The Complete Colony Series. Lisa Jackson
away from it as if it were poisonous. He felt a little repelled himself. Who had sent the note? Jessie? He couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t.
“Why?” he asked.
She shook her head and walked into the kitchen.
He followed her as she heated some water for decaf herbal tea or something equally innocuous in her microwave. Her dog had decided Hudson wasn’t worth the fuss and had settled into a round little bed in the living room. Ringo was now snoring softly.
“There has to be a reason I got one and…Glenn got one.”
“Maybe Jessie wants some of us to know she’s alive,” Becca said.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“I know, but—” The microwave dinged and she retrieved her cup, then dunked the bag of aromatic non-tea into it. “There has to be a reason. This isn’t just happening all of a sudden, after twenty years. Everything has to hinge on Jessie and those bones at St. Elizabeth’s.”
“So, why me? Why Glenn?”
“Maybe there are more,” she said and stared at him.
He felt it, too. That they were being manipulated. “Someone’s got a sick sense of humor.”
She tossed her tea bag into the trash. “Who?”
He thought of everyone connected even vaguely to Jessie and couldn’t think of a soul. “And why? I’m just not buying that someone’s getting his rocks off by trying to freak us out.”
“Maybe we should go to the police,” she said, testing the hot brew in her cup.
“And tell them what? I got a note and you ‘saw’ one that was meant for Glenn? If the police get involved, they’re not going to accept that you just ‘saw it.’”
“They’ll think I wrote the note,” Becca concluded. She walked back to the couch and sank into the cushions.
Hudson shook his head. “I don’t know what they’ll conclude, but calling McNally now might create more problems than it’s worth. Becca…” He trailed off, sounding uncomfortable.
She glanced up at him.
“Could you have seen that note to Glenn? Somehow. And then just recalled it?”
There it was. His disbelief. She felt a flicker of anger and frustration even though she knew he would feel this way. What did he know of her really? How could he just go on trust? “No.”
“Then you need to make up a story before we go to the police, if we decide to go to the police. Say you saw it on his desk or something.”
“Great. Lie to the police. Like I’ve got something to hide.” Becca clasped her hands together so hard her knuckles hurt. Why had she said anything to Hudson? Trusted him? “Maybe Scott knows about it.”
“You think Glenn showed it to him? Wait. Maybe Scott got one, too. Why should Glenn and I be the only ones?” Hudson was instantly in motion, yanking his cell phone from his pocket and scrolling through numbers. “What about The Third, or Zeke?”
“It’s three in the morning, Hudson.”
He snapped his cell shut, almost in anticipation of her words. “You’re right. I’ll check with them tomorrow.” He gave her a studied look. “Maybe we should go to bed.”
She nodded her head and couldn’t help but grin. “That’s the first good idea you’ve had all night.”
“All morning,” he corrected. “Come on.”
The first thing Becca noticed when she awoke was the smell of smoke. She sat bolt upright but it was only the lingering aroma from the night before. Though she’d changed out of her hastily donned clothes and made love to Hudson until nearly four in the morning, the scent was in her hair and clung to her skin. Ringo had given up his vigil enough to lay his head on his paws, but as soon as Becca stirred he was on his feet. Hudson snorted and rolled over, never even opening his eyes.
She glanced at him, his face unlined and relaxed in sleep, dark lashes lying on his cheeks. God, she loved him. She wondered if she’d ever stopped.
“Quit staring at me.”
“What?” she said, startled. “You’re awake?”
A smile stretched across his stubbled jaw. “I am now.” He reached for her and before she could protest, he’d drawn her close again and began kissing her as if they hadn’t made love all night already.
But she didn’t protest.
Couldn’t.
She was too caught up in the thrill of it all.
Later, once she’d caught her breath again, Becca rolled off the bed, hurried through her shower, and blew her hair dry in record time. She touched on makeup and yanked on her jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt and, in less than twenty minutes, was hurrying down the stairs, trying not to trip over the dog in his haste to be first. “It’s not a race, you know,” she scolded gently, but Ringo was already at the door, waiting to be walked.
“Okay, okay, a short one.” She snapped on his leash, slipped into mules, and tossed on a jacket, taking him for his morning constitutional as the gray light of dawn cut through the streets and alleys and cars whipped by, tossing up water from standing puddles. High clouds blocked the sun, and it was cold enough that Becca’s breath fogged, but at least, thank the weather gods, it wasn’t raining.
They returned, opened the door to the warm scent of coffee and Hudson walking out of the downstairs bath. His hair was wet from the shower, his jaw still dark with beard shadow, jeans from the night before hanging low on his hips. He was tossing on his shirt as Becca closed the door and hung up Ringo’s leash. “Mornin’, sunshine,” he drawled as she slid out of her jacket.
“Good morning…I guess.” She shuddered. “I’m still sick about Glenn.”
“Me, too. I’ve already got a couple of calls in to the rest of the guys.”
“And?”
“You were right. The Third downplayed it, but he got a note.”
“He did?” Becca stood still.
“Zeke didn’t. Not yet, anyway. And I haven’t got a hold of Jarrett or Mitch. Or Scott, for that matter. I was going to see them this morning.”
“I want to go with you,” she said and poured two cups of coffee from the pot on the counter. “I want to see the other notes.”
Hudson hesitated as she handed him one of the mugs. “I’d like to know more before we take this to the police.”
“If Glenn got a note, do you think it might be at his house?”
“I thought you said it burned.”
“It did…at least in my vision.”
He nodded but she sensed he was having some trouble with the whole vision thing. “Do you want to ask his wife? Gia?” he asked.
Becca grimaced as she tried to imagine what Gia Stafford must be feeling this morning. Last night at the fire, Gia had been sobbing wildly and clinging to everyone within range. She wouldn’t want people descending on her with their own agendas. Then again, she might be interested in anything connected with her husband’s death. “It’s hard to say how she’ll react. If it were me, I’d want to know every scrap of information that might help explain how the person I loved was suddenly taken from me.” There was a pause and Becca asked, “Why Glenn? Was it an accident? Arson? How do these notes fit in?”
“What if the fire was set on purpose?” Hudson suggested, staring into his coffee mug. “Maybe to get rid of Glenn? He was drinking himself into a stupor and no one was around. It was a perfect opportunity.”
“Well,