Hopefully to be released SPRING 2015, but don't quote me on that.
CHAPTER 1
Things We Learn To Live With
April 1st, 2:00 PM, Mountain Green, Utah.
Brandon Mason tugged his baseball hat low over his eyes. Hiding behind cheap sunglasses, he checked to make sure the fake mullet wasn’t tucked inside his flannel shirt. Next he confirmed his clothing concealed his service weapon and the badge on his belt. Taking a steadying breath, he opened his Jeep’s door to a breeze carrying the scent of spring wildflowers—the kind MaKenzie put on her brother’s grave. While Brandon fought off images of MaKenzie sobbing on Kenny’s coffin, the breeze grew stronger and shoved against him as if it wanted him to leave the cemetery. Dad would tell me coming back here isn’t worth the risk to our family.
Brandon glanced at his yellow memorial wristband with Kenny’s name etched on it.
I owe it to him.
He stepped on his reluctance as easily as he stepped out of his Jeep. Wrapped in painful memories, Brandon slammed the door and walked toward the sentinel of trees bordering the first row of headstones. Upon entering the hallowed ground, a hush pressed against him. Eyes alert for potential threats even here, he searched the area. It was easier to track movement in a place where there wasn’t supposed to be much of it.
A bird flitting from tree to tree, flags fluttering on servicemen’s graves, and long grass flickering around the stones provided the only motion. He listened as well. Bird songs and tinkling wind chimes accented the air, but human voices didn’t disturb the serenity. Finding himself alone prompted vigilance to melt into simple observation. The grass needed to be mowed, and the chain-link fence around the graveyard did a poor job of thwarting the weeds beyond it. The seasonal ‘flowers’ disguised the thistles lurking beneath their blooms, and their ‘floral’ invasion clogged the remote hillsides surrounding the cemetery. Any other time of year, the area appeared barren and desolate—hardly the place to leave a loved one.
Tilting his chin toward the skyline, Brandon focused on the majestic mountains to the east. Whether their highest peaks wore winter white or they appeared purplish-blue in the distance, Kenny would’ve liked the view. He and MaKenzie had been orphaned when they were in elementary school. To help them cope with the loss, they were invited to go everywhere with Brandon and his family. They spent so much time in those mountains that tents and backpacks became a second home to all of them.
Does Kenzie still hate me for what I did to him? To prevent upsetting the girl he’d wanted to marry, Brandon avoided visiting on the anniversary of her brother’s death. Paying his respects on the day of the car wreck was more fitting anyway.
No matter when he came, guilt hung around Brandon’s neck, a yoke to the past he couldn’t abandon. Remorse added soul-crushing weight to his shoulders even though it should be easy to believe the evidence that proved he wasn’t at fault. The particulars didn’t matter to Brandon, and they meant nothing to MaKenzie. Her brother was dead and she hated Brandon because of it.
Clenching his fist, he forced the sharp edges of his keys into his hand; a momentary distraction from the ache that threatened to bring tears. He jammed his hands into his jean pockets and trudged toward the backend of the cemetery, where Kenny’s headstone sat hidden behind an ancient weeping willow. A fitting tree for this place.
His tennis shoes crunched on the gravel pathway while birds chirped songs MaKenzie would’ve liked to hear. Before Kenny died, she’d loved everything about springtime.
Using the route he’d taken at least once annually for five years, Brandon reached the big tombstone with the Salt Lake Temple carved into it and turned right off the gravel trail. The shortcut took him through the willow’s branches. Sweeping them aside reminded him of following the old ladies walking through them last year. One said passing through the swaying branches felt like leaving the world of the living to find the peaceful existence of the dead.
Maybe they’d visited an old person and dying had been a respite.
Brandon’s tightened grip dug the keys deeper into his hand. Eighteen was too young to die. Even if the accident wasn’t preventable, Kenny’s death should’ve been. His suicide note told Brandon it wasn’t his fault, but how could it not be?
Why didn’t I take his hunting rifle when he said he couldn’t handle living in a wheelchair? What if I’d called his aunt instead of skipping school and trying to handle it myself?
A soft wail rose above the other birdcalls. That’s a weird bird. Brandon paused to listen.
The sound grew more defined: a woman’s raspy, shuddering sobs coming from the tall tombstone near Kenny’s grave.
MaKenzie. Feet automatically moving toward her, he paused after a few steps, halted by a fragile strand of common sense. She won’t want me here.
Her keening grew louder. Sorrow for her suffering settled into the depths of Brandon’s soul causing his ache to explode into pounding waves of misery. He’d loved her for so long, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of leaving her like that. Shifting his reluctant feet into motion, he rounded the headstones placing her in clear view. Kneeling on her brother’s grave, MaKenzie sobbed into fists concealed in gardening gloves. Piles of weeds beside Kenny’s and her parents’ graves indicated she’d spent a lot of time there. Just like the old days, whenever she planned on working up a sweat she’d pull her long, blonde hair up into a ponytail. Barely held back by the scrunchie confining them, golden swirls fell forward shielding part of her face. Both running shoes and black workout clothes had the traditional yellow stripe on them. She must’ve jogged there, which explained why her car wasn’t in the parking lot.
