Kerry Connor - Stranger in a Small Town

“So how did you?”

Nate shrugged a shoulder. “Can’t really explain it. You’re still you, that’s all.”

“I’ll just have to hope nobody else knew me as well.”

“As well as your best friend?”

“Yeah.”

Nate shook his head and sighed. “What’s going on, Sam? Or is it John? What’s with the name?”

“I figured it was better if nobody knew it was me.” The truth of his identity would lead to all kinds of uncomfortable questions he’d rather avoid. Or maybe it was the answers that were uncomfortable, each more so than the last.

“Why?” Nate demanded with the kind of insistence Sam would have expected from a cop.

Obviously nonanswers weren’t going to get him anywhere, which was why he was better off avoiding questions in the first place. “I thought people might be more willing to open up to me if they didn’t know my connection to what happened.”

Nate snorted. “You must not have been in too many small towns in the past thirty years if you thought anyone would be more willing to talk to a stranger than a native.”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“So where have you been?”

“All over the place.” And no place at all. No place that mattered.

Nate made an impatient noise. “It’s been thirty years. Why come back now? Why after all this time?”

There was one of those uncomfortable questions, with an uncomfortable answer. He swallowed hard. “I need to know the truth. It’s time.”

“Long past time, I’d say.”

“Can’t argue with you there.”

“So what took you so long?”

“I had my reasons.”

A trace of sympathy entered Nate’s eyes, the sentiment shining past the impatience, and Sam had to look away. Nate probably thought he knew what those reasons were, but even he didn’t know the true weight of the guilt Sam had carried all these years.

He buried his hands in his pockets. “Anybody else been here?” he said as casually as he could.

Nate didn’t need clarification as to whom he meant. “Nope. You’re the first.”

It wasn’t the answer he’d expected—or wanted. He’d figured most, if not all, of the others would have been back before now, at least once in thirty years. He’d hoped Nate might know something and he realized just how hungry he was for information. But none of them had come back. Because they had busy lives, or because they wanted to forget, like he had, even if they didn’t have nearly as much reason? Either way, he probably wasn’t entitled to that information, even if Nate did have it.

Sam glanced at the man’s uniform. “I don’t remember you wanting to be a cop.”

“I didn’t. Not until that night.”

Of course. He should have known. That night had affected a lot of people besides him.

“Did you ever tell anybody what happened that night?” Nate asked.

“No.”

“I looked at the file myself a few times. Not much there.”

Sam couldn’t keep his interest off his face. “Can I see it?”

“I’m pretty sure that kind of thing’s against regulations.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Nate stared at him for a long moment before lowering his gaze and nodding tersely. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he said, meaning it more than those two words could begin to express.

“I’ll leave you alone, but you might not want to stay too long. No telling who else might show up next.”

“Thanks.”

“Good to see you, Sam.”

“You, too,” he said, swallowing hard against the sudden thickness in his throat. And it was, so much so that it surprised him. As he watched Nate move away into the fog, he tried to think of a single person he’d known in the past thirty years who’d been as close of a friend to him as this man had once been. There hadn’t been, of course. He hadn’t—couldn’t—let there be, not the same way, not when he had too many secrets to keep. They’d only been boys, but boys who went everywhere together, boys who talked about everything with each other. Nate had practically been another brother. Another brother he’d turned his back on.

And now he was a man, damn near middle-aged, the same as Sam. Nate was probably married. Probably had kids and a mortgage and a thousand other things in his life Sam knew nothing about. Strange to think how little he knew about someone he’d once known as well as himself.

“Nate.”

Almost to the car, the other man stopped, then slowly looked back.

“Are you going to tell anybody who I am? That I’m not a stranger?”

Nate didn’t answer for a moment. Sam couldn’t read his expression, but he felt Nate’s gaze wash over his face, as though searching for something.

“It’s been thirty years, Sam. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what you are.”

MAGGIE glanced at the clock on the truck’s dashboard, hop ing she’d left herself enough time to accomplish what she needed to at the library before it closed. She and John had been busy enough that she hadn’t had a chance to make the library run she’d been wanting to since her conversation with Annie yesterday. Not about to let another day pass without getting the information she wanted, she’d left John alone at the house, trusting him enough to leave him on his own for a few hours.

She’d called ahead to find out what time the library closed. From the tone of the woman on the phone, it had been a stupid question. No doubt the hours were common knowledge to the locals. The woman’s voice had seemed to convey the message that anyone who didn’t already know when the library was open wasn’t welcome to visit at any time.

After the last few weeks in Fremont, she was used to feeling unwelcome, Maggie thought. By now, the idea barely fazed her.

As she passed through the quiet streets, she took in her surroundings. Fremont wasn’t a very big town, and much of it was familiar to her. At the same time, it was odd how different the place seemed from what she remembered. She’d never felt unwelcome when she’d been here as a child. But then, she’d never really gone anywhere without one or both of her grandparents back then. Even though the townspeople may have disapproved of her grandfather’s stubborn insistence on keeping the house, he was still one of them. And as his granddaughter, she had been one of them, too.

And now she wasn’t.

It really was as simple as that. From the moment she’d made her intentions clear, people she remembered, people who clearly remembered her, had treated her far differently than they had before. Arms that had once been open were now folded shut. Backs were turned resolutely against her.

A hard lump formed in her throat. She did her best to swallow it. After everything that had happened in the past year, she’d hoped to retreat into the sheltering comfort of a place she remembered so fondly. But it appeared a person really couldn’t re-create the past.

The library was a squat one-story building toward the end of Main Street. Spotting it up ahead, Maggie pulled into a parking space in front and climbed out of her truck.

She was about to turn and head into the library when a sudden chill slid through her, raising the hair at the back of her neck. She hesitated, instantly recognizing the sensation.

She was being watched.

Without moving her head, she slowly scanned Fremont’s small downtown area. There was no one obviously in view. That just left all of the windows on the buildings lining the street. The late-afternoon sunlight shone down upon the glass, turning them into mirrors and making it impossible to see who was on the other side.

Any one of the windows could be hiding an unseen watcher.

Or all of them might be.

The sensation was so overwhelming that it was entirely too easy to believe. That every impenetrable window hid a watcher, like the entire town was staring at her, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness, wanting her to fail.