she studied in Portland, Oregon.
Sure, they had kissed a few times, but it had never gotten serious over the three years they had dated. Even if it had been serious, that was two years ago—she was twenty-five now, making him twenty-six. She was sure he had moved on, especially given the way things had ended.
She dropped the attic square back in place but her phone’s flashlight illuminated the space. David leaned the ladder horizontally against the side of the attic and wiped away the sweat beaded on his forehead.
She took a deep breath, and her nose itched. “We need to find—” her voice cracked “—George. In case there’s even a hope he’s still alive.”
“That was the first gunshot? They shot George?” His hands curled to fists, resting on his hips, and he bowed his head. Aria wondered if his grief matched her own. “Why would anyone want to shoot that man?”
Aria remained silent for a moment, afraid she’d lose control if she spoke. She focused on the light beam and attempted to explain. “George was accusing them of bamboozling people and...and the men wanted him to the look the other way.”
“But he didn’t.” David cocked his head. “Listen. You don’t hear gunshots anymore, do you? I’m going to guess the fumes knocked them out. At the very least, they should’ve been hit with a severe headache or temporary blindness. I figure I bought us about ten minutes.”
Her fingers brushed against her phone. “Wait. Have you called the police?”
“Haven’t had a chance.”
“I’ll do it now.”
Aria dialed 9-1-1. “It’s after five o’clock. That’s when they transfer all emergency calls to Beachside. They have a bigger police department.”
David paced on the joist, his hands in his pockets. “That’s fifteen minutes away,” he objected.
She nodded in acknowledgment, but what else could she do? They only had one or two policemen on staff in their tiny town. The bigger towns supplied the majority of manpower. The dispatch answered, and Aria didn’t waste any time explaining. “Two gunmen shot a man, and now they’re trying to kill us.” Aria rattled off the conference center address.
“Where are you now? Are you injured?” the dispatcher asked.
“In the attic. We’re not injured...not yet, anyway, but not for their lack of trying.”
“Emergency vehicles are en route. There’s a pileup on Highway 101. It’ll take them a while to clear the road. I’m calling the Summerville sheriff’s office to assist. Please hold.”
Aria tried to picture Summerville’s location. She knew it was south and the last time she’d driven in that direction it’d taken her... “That’s got to be a good thirty minutes away,” Aria cried.
David shook his head. “Come on. They have our address. We don’t have time for this.” He flicked on the light from his phone and shoved it in a shallow part of his tool belt so it would still illuminate the attic. He motioned for her to follow him. “Unless you need more space,” he quipped, his last word filled with hidden meaning.
A sharp sting in her chest rocked her back to her heels. She bit her lip. Literally backed into a corner, she didn’t want to relive that painful time in her life. Her dad had just died, she’d been overwhelmed with handling the arrangements and her mother’s grief, let alone her own. Two days later, David had started a text-and-phone-call campaign wanting to know if she had received his card. At the time, it had felt as if he had sent the condolence only to earn brownie points.
Most all of her mother’s friends had shown up to give support and casseroles—oodles of casseroles—but Aria’s friends showed their love through texts and emails. She understood. It was hard to be around such sorrow in person, and to be honest, she didn’t want to be around any of them and be forced to make chitchat. Tons of sympathy cards arrived in the mail, but she had enough to manage without making time to read the stack, his card included. She knew what they all said, anyway. With sympathy...
“Yes, I received your card,” she had told him on the phone. “But David, I just need some time, some space. This is a little too much for me right now. It’s not personal, I just need—”
“If you need space,” he had responded, his voice shaking, “then we don’t have the kind of relationship I thought we did.”
She had been stunned at the emotion behind his voice, but she hadn’t known what to do. She hadn’t been exaggerating. She really had needed time. The interaction, meant to ease her burden, only made her feel even more alone, something she hadn’t thought possible.
Now, in the attic, she stared at him. David held his hands out. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
She nodded, accepting his apology but not sure she could trust herself to comment. His shoulders sagged forward.
“I can carry the ladder myself,” he said, “but I’m worried I might knock you over in the process.”
She stuck her phone in her pocket, and lifted the back end of the ladder. “You want me to help carry the ladder? I’d be glad to.”
David raked a hand through his hair. “We’re going to twist the ladder so it’s sideways. Think you can carry it under your arm?”
She nodded. The dim light illuminated his form. The past couple of years had widened his shoulders and thickened his already strong arms. David picked up the ladder, waited for her to grab her end and then led the way. Aria put one foot in front of the other. She trained her eyes on the shadowed wooden beam in front of her. “I wish we had more light.”
“We’ll be across before you know it,” he said, his voice lighter. “Good thing I was inspecting the attic today or I might not have known there’s an exit at the opposite side. It’ll be close to the stairway.”
“But then we’ll be out in the open.”
“If we want to get to George, it’s our only hope. Besides, if we stay here, we’re sitting ducks.”
“Why did George hire you in the first place? He didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Yeah, he didn’t mention anything about you either,” he said, dryly. “He’s been calling me the past two weeks. He had suspicions the contractor was using subpar materials.”
She gasped. “Subpar?”
David’s shadow nodded. “Another reason to watch your step. George was right, and clearly, these gunmen are determined to make sure no one else finds out.”
If David weren’t so worried he’d compromise their safety, he’d have released a little of his anger with a punch to one of the two-by-fours he had to crouch under. “Duck,” he muttered, not sure if Aria could see the diagonal piece of wood he just passed.
Aria. Why’d she have to be here? It didn’t make sense. She should be off at some architecture firm somewhere by now, making the