Not sure if sneaking up would be better than calling out to her, Brandon approached slowly. He stopped behind her, just shy of being in whacking distance. “Kenzie?”
A jolt rippled through her shoulders. She whipped around. Surprise and fear widened her eyes and she sucked in a breath.
“Don’t be scared. It’s me.” He yanked his hat and sunglasses off.
Her eyes skittered across his features, probably trying to reconcile his darker, longer hair, and the weeks-old scruff on his face. Her gaze glanced off the fake tattoo on his cheek and locked onto his eyes, as if peering into them was the only conclusive way to identify him. A stunned smile lifted the corners of her mouth and memories overwhelmed him. She’d looked like that after he picked her up in the hallway at high school. Back then surprise melted into squeals when he threatened to hold her over a sprinkler if she didn’t admit she helped his sister fill his locker with pink stuffed bunnies.
MaKenzie had retaliated by kissing him. He’d been so stunned that he dropped her feet. Faced with the awkward-first-kiss moment, and her as the instigator, he could only stare at the triumph in her eyes.
“I see Ashten figured out our combination,” Kenny said, trampling the bunnies that had fallen out and spread across the floor. He paused in front of the locker packed with fuzzy bodies and shoved them off his books on the top shelf. “I get to pick the new combination,” he said as he turned to face Brandon and MaKenzie. “What’re you doing kissing my sister?”
Hands up, Brandon backed away from her. Although, he’d secretly loved MaKenzie for years he had to wait until she turned sixteen to ask her out. “I-I didn’t. She did—”
“I did what?” MaKenzie’s tone flaunted innocence, but she conveyed guilt by avoiding eye contact.
Dropping to one knee, Kenny collected bunnies. “Get down here and help, Kenzie. We’re gonna be late for class. Brand, you can ask her out in four months, and she’ll say yes because your picture is her laptop’s screen saver.”
“Kenny!” MaKenzie squeaked. She continued to avoid Brandon’s gaze and jammed her hands into her jeans pockets like she had ‘guilty’ painted on her fingernails. “It is not!”
Her brother threw a bunny at Ashten who hid behind a classroom door videoing the whole thing on her phone. Kenny lobbed four more at her. “I’m gonna help him put you both in the sprinklers unless you help wrangle these things.”
Both girls ran away leaving Brandon and Kenny to clean up their joke. After school they spent half an hour chasing the girls around the sprinklers. Dripping and laughing everyone climbed into Mom’s old suburban, and Brandon drove them home.
Barely a year later, Kenny was crippled for life.
MaKenzie might’ve been reliving those same memories. Surprise faded from her pretty chocolate-brown eyes, replaced by a hostile glare capable of carving meat from bone.
Holding his hands up, Brandon took a step toward her. “Kenzie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I-I miss him too.” Emotion made his voice quivery. He tried to hide the wussy sound and kept talking. “Please, don’t shut me out.”
MaKenzie’s entire body trembled with the agony in her eyes. It spilled down her cheeks in streams, and made her lower lip quiver. She sucked her lips between her teeth and bit them hard enough they were bloodless when she released them. “I can’t deal with you right now. Please, go away.”
The misery in her tone stirred the urge to hold her, rather than abandon her. “Please, talk to me.”
In a gunpowder flash, the hardened spark in her eyes banished her vulnerability. “I don’t want you here! Go away!”
Her dismissal hurt as badly as losing her brother. “Kenzie, I—”
She snatched up a small garden trowel, leapt to her feet, and charged toward him.
Police Academy training had taught him this would be a good time to pull his gun or at least a Taser. Brandon ignored the impulse, held up his hands, and backed away. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” He slipped through the willow branches and retreated until he couldn’t see her anymore.
Now what?
Something clattered—like metal striking stone. Was she preparing an all-out offensive? He peeked through nature’s hanging tendrils as MaKenzie wrapped the trowel in a ragged towel before putting it into a backpack. She easily slung the bag over her shoulder like the little shovel and the towel were the only things in it. Rising as if to leave, she wavered and then collapsed on Kenny’s grave, crying harder than before.
Slipping away, Brandon pulled his cell phone out and dialed the memorized number no one outside of his family knew. It rang twice before his sister picked up.
“Brand, please tell me you’re calling to confirm you’re coming on the family Yellowstone vacation.” Ashten’s energetic voice soothed his nerves, but didn’t completely reassure him. She might not be able to help.
“Ash, I need you to call MaKenzie right now.”
