He couldn’t argue about the meatballs. As he ate, Simon realized the meal reminded him of one of his family’s dinners back home. A lot of noise, interruptions, that situational shorthand again and a stunning amount of food.
But then, he supposed families came in all shapes, sizes and dynamics.
He suspected his pecking order was “the boyfriend”—annoying but predictable—who was still being measured and weighed, but welcomed warmly enough.
He couldn’t argue about the charged, happy mood, not when it infected him, too. Watching Kevin hobble toward them after all those hours, all those miles, had struck hard and struck deep.
More than satisfaction, Simon decided, it had been like a revival, like a shot of a really good drug that settled into a sense of pride.
Both Mai and Fiona took notes, and there was talk of documentation, logs, mission reports.
He noticed, in the playback, Fiona deleted her panic attack.
“Anything you want to add, Simon?”
He glanced over at James. “I think Fiona covered it. I was just along for the ride.”
“Maybe, but you pulled your weight. He did okay, for a rookie,” Fiona added. “He’s got endurance, a good sense of direction. He can read a map and a compass, and has a good eye. Some training? He could be ready when Jaws is.”
“You’re in if you want a shot,” Chuck told him.
Simon stabbed a meatball. “Use the dog.”
“We’d bring you in at the top pay scale.”
Amused, Simon studied Meg as he wound pasta around his fork. “That’s goose egg, right?”
“Every time.”
“Tempting.”
“Think about it,” Mai suggested. “Maybe you could bring Jaws to one of our unit practices sometime. See how it goes.”
The mood mellowed out on the trip back, with the dogs dozing in the boat. Lori and James did the same, their heads tipped together, while Mai and Tyson huddled in the stern, fingers linked.
They’d drifted from unit to couples, Simon thought, sending a sidelong glance at Fiona, who sat beside him, reading over her notes. And it looked like he was one of them.
Once they reached Orcas, there were more hugs. He’d never seen people so addicted to squeezing one another.
He took the wheel for the drive home.
“We got dinner out—sort of,” Fiona said. “I ate so much pasta I may not eat for days. Plus, as date nights go, it was unique.”
“You’re never boring, Fiona.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Too much going on, in your life, in your head, to be boring.”
She smiled, flipped open her phone when it signaled. “Fiona Bristow. Yeah, Tod. That’s good. I’m really glad to hear it. We all are. You don’t have to, we got ours when Kevin and Ella got home safe. Yes, absolutely. You take care.”
She closed the phone. “Five stitches and a knee brace for Ella. They hydrated both of them, treated the blisters, the scrapes. Short version, they’re both going to be fine, and shortly on their way back to the lodge. They wanted to thank you.”
“Me?”
“You were part of the team who found them. How does it feel?”
He said nothing for a moment. “Pretty damn good.”
“Yeah. It really does.”
“You have to buy all your own equipment. The radios, tents, blankets, first aid, the whole shot.” Not that he was thinking about joining up. “I saw you note down what we used. You have to replace it on your own nickel.”
“That’s part of it. The radio was a gift, and boy did we need it. The parents of a kid we found bought it for us. Some want to pay us, but that’s a dicey area. But if they want to pick up some blankets or supplies, we don’t say no.”
“Give me the list. I’ll replace the stuff. I was part of the team, wasn’t I?” he asked when she frowned at him.
“Yes, but you don’t have to feel obligated to—”
“I don’t volunteer to do things out of obligation.”
“That’s true. I’ll give you a list.”
They stopped off at Sylvia’s, loaded up the dogs, which took twice as long as it might have due to desperate joy. He had to admit he’d missed his own idiot dog, and it felt damn good to be driving home with Fiona beside him and the back full of happy dogs.
“You know what I want?” she asked him.
“What?”
“I want a long, tall glass of wine and a lazy hour in my custom-made porch rocker. Maybe you’d like to join me?”
“I just might.”
When she reached over for his hand, he linked it with hers.
“I feel good. Tired, happy and just good all over. How about you guys, huh?” She shifted to look back, rub faces and bodies. “We feel so good. You can play while Simon and I drink wine until the sun goes down. That’s what I think. We’ll all be tired and happy and just good all over until—”
“Fiona.”
“Hmm?” Distracted, she glanced over. The hard set of his face had that happy lift dropping into worry. “What? What is it?”
She swiveled back as he slowed at her drive.
The red scarf tied to the lifted flag on her mailbox fluttered in the fitful breeze.
Her mind emptied, and for a moment she was back in the tight, airless dark.
“Where’s your gun? Fiona!” He whipped her name out and slashed her back.
“In my pack.”
He reached in the back, shoved her pack into her lap. “Get it out, lock the doors. Stay in the car and call the cops.”
“No. What? Wait. Where are you going?”
“To check out the house. He’s not going to be there, but we don’t take chances.”
“And you just walk out there, unarmed, unprotected?” Like Greg, she thought. Just like Greg. “If you get out, I get out. Cops first. Please. I couldn’t take it a second time. I couldn’t.”
She pulled out her phone, hit speed dial for the sheriff’s office. “This is Fiona. Someone tied a red scarf to my mailbox. No, I’m with Simon, at the end of the drive. No. No. Yes, all right. Okay.”
She drew a breath. “They’re on their way. They want us to stay where we are. I know that’s not what you want to do. I know it goes against the grain, against your instincts.”
She unzipped her pack, took out her gun. With steady hands, she checked the load, the safety. “But if he is there, if he’s waiting, he’d know that, too. And maybe I’d be going to another funeral for a man I love. He’d have killed me too, Simon, because I can’t come back from that a second time.”
“You put it that way to close me in a box.”
“I put it that way because it’s God’s truth. I need you to stay with me. I’m asking you to stay with me. Please don’t leave me alone.”
Her need pushed against his. He thought he could have fought hers back if she’d used tears, but the flat, matter-of-fact tone did him in. “Give me your binoculars.”
She unzipped another section of her pack, handed them to him.
