Linda Castillo - Breaking Silence

Standing in the kitchen with the rain misting in through the window above the sink, I rise up on my tiptoes and brush my mouth against his. It’s a small thing, barely a kiss. But that moment of intimacy moves me profoundly. I’m keenly aware of all the things that are unique to this man I’ve come to care for. The piney scent of his aftershave. The scrape of his whiskers against my face. The solid warmth of his body against mine. His quickened breaths against my cheek. The restraint of a man who is more concerned about me and my frame of mind than getting me naked beneath him.

A thousand sensations rise inside me, like a riptide dragging me out to the deep, dark waters of a tumultuous sea. The reckless heat burning my body clashes with the caution of my intellect, warning me to take it slowly. Caution is so damn overrated.

Breaking the kiss, I look up at him. “I think this is the point when you’re supposed to kiss me back.”

He pulls away slightly and gives me a crooked half smile, but I can tell he’s assessing me. “I appreciate your clueing me in.”

“It’s not like you to miss a cue.”

“I want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reason.”

“I am,” I tell him. “I’m okay.”

Another smile, this time with a hint of skepticism. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

I stare at him, my pulse keeping tempo with the rain outside. I can feel the cold mist against my back as it comes through the window. “I’d tell you if I didn’t want this.”

Lifting his hand, he smoothes a strand of hair from my face. “One of these days we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“You mean about us.”

He laughs. “I didn’t mean to terrify you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Liar.”

I laugh, but it’s a nervous sound. “Okay, maybe a little. But terrify is a strong word.”

“If the shoe fits…” Setting his hands on the counter on both sides of me, he leans close and brushes his mouth across mine. “There’re no pretenses here, Kate. It’s just us. You and me.”

“Just us wounded souls, huh?”

“That’s right.” Taking my hand, he lifts it to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “You can talk to me. About anything.”

“I know.” I sigh, surprised when my breath shudders.

His eyes find mine. I stare back, wondering how much he sees, if he’ll find what he’s looking for.

“I think this is starting to get complicated,” he says.

“It is.”

“So is that good or bad?”

“It’s good. Too good, probably. That’s what scares me, Tomasetti. We both know how quickly things can get snatched away.”

“It doesn’t always happen that way.”

“Sometimes it does.”

He nods, considering me, weighing my words. “I’m not going anywhere, Kate.”

I want to say something more, but I can’t speak over the knot in my throat. Because I’m supposed to be tougher than that, I give him a nod, look away.

Taking my hand, he leads me toward the hall that will take us to the bedroom. I pause at the doorway. “I should probably close the window.”

“Fuck the window,” he whispers, and takes me into his arms.

CHAPTER 19

I wake to the hard thrum of a pounding head, the smell of bacon, and an all-consuming need to throw up. Trying not to moan, I roll over and reach for Tomasetti, but he’s not there. That’s when I realize he’s probably the one doing the cooking. Moving with the caution of a woman who knows that at any moment her head could explode, I crawl out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

Four aspirin and a long, hot shower later, I walk into the kitchen and find Tomasetti sitting at the table. His laptop sits in front of him next to a steaming cup of coffee. He glances up when I enter and I see him quickly assess my frame of mind.

“Don’t say it,” I mutter.

“I was going to tell you that you look nice,” he says.

I can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg, so I go directly to the coffeemaker without responding, find the largest mug in my arsenal, and pour.

“I don’t usually see you out of uniform,” he adds. “You have really nice … toes.”

After everything we shared the night before, a comment like that shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’m wearing a comfy old sweater and jeans, no socks. I don’t understand why he’s commenting. I wish he’d cut it out.

Cup full, I join him at the table. “I’d rather be wearing the uniform.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the go-ahead in a few days.”

I motion toward the laptop. “What are you working on?”

“Final reports. We should be able to close the case today or tomorrow.”

With those words, all the things I’ve been trying not to think about rush at me like a volley of spears: finding Samuel and Ike in the manure pit, Tomasetti’s risking his life to rescue them, the ill-fated car chase, pulling my weapon, finding Mose dead by my own hand.…

“You sleep okay?” he asks.

It’s a silly question, because we didn’t get much sleep. I’m not complaining. I’m closer to him than I’ve been to anyone else my entire adult life. It’s new territory for both of us. A good place to be. I don’t know why that feels so fragile this morning. Maybe because we both know how easily the good things can slip away.

“Thank you for staying,” I say.

His mouth twitches as he slides the laptop into its case. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” I sip the coffee, nearly moan as the elixir swirls around my tongue. “You make good coffee.”

He smiles. “Wait till you try the bacon and toast.”

“Bring it on.”

“You’re out of eggs. You don’t keep much food around, do you?”

“Probably a good thing, since I’m a terrible cook.”

The rare domestic moment is interrupted when my cell phone chirps. Finding it charging on the counter, I glance down at the display, surprised to see the number of the Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office. “Burkholder,” I say.

“This is Deputy Howard. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you, Chief Burkholder. Last time we talked, you mentioned you wanted to speak with the Amish bishop out here. Well, I’m out at Amos Smucker’s place now, and he says he’s happy to talk to you.”

I’d nearly forgotten about my request to speak with Abel Slabaugh’s former bishop. With the case about to be closed, I almost tell the deputy it no longer matters. But I know from experience that information is the one commodity a cop can never have too much of, even if it’s after the fact.

“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll only take a moment.”

The line hisses as the deputy passes the phone to the bishop. “Hello?”

Bishop Smucker has an old man’s voice with a strong Pennsylvania Dutch inflection. Quickly, I identify myself and get right to my question. “How well did you know Abel Slabaugh?” I begin.

“I’ve known Abel since the day he was born. I was very sad to hear of his passing. He is with God now, and I know he will find peace in the arms of the Lord.”

“Do you know why he drove to Painters Mill, Ohio?”

The bishop sighs in a way that tells me he wasn’t happy about Abel driving a motor vehicle. “Driving is against the Ordnung. Of course, Abel asked for my blessing.” Another sigh. “He said Painters Mill was too far to travel by buggy. If it hadn’t been for the problem with the boy, I would not have agreed to it. In the end, I did.”

“What boy?” I ask.

“His nephew, I believe.”

“Moses?”

“Yes, I believe that was his name.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and I sense the bishop clamming up. “Was there some kind of problem with Mose?” I ask, pressing.

The old man hesitates. “Abel confided in me, told me there was a family crisis.”