He glanced at the necklace on his dark shirt and then reached up and untied it, walking to where she stood, stopping when he was several feet away. He extended his hand and held it out to her and she took it from him, clasping it in her fist. “It’s yours,” he said. He hadn’t answered her question, but there was a lump in her throat now, so instead of repeating it, she simply nodded and tied it around her own neck. As his gaze lingered on it, there was such unmistakable sadness in his eyes. He’d just given up something of great value to him, she realized. Handing it over to her had cost him. Not a monetary cost, but something more important to him. Emotional connection? Whatever the answer to that question, he’d given it to her anyway.
“Thank you,” she whispered, laying her hand over it. The small piece of metal was still warm from his body. “How’d you find it? What were you doing?”
Something skated over his expression, but he quickly schooled it. “Just saw it one day. The sun shined on the metal and it called to me.” He looked briefly confused like maybe he hadn’t said what he wanted to say. She understood him though. The glinting metal had caught his attention.
“I see,” she said, to reassure him she did. She sighed. “Well, I’m glad. I mean, it’s very fortunate that I met you and . . . well . . .” He’d been wearing a picture of her around his neck for the past five years. It made her feel . . . she didn’t know how it made her feel, but the feeling wasn’t negative. It was as though he’d been protecting her family for her. Always together, never apart.
He regarded her for another moment and then turned, walking to the wood stove and feeding it a few logs. It was then that she finally took in the room. There were four metal beds lined up on the wall to her right, though three of the beds were barren of mattresses or blankets. The fourth was obviously the one Lucas slept on, a dark gray wool blanket pulled to the top of the mattress and a single pillow. They reminded Harper of beds she’d seen in prison movies, and she frowned.
“Do other people live here?” she asked, nodding to the beds.
He looked at the empty cots from where he was squatting in front of the fire, poking the logs inside with a long stick. “This was going to be a summer camp cabin but . . . someone ran out of money. Or something like that. It was empty when Driscoll came to this land.” He paused. “That’s what he told me anyway. It’s all I know.”
Harper tilted her head. He’d phrased it strangely. “Do you think he was lying?”
Lucas came to his full height, the door of the stove swinging shut with a dull click. “I don’t know.”
Harper opened her mouth to ask him another question, but she wasn’t sure what. It was just . . . the way he’d said that’s what he told me anyway, and the tone in his voice when he’d said it, made her think he questioned Driscoll’s truthfulness in general. And it made her curious. You’re not an investigator, Harper. Stop acting like one.
“Okay, well, I’ll just”—she pulled the door open, the arctic air causing an immediate shiver—“be back in the morning. How early?”
“First sunlight.”
First sunlight. “Okay.” She grabbed her rifle and turned back once more before pulling the door to close it behind her. “I’ll bring coffee.”
His brows lowered and she suddenly felt stupid. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Sure.”
She paused. “All right.” She stepped onto the porch and shut the door, closing her eyes momentarily, feeling like an idiot. But he was going to take her to the place where her parents still rested, the site of that long-ago crash that had stolen the life she was supposed to live. Nerves tingled underneath her skin and she inhaled a big breath of cold air as she climbed into her truck and turned the ignition. Nothing. She tried again, and still, nothing. “Shit,” she groaned, looking up and realizing that in her haste to confront Lucas, she’d not only almost killed a litter of foxes, but she also must have left her truck door very slightly ajar, and therefore, the interior light had been left on.