Page 60 of Love Again

“You live here?”

“My brother is David Keller.”

Andy stands a little straighter. “Dave’s your brother?”

I instantly know where he’s going with this. My brother doesn’t seem like he has secrets, but he has a big one. It’s clear, somehow, that Andy knows.

“You need to tell him to move on.”

I laugh. “I know. I have.”

“I’m not saying a word, and haven’t. But really, he needs to trust people more.” Then he shifts slightly. “Please, let’s not tell Audrey about this black box thing. I don’t want her worrying about it, and there’s nothing that can be done anyway. Knowing her, she’s liable to go after Raymond Barr and jeopardize your investigation.”

I set the device down by the barn door, and we walk to the cottage in the back.

“She’s tried to get him disbarred before. Honestly, I don’t know what she would do if she knew his son tried try to burn down our house.”

“This is all hypothetical. I’m still trying to stitch it together. I can’t really say too much right now, but I agree. We should definitely keep this to ourselves.”

At this point, I’m not even sure I want to share this new information with Devon. Laurel lives here. Kevin Barr tried to sue for custody of Cory last fall because he was so obsessed with Laurel.

Obsession can make people do terrible things.

Chapter Fifteen

Luke

I don’t know what wakes me up, but it’s sudden and my heart is pounding. I know immediately that I’m alone in the bedroom. When we got back from dinner, I crashed. I had a pounding headache and Devon claimed I felt feverish, but I refused to take my temperature. All I knew for sure was that my kidneys were screaming, and that fucking weakness sapped me. I wanted to go home, but Devon convinced me to stay. I hate having her see me sick. It’s not who I am.

But the exhaustion was almost debilitating. It came on so fast. I fell asleep immediately to the faint sound of her climbing into bed, the dry settling of sheets and blankets. Our second night together in a row, and I was too tired to move. I was unconscious in minutes.

But I’m conscious now. For a split second, disoriented, I’m back in Colorado in our little cabin north of Denver, waking up and finding her gone.

That’s how it feels in the half a second when I realize I’m alone in the dark.

There’s a crash in the kitchen. A glass breaking.

I’m on my feet, moving fast and switching the hall light on. There’s Devon, standing like a waif, her back to me in front of the window as she looks out at Main Street and the sea.

But it’s completely dark outside.

Something tells me she’s not awake. There’s a rigidity to her back, to her arms, and her fingers splay out. Her body trembles slightly and the sheer nightie quivers.

I turn the light off. Moonlight streaks through the large pane of glass behind the sofa, leaving a silhouette of her body inside the gauzy material.

“Devon,” I whisper, not knowing what else to do. Then I see broken glass on the floor near her feet. “Devon, don’t move.” I’m hoping that, somewhere, in whatever dream she’s in, she hears my voice.

The broom is an old nylon thing, a stubby one. I quickly sweep the broken shards away from her feet and over to a corner, and then I go over the floor again, trying to make sure I pick up every single piece. I flip the kitchen light on for a moment, do a quick search, and then turn it off again.

“Devon,” I try again, keeping my voice low. Trying to shift into her field of vision, I get a good look at her face. In the moonlight, her hair is blue black, with an opaque shine that matches the pallor of her skin. Her eyes are wide open, fearful. They’re still green, even in the darkness.

A thin sheen of sweat rises across her chest and at her temples and upper lip. I grasp her arm—it’s clammy—but she doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” I say, not knowing what else to do.

I know nothing of sleepwalking or night terrors, and I don’t know if I should wake her up or get her back to bed. I only had two experiences with Keller, and both times, he just woke up. I opt for the latter. “Devon, follow me,” I say and take her hand. It’s warm and thin and soft in mine.

She starts to walk, but every step seems to make her more frightened of something. Suddenly she stops, her back arches, and a mournful moan comes from her throat.