Her understandable hesitation still annoyed him. “You know Dad’s Witness Protection Rules. I can’t even tell MaKenzie where I am.”
“It’s a phone call. Not a confession.”
“She gets stuff out of me—by asking. I can’t lie to my best friend.”
“She needs you right now.”
“Oookay.” Ashten’s cautious and concerned tone vanished in empty air space.
He didn’t have long to wait before MaKenzie’s phone burst out singing Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger. The ringtone jarred the cemetery’s peaceful silence three times before she finally answered. It took nearly twenty minutes of talking before something Ashten said caused MaKenzie to laugh. The weak sound wasn’t forced and cheered Brandon up enough he felt comfortable heading for his Jeep. He’d rented it hoping that would throw off anyone who might’ve figured out he always visited his friend in April. MaKenzie was the last person he thought he’d use it to hide from. Fortunately, he came prepared to go incognito. Hoping to avoid another violent explosion, he tossed his lucky mullet hat into the back seat, clapped his cowboy hat on, and replaced his flannel with a Hawaiian shirt. He’d won fifty dollars from fellow deputies for best drug-sting disguise and another fifty for quick-change artist. Would it help him now?
While he reached for a different pair of sunglasses hanging from a chain on his rearview mirror, his reflection snagged his attention. He zeroed in on his cowboy hat. It blended in with the population in rural southern Utah as easily as it did in the northern mountainous region where he grew up—MaKenzie would recognize him wearing it. Before he could take it off, the willows swished.
MaKenzie pushed them aside and walked across the grass. Her steps were slow and plodding, nothing like her normal whirlwind pace.
He held still. Motion would draw her attention before anything else did.
She headed straight for him.
What do I say if she stops? Lord, what can I do that will make things better?
Several hundred heartbeats later, MaKenzie swept past his front bumper so engrossed in her phone conversation she didn’t seem to notice his vehicle at all.
She could get plowed over by a noisy tractor and never know it was coming, and she’s a gorgeous girl all alone. What if something happens to her? He waited until she reached the end of Cemetery Road and turned right onto Trapper’s Loop before he tossed his cowboy hat into the back seat and set out to tail her. Using the brake more than the gas, he crept toward the same intersection.
She hadn’t gotten very far.
Kenzie hits hard enough to take out a professional boxer. She can take care of herself. He started to flip a U-turn.
Ashten was kidnapped when she stopped to open Grandma’s gate less than twenty feet from here.
Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, Brandon watched MaKenzie work her way toward the T-intersection at the bottom of the hill. If she caught him following her and accused him of stalking, it’d be a headache he didn’t need to deal with. Being a rookie with the Washington County Sheriff’s Office was hard enough without false accusations getting around. Is making sure she gets home safe worth the risk and the hassle?
He thumped his thumbs louder.
I should just go. If she sees me again, she’ll get more upset. He glanced at the familiar farm gate across the street. The day of the accident Kenny had opened that gate so Brandon could drive the ‘Fairy Tale Four’ to Grandma’s. No one had liked the name she’d given their group, but no one argued with Grandma—especially when she insisted they come over and show off their tuxes and dresses before they went to Senior Prom.
Literal Tomboys, both MaKenzie and Ashten complained about wearing fancy dresses. MaKenzie had looked a little too excited to show off for Grandma to dislike it as much as she claimed. Although she was beautiful without even trying, that night MaKenzie gave ‘stunning’ a new definition.
Shaking his head to clear it, Brandon refused to travel that familiar memory down its path of misery. Unfortunately, following MaKenzie on this ‘path’ wasn’t easy either. Tracking her slow progress undetected would be time consuming and tricky. At this spot in Trappers Loop, the remote shortcut connecting two canyons formed a gradual descent down a hill. Its speed limit dropped from fifty to thirty just prior to the T-intersection at the Old Highway. Aside from Cemetery Road and Grandma’s driveway, nothing would conceal his vehicle, or provide a place for it to blend in until he got to the Old Farm Market at the bottom of the hill. He settled in to wait until she rounded the corner at the intersection by the market.
Things would get complicated once she made it to the Old Highway. Scattered houses lining it would provide a place for him to look like he was visiting, however, the road’s twists and turns would prevent him from watching her without shifting positions.
If he was lucky, she’d try running the same seven-minute mile she had in high school. Back then Dad always insisted that Brandon run with his sister and MaKenzie so they weren’t alone. It didn’t matter that none of their neighbors even locked their doors at night. When you grew up with a police officer for a father, you grew up with their on-the-job experiences that produced borderline paranoia. Now that Brandon had the same job and had lived through hit men trying to kill him and his family, the risks to loved ones were even more real.
Twenty minutes and seven semi-trucks later, he continued to hope she’d be cognizant of all traffic but him. The semis helped her out with that by blasting their horns at her.
