Where the Blame Lies

Josie disengaged the locks on her bedroom door, walking down the hall to the bathroom where she took a quick shower, piling her hair on top of her head in a messy bun. When she emerged, she felt more awake, cleansed from the physical work of earlier that day. She returned to her room and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and headed downstairs, the smell of pepperoni drawing her.

She walked into the kitchen where Detective Copeland stood half turned away from her, looking at the pots and pans on the floor, various levels of water in each. A drop of water pinged into one and he looked up, squinting at the stain on the ceiling.

“Hey,” she said and he turned quickly, his expression morphing into a smile.

“Hey. Little leak, huh?”

“It was little. Now it’s . . . bigger.” When it’d first appeared, she’d only had to put out one pot to catch the drips, but now six were necessary. Pretty soon she’d be able to use her kitchen as a shower. She took a few steps into the room, checking the water levels in each.

“I have a buddy who does roof repairs. He could probably come out in the next few days and take a look. I’d be happy to call him. It’s probably not the greatest time to have strangers in your home.”

Josie looked away. “Oh, well, this isn’t exactly at the top of my list right now anyway.” She cleared her throat, heat rising in her cheeks. She really didn’t want to talk about her pitiful financial situation with this man who probably already thought she was pathetic in practically every way. “Is that pizza I smell?”

When she looked up at him, she saw he was studying her closely, a knowing look in his eyes, but he quickly schooled his expression and looked to where he’d set the pizza box on the table. “I hope you like pepperoni.”

“Who doesn’t, Detective?”

He laughed, his white teeth flashing, and her stomach gave a little twist. God, he really was distractingly handsome, and as she stood there watching him remove two plates from her cabinet and begin dishing up pizza slices, a tiny sensation of . . . amazement sparkled through her. In a way, her reaction to the detective was a revelation. She could still respond physically to a man. Whether she’d ever want to take a next step was beside the point. She wasn’t broken beyond repair. At least she didn’t think so, not after this.

She would not fall into old bad habits—seeking the attention of men in order to validate herself, looking for love in all the wrong places. She would not. Especially when a relationship of any sort with the man tasked with protecting her safety would probably be a conflict of interest. She’d gone down that particular road before and it hadn’t ended well. And anyway, it wasn’t as if he’d look at her that way, knowing what he knew. But, never mind all that. To realize she could still feel that rush of sexual attraction when she never thought she’d be capable of it again made her feel . . . hopeful. Happy. As though she’d won something back.

“You’re smiling,” he noted.

Josie glanced up at Zach in surprise as she brought her fingers to her mouth, smoothing out the smile she hadn’t realized she was wearing.

Zach laughed, his eyes dancing. “I meant it as a positive. You should do it more.” His smile grew, making him look even more handsome than she’d thought him before. She let out a small laugh as he set the plates down at the table and moved the box to the counter.

Drinks. They’d need drinks. “I, ah, don’t have any soda,” she said, flustered, moving toward her refrigerator. “But I still have iced tea and water.”

“Iced tea would be great,” he said, sitting down. As she poured tea in two glasses, she thought about how she’d done the same thing for this man just two days before, and yet that felt like a lifetime ago.

They sat together eating in silence for several minutes before he grabbed a napkin from a basket in the middle of the table and wiped his mouth, watching her for a moment as she chewed, but seeming to be thinking about something. “We should get you set up with an alarm system.”

Josie set her pizza down, using her napkin to wipe her fingers and the corners of her mouth. She didn’t disagree, in fact, she’d wanted to get one when she’d first moved to Oxford. But again . . . finances. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he spoke before she could. “I’ll put in for it at the department. My boss wants someone here in person until . . .” He gave a strange pause. “Until this is cleared up, but if someone did try to break in again, it would help whoever is here to be forewarned.” He glanced away and then back to her. “Ever thought of getting a dog?”

She exhaled, her lips tipping. “Not right now. I’m too busy getting this place fixed up. And . . .” She dropped his gaze, her eyes moving to the cabinets behind him. “If it doesn’t work out here and I have to move back into an apartment, it would make things more difficult finding a place that takes pets.”

“I have no doubt you’ll make it work here if you want to.”

She met his eyes again, deciding she was not going to try to sugarcoat her circumstances. “I’m doing the best I can, Detective—”

“Zach.”

Their gazes met. “Zach.” She paused. “I’m doing the best I can, but the truth of the matter is that I might be in over my head. I might not have what it takes to make this work.” She’d been thinking about that all afternoon and into the evening, wondering if it would really be the worst thing in the world if she sold the damn place to Archie, wiped her hands of it, and moved back to Cincinnati into a small apartment where some landlord took care of leaky roofs, and plumbing problems, and all the rest of it too. She could call the companies she’d done transcribing for, start working from home again. It’d been joyless work, but it’d paid the bills, kept her mind occupied.

“Josie,” he said, his eyes very serious. “Your life was . . . derailed nine years ago in the worst possible way, and I’m sure that some days, maybe lots of days, you feel like you’re just starting out, whereas others your age are settling into their lives. Their careers.” The way he was looking at her was so serious, so earnest, it made her breath stall. “But you have more grit, more courage, and determination in your little finger than anyone else I know. So yeah, I have no doubt you’ll make it work here if you want to,” he repeated.

She exhaled the breath she’d held as he spoke, shaking her head, but she couldn’t deny that his words of encouragement had warmed her, buoyed her, sent a jolt of that determination he said she had straight to her gut. The truth was, growing up, no one had ever expressed that type of passionate belief in her. And funny enough, she’d finally found what no one else had given her—inner strength—in the bowels of hell as she’d waited to die. Afterward, her aunt had helped her hold on to what she’d grasped with her bare fingertips in that dank warehouse. At least for a while. But now that she was gone, Josie still struggled to hold on to what she’d fought so mightily for. She could hardly express what his words meant to her. “Thank you, Det— Zach, but—”

“No buts.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I want to tell you something.” He paused, taking a sip of his tea as she tilted her head. He looked slightly apprehensive suddenly. “Eight years ago, when I was just a rookie cop, I was assigned to guard your hospital room door.”

She blinked, swallowed. “Oh,” she breathed. She looked away, the memory of that day washing through her.

The sudden freedom.

The hope.