The Off Season by Colleen Thompson Read Free Book Online Page B

“Have you noticed anything out of place?”
    She shook her head.
    “That side door into the garage. Did you lock it tonight?”
    “Usually, I try to,” she said. “But this evening, I was running late and in a hurry, trying to get some groceries in so Renee could get home. Then Lilly heard me and—so, no, I’m not sure. I’m afraid I’ve been a little scattered lately.”
    She lifted her mug to her mouth.
    He took a sip from his as well, meaning to give her a moment to regroup. Except that the dark, rich brew sent such a shock of pleasure through his system. “Understandable, but I’ll tell you one thing. You make a hell of a cup of coffee.”
    She managed a faint smile. “Coffeemaker here’s amazing. And I found the owners’ secret stash of magic beans in the back of the freezer.”
    “If you’re confessing to a crime—”
    “Too late,” she said. “You’re drinking it. Which makes you an accomplice.”
    “Accomplice, no,” he said before savoring another mouthful. “Accessory after the fact . . . maybe.” Gladly.
    “Don’t worry,” she confessed. “I already e-mailed the owners, begged forgiveness, and offered to replace the coffee. They just laughed it off and told me to enjoy it.”
    “I don’t doubt it. You were always such a rule-worshipping good girl.”
    Her smile faltered. “Yeah. But then, I learned early on about what happens when I—when I stray outside the lines.”
    A strained silence poured into the space between them, a quiet so complete his breathing swelled to a roar. With the past pressing in around them, he forced himself to focus on the faint sounds from outside. His officers’ murmured conversation as they went about their work reminded him why he was here.
    “So why would someone want to trash your car?” he asked, circling back to see if he could get a different answer. “Or scare you over the baby monitor? Because this kind of thing feels different, way more personal than the break-ins we’ve been dealing with around here these past few months.”
    She looked down to her coffee. “Truly, I have no idea.”
    Remembering her cut-off response earlier, he asked, “Any troubles at the new job? Somebody put out that you got the position?”
    She gave a huff of disbelief. “Are you kidding? They’d been advertising for a while, everybody working tons of overtime. They practically had a party when I showed up, and everyone’s been friendly.”
    “Any of them, well, too friendly?”
    “You mean, like sexually?” She wrinkled her nose. “Nothing like that. Nothing. And, trust me, I’m still in survival mode, struggling to keep my head above water. I’m definitely not looking and don’t plan to be for a very long time. If ever.”
    He nodded, understanding. Survival mode had been his life, both before and after Renee.
    “Sorry, but I have to ask,” he said, thinking about Zarzycki’s uncle. “Your husband . . . I understand he was older?”
    Her eyes rose to meet his. “What would that possibly have to do with—”
    “How long were you two married?”
    “Three years,” she said. “And before you ask, we met on this whitewater rafting trip another resident had talked me into. I’d never been before—I ended up in the river, half-drowned and freezing before Doug pulled me out. He was an avid sportsman, so he had one of those space blankets.”
    Her eyes misted with the memory, and he could see that her loss was still a raw wound. That she’d married the guy for love, not money.
    “And the rest is history,” Harris finished for her, his voice gentle.
    She nodded, her mouth tightening.
    “And what about that other guy? The one who’d invited you on the trip?” Though Harris was only guessing the friend had been male, he saw from her expression he’d been right.
    “We were friends, that’s all. Besides, that was years ago.”
    “Any other boyfriends? Disappointed guys? Past lovers?”
    Her spine straightened, and two pink patches stained