She ignored them and waited for traffic before crossing Trappers. A dark blue Explorer slowed beside her.
Brandon’s heart accelerated along with his Jeep. Before he got his frontend into the street a horn beeped. He stomped on the brake. The truck he nearly pulled out in front of hurtled past him.
Who’s a danger to themselves?
Down the road, MaKenzie waved the Explorer away, but it stayed with her. The truck that honked at him nearly rammed the Explorer. The guy sat on his horn again. When the Explorer ignored him, the truck swerved around and charged down the hill.
Brandon closed the distance to the crawling Explorer’s bumper, and honked as well. It ignored him too. Grabbing a pen, he wrote the license plate number on the back of his hand and then reached for his phone.
“Get out of here!” MaKenzie shouted and bent over to seize something on the ground.
At first he thought she’d been yelling at him, but when she stood up, she threw a rock through the Explorer’s open window.
“That’s my girl—” Reality punched him in the gut and hurt as much as if she’d pelted him with the rock. He pushed it aside.
Free from being harassed, she stomped around the corner onto the Old Highway.
Trying for inconspicuous, he stopped at the Old Farm Market’s parking lot near a blonde lady in a black BMW. The attractive lady smiled at him. Something about her seemed familiar, but a group of teens walking toward the gas station’s convenience store launched him into a sudden rush of memories. Just like this group laughing and teasing one another, the Fairy Tale Four swung by the Market countless times over the years.
Brushing the one-time pleasant images aside, he checked the clock again and ignored the blonde in the BMW who continued to stare at him. “C’mon, Kenzie. I don’t want to be here all night. Run home.”
‘Brandon,’ Ashten had said years ago, dragging out the vowels in his name. ‘Are you forgetting MaKenzie’s a sprinter? She only runs cross-country with me because you go with us. Do I have to spell it out? She does it because she likes you.’
She’d still feel the same if I hadn’t--
He squashed the memory and focused on watching her. Hope that she’d sprint home disappeared in her meandering pace.
When she went around the road’s first curve, he left the Market and slowly slid past one remote driveway after another. He rounded the second curve just as she reached her street and looked back.
Clenching the steering wheel, Brandon pulled over in front of Mr. Bremer’s house.
Her eyes swept toward him and halted. Hostility still marked her features before she pivoted toward home and kept walking.
Her parting expression shoved needles into his heart. He tried to block them, but they thrust past his defenses. Tearing himself away from a lifetime of memories—both the ones he had and the ones he wanted to make—he consoled himself with the knowledge that she’d at least make it home safe. Prying his strangle-worthy grip loose, he twisted the steering wheel and headed back to the cemetery. His phone rang just as he crossed the threshold beneath the willow tree. If it wasn’t Ashten, he would’ve ignored the call. “How is she?” he asked.
“Okay now. I feel bad,” she said softly, regret deepening her tone. “Until you called, I forgot what day it was.” Ashten and Kenny had been just as hooked on each other as he and MaKenzie. Unlike him, his sister had been able to move on after meeting her current boyfriend.
“You okay, Brand?”
He cleared his throat. “I heard Kenzie laughing. You did a good job.”
“Did you follow her home?”
He hesitated, but there was no use lying to Ash. “Guilty.”
“You were right. She really needed me. I’m glad you were there for her, even if you were anonymous.”
“I tried to talk to her. After she threatened me with a trowel, I called you.”
Ashten’s heavy sigh sounded as frustrated as he felt. “Someday, she’ll accept that it wasn’t your fault, and then you’ll be forgiving her for holding it against you. You’re with him now, aren’t you?”
Brandon looked down at Kenny’s headstone. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to go with you like we planned on doing.” Ash couldn’t hide the tears in her voice, even though she was just like all of her brothers and would crawl into a hole to avoid someone seeing her bawl.
“It’s okay. I’d rather have you alive than following a predictable pattern,” he said, glancing around just in case he’d missed something. “Are you staying safe?”
“Ultra-safe. You know, my biggest fear is being a paranoid drama queen, but I have a . . . feeling something is wrong . . . or going to be wrong . . . I don’t know. Maybe I am being paranoid.”
His twenty-one year old sister had spent the last three years worrying about that, but after the murder plot they survived, being paranoid could mean the difference between living and dying.
“The third senator’s court date is in four months,” he said. “Who wouldn’t be worried? How is Sammie doing?”
Their fifteen-year-old friend had the biggest bull’s eye on her back and would have to testify again. During the first trial Sammie had been as emotional as MaKenzie.
“I think Sammie’s in a better place since James Kesler was convicted, but she’s been really skittish. Dad isn’t sleeping much. He’s OCD checking all the alarms and cameras monitoring the house again.”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder. For Dad’s caution to be that noticeable, he had received information suggesting a credible threat. If the senators’ hit men get me, they can get to people I care about.
