“There’s nothing to believe. Not yet. I’m just being cautious,” he said, but she noticed the set of his jaw, the determined glint in his eyes. He was convinced that Wes was somehow involved. “You’d better sleep,” Carter said, as if he’d noticed Jenna’s weariness for the first time.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Sure.” She reached up and ran a finger down the beard-stubble on his cheek. “You already look dead on your feet.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Yeah. You should,” she mocked.
Jenna knew she’d never sleep upstairs. She couldn’t go back to her room with its fingerprint dust and haunting memories, so she shut the doors to all the rooms upstairs and after stopping at the closet, returned to the den with pillows and quilts. She tossed a pillow and hand-stitched coverlet to Carter. “Just in case.” Then she walked through the French doors that led to the living room and settled onto the couch. Carter searched the house one last time—she heard his footsteps as he walked into every room and closet—then finally joined her, taking a seat in an overstuffed chair and resting a boot heel on an ottoman.
“Rest,” he suggested.
Yawning, she said, “You should, too.”
His mouth slashed into that irreverent smile she’d grown to love. White teeth showed beneath his moustache. “You know what they say about rest and the wicked.”
“I thought it was ‘the weary.’”
“Close enough,” he said. “Tonight, believe me, I’m both.”
“Me, too,” she said, closing her eyes and refusing to think of Wes Allen. “Me, too.”
In stocking feet, Carter walked through the house one last time. He’d been awake for over twenty-four hours. His nerves were jangled and he was rummy, but they were safe. At least for this night. The sun would be up in a couple of hours and the storm seemed to be winding down. It was still cold as all hell, but the wind had lessened and the snow had stopped falling. He sat at the kitchen table, where he could see into the den where the kids were dead to the world and had a peek-a-boo view of the living room couch, through to the fireplace, to watch Jenna as she slept.
Drinking coffee that had started to bother his stomach, he thought about the day to come and what he intended to do, starting with going over the evidence possibly linking the crimes, Wes Allen’s alibis, his motives and getting the search warrant to go through his house and barns. Those huge buildings that had stood empty for years. Maybe there was more to be found than the shrine/video room tucked in the basement.
From the living room, he heard a moan.
Carter shot to his feet and hurried to the couch where Jenna thrashed, her features pinched in distress. “No!” she said, though her eyes didn’t open. “No, please.”
“Jenna,” he whispered and noticed she was shaking. “Jenna. Wake up. It’s okay. I’m with you.”
“Don’t. Oh, don’t.”
“Jenna,” he said a little more loudly, his hands gently holding onto her trembling shoulders. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Her eyes flew open.
Startled, she nearly screamed.
“Shh. Hush, darlin’. You’re all right,” he said, placing his face close to hers so that, in the half light from the fire, she would recognize him.
“Oh. Oh.” She blinked and tears fell from her eyes. Her face was pale as death, and she was shivering as if cold to the bone.
“Everything’s fine.”
She sniffed and shook her head. He sat next to her on the couch, still holding her, and she burrowed her head into his shoulder. “It was Cassie again. He had her…that faceless bastard had her!”
“She’s okay. Asleep in the den.”
Jenna was inconsolable. Wrapped in a quilt, she walked to the den and peered inside where both her daughters were sleeping. Even the dog didn’t move. Pushing her hair from her eyes, she seemed to calm a bit. “What time is it?”
“Too early.”
“And?”