually do it. By the time she drove out of the parking lot, her cheeks had cooled.
Delayed reaction from the attack. That’s what she told herself as Tristan’s SUV pulled onto the road behind her.
She wasn’t sure she believed it.
Night would fall soon, blackness shrouding the quiet street where Ariel lived. She’d chosen the location purposely—close to school and the town’s business district, but far enough away that she could have the solitude she needed. The house had been on the market for a while. A fixer-upper that no one had wanted to put the time and money into, the