How stupid was I for coming here?
Things We Learn To Live With
April 1st, 2:00 PM, Mountain Green, Utah.
Brandon Mason tugged his baseball hat low over his eyes. Hiding behind cheap sunglasses, he checked to make sure the fake mullet wasn’t tucked inside his flannel shirt. Next he confirmed his clothing concealed his service weapon and the badge on his belt. Taking a steadying breath, he opened his Jeep’s door to a breeze carrying the scent of spring wildflowers—the kind MaKenzie put on her brother’s grave. While Brandon fought off images of MaKenzie sobbing on Kenny’s coffin, the breeze grew stronger and shoved against him as if it wanted him to leave the cemetery. Dad would tell me coming back here isn’t worth the risk to our family.
Brandon glanced at his yellow memorial wristband with Kenny’s name etched on it.
I owe it to him.
He stepped on his reluctance as easily as he stepped out of his Jeep. Wrapped in painful memories, Brandon slammed the door and walked toward the sentinel of trees bordering the first row of headstones. Upon entering the hallowed ground, a hush pressed against him. Eyes alert for potential threats even here, he searched the area. It was easier to track movement in a place where there wasn’t supposed to be much of it.
A bird flitting from tree to tree, flags fluttering on servicemen’s graves, and long grass flickering around the stones provided the only motion. He listened as well. Bird songs and tinkling wind chimes accented the air, but human voices didn’t disturb the serenity. Finding himself alone prompted vigilance to melt into simple observation. The grass needed to be mowed, and the chain-link fence around the graveyard did a poor job of thwarting the weeds beyond it. The seasonal ‘flowers’ disguised the thistles lurking beneath their blooms, and their ‘floral’ invasion clogged the remote hillsides surrounding the cemetery. Any other time of year, the area appeared barren and desolate—hardly the place to leave a loved one.
Tilting his chin toward the skyline, Brandon focused on the majestic mountains to the east. Whether their highest peaks wore winter white or they appeared purplish-blue in the distance, Kenny would’ve liked the view. He and MaKenzie had been orphaned when they were in elementary school. To help them cope with the loss, they were invited to go everywhere with Brandon and his family. They spent so much time in those mountains that tents and backpacks became a second home to all of them.
Does Kenzie still hate me for what I did to him? To prevent upsetting the girl he’d wanted to marry, Brandon avoided visiting on the anniversary of her brother’s death. Paying his respects on the day of the car wreck was more fitting anyway.
No matter when he came, guilt hung around Brandon’s neck, a yoke to the past he couldn’t abandon. Remorse added soul-crushing weight to his shoulders even though it should be easy to believe the evidence that proved he wasn’t at fault. The particulars didn’t matter to Brandon, and they meant nothing to MaKenzie. Her brother was dead and she hated Brandon because of it.
Clenching his fist, he forced the sharp edges of his keys into his hand; a momentary distraction from the ache that threatened to bring tears. He jammed his hands into his jean pockets and trudged toward the backend of the cemetery, where Kenny’s headstone sat hidden behind an ancient weeping willow. A fitting tree for this place.
His tennis shoes crunched on the gravel pathway while birds chirped songs MaKenzie would’ve liked to hear. Before Kenny died, she’d loved everything about springtime.
Using the route he’d taken at least once annually for five years, Brandon reached the big tombstone with the Salt Lake Temple carved into it and turned right off the gravel trail. The shortcut took him through the willow’s branches. Sweeping them aside reminded him of following the old ladies walking through them last year. One said passing through the swaying branches felt like leaving the world of the living to find the peaceful existence of the dead.
Maybe they’d visited an old person and dying had been a respite.
Brandon’s tightened grip dug the keys deeper into his hand. Eighteen was too young to die. Even if the accident wasn’t preventable, Kenny’s death should’ve been. His suicide note told Brandon it wasn’t his fault, but how could it not be?
Why didn’t I take his hunting rifle when he said he couldn’t handle living in a wheelchair? What if I’d called his aunt instead of skipping school and trying to handle it myself?
A soft wail rose above the other birdcalls. That’s a weird bird. Brandon paused to listen.
The sound grew more defined: a woman’s raspy, shuddering sobs coming from the tall tombstone near Kenny’s grave.
MaKenzie. Feet automatically moving toward her, he paused after a few steps, halted by a fragile strand of common sense. She won’t want me here.
Her keening grew louder. Sorrow for her suffering settled into the depths of Brandon’s soul causing his ache to explode into pounding waves of misery. He’d loved her for so long, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of leaving her like that. Shifting his reluctant feet into motion, he rounded the headstones placing her in clear view. Kneeling on her brother’s grave, MaKenzie sobbed into fists concealed in gardening gloves. Piles of weeds beside Kenny’s and her parents’ graves indicated she’d spent a lot of time there. Just like the old days, whenever she planned on working up a sweat she’d pull her long, blonde hair up into a ponytail. Barely held back by the scrunchie confining them, golden swirls fell forward shielding part of her face. Both running shoes and black workout clothes had the traditional yellow stripe on them. She must’ve jogged there, which explained why her car wasn’t in the parking lot.
Not sure if sneaking up would be better than calling out to her, Brandon approached slowly. He stopped behind her, just shy of being in whacking distance. “Kenzie?”
A jolt rippled through her shoulders. She whipped around. Surprise and fear widened her eyes and she sucked in a breath.
“Don’t be scared. It’s me.” He yanked his hat and sunglasses off.
Her eyes skittered across his features, probably trying to reconcile his darker, longer hair, and the weeks-old scruff on his face. Her gaze glanced off the fake tattoo on his cheek and locked onto his eyes, as if peering into them was the only conclusive way to identify him. A stunned smile lifted the corners of her mouth and memories overwhelmed him. She’d looked like that after he picked her up in the hallway at high school. Back then surprise melted into squeals when he threatened to hold her over a sprinkler if she didn’t admit she helped his sister fill his locker with pink stuffed bunnies.
MaKenzie had retaliated by kissing him. He’d been so stunned that he dropped her feet. Faced with the awkward-first-kiss moment, and her as the instigator, he could only stare at the triumph in her eyes.
“I see Ashten figured out our combination,” Kenny said, trampling the bunnies that had fallen out and spread across the floor. He paused in front of the locker packed with fuzzy bodies and shoved them off his books on the top shelf. “I get to pick the new combination,” he said as he turned to face Brandon and MaKenzie. “What’re you doing kissing my sister?”
Hands up, Brandon backed away from her. Although, he’d secretly loved MaKenzie for years he had to wait until she turned sixteen to ask her out. “I-I didn’t. She did—”
“I did what?” MaKenzie’s tone flaunted innocence, but she conveyed guilt by avoiding eye contact.
Dropping to one knee, Kenny collected bunnies. “Get down here and help, Kenzie. We’re gonna be late for class. Brand, you can ask her out in four months, and she’ll say yes because your picture is her laptop’s screen saver.”
“Kenny!” MaKenzie squeaked. She continued to avoid Brandon’s gaze and jammed her hands into her jeans pockets like she had ‘guilty’ painted on her fingernails. “It is not!”
Her brother threw a bunny at Ashten who hid behind a classroom door videoing the whole thing on her phone. Kenny lobbed four more at her. “I’m gonna help him put you both in the sprinklers unless you help wrangle these things.”
Both girls ran away leaving Brandon and Kenny to clean up their joke. After school they spent half an hour chasing the girls around the sprinklers. Dripping and laughing everyone climbed into Mom’s old suburban, and Brandon drove them home.
Barely a year later, Kenny was crippled for life.
MaKenzie might’ve been reliving those same memories. Surprise faded from her pretty chocolate-brown eyes, replaced by a hostile glare capable of carving meat from bone.
Holding his hands up, Brandon took a step toward her. “Kenzie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I-I miss him too.” Emotion made his voice quivery. He tried to hide the wussy sound and kept talking. “Please, don’t shut me out.”
MaKenzie’s entire body trembled with the agony in her eyes. It spilled down her cheeks in streams, and made her lower lip quiver. She sucked her lips between her teeth and bit them hard enough they were bloodless when she released them. “I can’t deal with you right now. Please, go away.”
The misery in her tone stirred the urge to hold her, rather than abandon her. “Please, talk to me.”
In a gunpowder flash, the hardened spark in her eyes banished her vulnerability. “I don’t want you here! Go away!”
Her dismissal hurt as badly as losing her brother. “Kenzie, I—”
She snatched up a small garden trowel, leapt to her feet, and charged toward him.
Police Academy training had taught him this would be a good time to pull his gun or at least a Taser. Brandon ignored the impulse, held up his hands, and backed away. “Okay, okay. I’m going.” He slipped through the willow branches and retreated until he couldn’t see her anymore.
Now what?
Something clattered—like metal striking stone. Was she preparing an all-out offensive? He peeked through nature’s hanging tendrils as MaKenzie wrapped the trowel in a ragged towel before putting it into a backpack. She easily slung the bag over her shoulder like the little shovel and the towel were the only things in it. Rising as if to leave, she wavered and then collapsed on Kenny’s grave, crying harder than before.
Slipping away, Brandon pulled his cell phone out and dialed the memorized number no one outside of his family knew. It rang twice before his sister picked up.
“Brand, please tell me you’re calling to confirm you’re coming on the family Yellowstone vacation.” Ashten’s energetic voice soothed his nerves, but didn’t completely reassure him. She might not be able to help.
“Ash, I need you to call MaKenzie right now.”
Her understandable hesitation still annoyed him. “You know Dad’s Witness Protection Rules. I can’t even tell MaKenzie where I am.”
“It’s a phone call. Not a confession.”
“She gets stuff out of me—by asking. I can’t lie to my best friend.”
“She needs you right now.”
“Oookay.” Ashten’s cautious and concerned tone vanished in empty air space.
He didn’t have long to wait before MaKenzie’s phone burst out singing Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger. The ringtone jarred the cemetery’s peaceful silence three times before she finally answered. It took nearly twenty minutes of talking before something Ashten said caused MaKenzie to laugh. The weak sound wasn’t forced and cheered Brandon up enough he felt comfortable heading for his Jeep. He’d rented it hoping that would throw off anyone who might’ve figured out he always visited his friend in April. MaKenzie was the last person he thought he’d use it to hide from. Fortunately, he came prepared to go incognito. Hoping to avoid another violent explosion, he tossed his lucky mullet hat into the back seat, clapped his cowboy hat on, and replaced his flannel with a Hawaiian shirt. He’d won fifty dollars from fellow deputies for best drug-sting disguise and another fifty for quick-change artist. Would it help him now?
While he reached for a different pair of sunglasses hanging from a chain on his rearview mirror, his reflection snagged his attention. He zeroed in on his cowboy hat. It blended in with the population in rural southern Utah as easily as it did in the northern mountainous region where he grew up—MaKenzie would recognize him wearing it. Before he could take it off, the willows swished.
MaKenzie pushed them aside and walked across the grass. Her steps were slow and plodding, nothing like her normal whirlwind pace.
He held still. Motion would draw her attention before anything else did.
She headed straight for him.
What do I say if she stops? Lord, what can I do that will make things better?
Several hundred heartbeats later, MaKenzie swept past his front bumper so engrossed in her phone conversation she didn’t seem to notice his vehicle at all.
She could get plowed over by a noisy tractor and never know it was coming, and she’s a gorgeous girl all alone. What if something happens to her? He waited until she reached the end of Cemetery Road and turned right onto Trapper’s Loop before he tossed his cowboy hat into the back seat and set out to tail her. Using the brake more than the gas, he crept toward the same intersection.
She hadn’t gotten very far.
Kenzie hits hard enough to take out a professional boxer. She can take care of herself. He started to flip a U-turn.
Ashten was kidnapped when she stopped to open Grandma’s gate less than twenty feet from here.
Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, Brandon watched MaKenzie work her way toward the T-intersection at the bottom of the hill. If she caught him following her and accused him of stalking, it’d be a headache he didn’t need to deal with. Being a rookie with the Washington County Sheriff’s Office was hard enough without false accusations getting around. Is making sure she gets home safe worth the risk and the hassle?
He thumped his thumbs louder.
I should just go. If she sees me again, she’ll get more upset. He glanced at the familiar farm gate across the street. The day of the accident Kenny had opened that gate so Brandon could drive the ‘Fairy Tale Four’ to Grandma’s. No one had liked the name she’d given their group, but no one argued with Grandma—especially when she insisted they come over and show off their tuxes and dresses before they went to Senior Prom.
Literal Tomboys, both MaKenzie and Ashten complained about wearing fancy dresses. MaKenzie had looked a little too excited to show off for Grandma to dislike it as much as she claimed. Although she was beautiful without even trying, that night MaKenzie gave ‘stunning’ a new definition.
Shaking his head to clear it, Brandon refused to travel that familiar memory down its path of misery. Unfortunately, following MaKenzie on this ‘path’ wasn’t easy either. Tracking her slow progress undetected would be time consuming and tricky. At this spot in Trappers Loop, the remote shortcut connecting two canyons formed a gradual descent down a hill. Its speed limit dropped from fifty to thirty just prior to the T-intersection at the Old Highway. Aside from Cemetery Road and Grandma’s driveway, nothing would conceal his vehicle, or provide a place for it to blend in until he got to the Old Farm Market at the bottom of the hill. He settled in to wait until she rounded the corner at the intersection by the market.
Things would get complicated once she made it to the Old Highway. Scattered houses lining it would provide a place for him to look like he was visiting, however, the road’s twists and turns would prevent him from watching her without shifting positions.
If he was lucky, she’d try running the same seven-minute mile she had in high school. Back then Dad always insisted that Brandon run with his sister and MaKenzie so they weren’t alone. It didn’t matter that none of their neighbors even locked their doors at night. When you grew up with a police officer for a father, you grew up with their on-the-job experiences that produced borderline paranoia. Now that Brandon had the same job and had lived through hit men trying to kill him and his family, the risks to loved ones were even more real.
Twenty minutes and seven semi-trucks later, he continued to hope she’d be cognizant of all traffic but him. The semis helped her out with that by blasting their horns at her.
She ignored them and waited for traffic before crossing Trappers. A dark blue Explorer slowed beside her.
Brandon’s heart accelerated along with his Jeep. Before he got his frontend into the street a horn beeped. He stomped on the brake. The truck he nearly pulled out in front of hurtled past him.
Who’s a danger to themselves?
Down the road, MaKenzie waved the Explorer away, but it stayed with her. The truck that honked at him nearly rammed the Explorer. The guy sat on his horn again. When the Explorer ignored him, the truck swerved around and charged down the hill.
Brandon closed the distance to the crawling Explorer’s bumper, and honked as well. It ignored him too. Grabbing a pen, he wrote the license plate number on the back of his hand and then reached for his phone.
“Get out of here!” MaKenzie shouted and bent over to seize something on the ground.
At first he thought she’d been yelling at him, but when she stood up, she threw a rock through the Explorer’s open window.
“That’s my girl—” Reality punched him in the gut and hurt as much as if she’d pelted him with the rock. He pushed it aside.
Free from being harassed, she stomped around the corner onto the Old Highway.
Trying for inconspicuous, he stopped at the Old Farm Market’s parking lot near a blonde lady in a black BMW. The attractive lady smiled at him. Something about her seemed familiar, but a group of teens walking toward the gas station’s convenience store launched him into a sudden rush of memories. Just like this group laughing and teasing one another, the Fairy Tale Four swung by the Market countless times over the years.
Brushing the one-time pleasant images aside, he checked the clock again and ignored the blonde in the BMW who continued to stare at him. “C’mon, Kenzie. I don’t want to be here all night. Run home.”
‘Brandon,’ Ashten had said years ago, dragging out the vowels in his name. ‘Are you forgetting MaKenzie’s a sprinter? She only runs cross-country with me because you go with us. Do I have to spell it out? She does it because she likes you.’
She’d still feel the same if I hadn’t--
He squashed the memory and focused on watching her. Hope that she’d sprint home disappeared in her meandering pace.
When she went around the road’s first curve, he left the Market and slowly slid past one remote driveway after another. He rounded the second curve just as she reached her street and looked back.
Clenching the steering wheel, Brandon pulled over in front of Mr. Bremer’s house.
Her eyes swept toward him and halted. Hostility still marked her features before she pivoted toward home and kept walking.
Her parting expression shoved needles into his heart. He tried to block them, but they thrust past his defenses. Tearing himself away from a lifetime of memories—both the ones he had and the ones he wanted to make—he consoled himself with the knowledge that she’d at least make it home safe. Prying his strangle-worthy grip loose, he twisted the steering wheel and headed back to the cemetery. His phone rang just as he crossed the threshold beneath the willow tree. If it wasn’t Ashten, he would’ve ignored the call. “How is she?” he asked.
“Okay now. I feel bad,” she said softly, regret deepening her tone. “Until you called, I forgot what day it was.” Ashten and Kenny had been just as hooked on each other as he and MaKenzie. Unlike him, his sister had been able to move on after meeting her current boyfriend.
“You okay, Brand?”
He cleared his throat. “I heard Kenzie laughing. You did a good job.”
“Did you follow her home?”
He hesitated, but there was no use lying to Ash. “Guilty.”
“You were right. She really needed me. I’m glad you were there for her, even if you were anonymous.”
“I tried to talk to her. After she threatened me with a trowel, I called you.”
Ashten’s heavy sigh sounded as frustrated as he felt. “Someday, she’ll accept that it wasn’t your fault, and then you’ll be forgiving her for holding it against you. You’re with him now, aren’t you?”
Brandon looked down at Kenny’s headstone. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to go with you like we planned on doing.” Ash couldn’t hide the tears in her voice, even though she was just like all of her brothers and would crawl into a hole to avoid someone seeing her bawl.
“It’s okay. I’d rather have you alive than following a predictable pattern,” he said, glancing around just in case he’d missed something. “Are you staying safe?”
“Ultra-safe. You know, my biggest fear is being a paranoid drama queen, but I have a . . . feeling something is wrong . . . or going to be wrong . . . I don’t know. Maybe I am being paranoid.”
His twenty-one year old sister had spent the last three years worrying about that, but after the murder plot they survived, being paranoid could mean the difference between living and dying.
“The third senator’s court date is in four months,” he said. “Who wouldn’t be worried? How is Sammie doing?”
Their fifteen-year-old friend had the biggest bull’s eye on her back and would have to testify again. During the first trial Sammie had been as emotional as MaKenzie.
“I think Sammie’s in a better place since James Kesler was convicted, but she’s been really skittish. Dad isn’t sleeping much. He’s OCD checking all the alarms and cameras monitoring the house again.”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder. For Dad’s caution to be that noticeable, he had received information suggesting a credible threat. If the senators’ hit men get me, they can get to people I care about.
How stupid was I for coming here?