hopeful. The gleam to her eyes eager. She’d been alive until someone decided to take that away from her.
This woman I’d never met was not going to have a second chance. She wasn’t going to spend years in therapy overcoming whatever was done to her. Her story had ended midsentence, in the middle of a chapter.
Exhaling roughly, I placed the card on the nightstand.
There were two types of death. Actual death, like the kind this poor woman had suffered, where the body and soul and everything was gone. Then there was the second kind of death—where the soul was stripped away, but the body continued on, going day to day, just existing in a shell of what once was.
I stood up and started to walk toward the living room, but realized I had no idea where I was going or what I was doing. I placed my hands over my face and held my breath.
I’d died ten years ago.
Not from the injuries and all . . . all the damage. I died from everything else, and I’d just been existing since then. That knowledge was nothing new.
My throat started to burn.
Leaving here hadn’t fixed me. All it had done was give me time to deal. Not necessarily heal 100 percent, but to . . . deal. My therapist had pointed that out about one or five hundred times. Again, this knowledge wasn’t new.
My lungs were burning.
Coming back here was almost like starting over. Doing what I’d intended to do. I was going to help Mom with the inn and then eventually I would take over, like I always planned. I was reopening that chapter of my life.
Tiny bright spots were dotting my vision.
My life before the Groom had included Cole. I had no idea where our relationship had been heading, but something was there, something amazing. Maybe we would’ve stayed together, finding our very own happily ever after. Maybe we would’ve drifted apart and found someone else. And maybe none of that mattered now, and if I picked up that card and called him, we would have dinner and never speak again. But if I did call him, I would finally be reopening that chapter of my life.
And maybe if I did that, I wouldn’t see the Groom in harmless shadows on the grounds or the veranda. Maybe I wouldn’t feel bodiless eyes on me. Maybe the nightmares would stop. Maybe I would finally start living.
Opening my mouth, I exhaled deeply, letting the cool air soothe the burn in my throat and lungs. I dropped my arms and turned back to the nightstand.
Maybe it was time to reopen that chapter.
“Is there anything else I can do before I head out?” Angela asked as she bounced into the kitchen.
I looked up from the leather-bound old-school accounting books Mom had kept. I’d been spending the bulk of the afternoon bringing the Scarlet Wench’s business side into the twenty-first century and my poor little fingers were aching. I also wanted to stab myself in the eyeballs, because committing numbers and receipts into a spreadsheet was about as fun as scraping off wallpaper with a nail. A lukewarm coffee cup sat next to my laptop.
“We’re good,” I told her, reaching around and rubbing at the kink forming in the back of my neck. “You have an exam tonight, don’t you?”
“A paper,” she said, smiling as she smoothed a blond curl back behind her ear. “I finished it last night, but I should probably look over it again.”
Right now I’d prefer to do a paper than what I was doing. I picked up the highlighter. I’d gone with baby blue. “Well, good luck. Not that you need it.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” Angela hesitated at the door and then popped back around. She bit down on her lip as she eyed me.
I waited. “Is there something you need, Angela?”
“Not really,” she said, shoving her hands into the center pocket of her pink sweater. “I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”
I wanted to pretend like I didn’t know what she was referencing, but I wasn’t a fan of making myself look like an idiot. By earlier this afternoon, the discovery of the woman’s body had really hit the public. It had been splashed across the morning paper. Mom had turned the TV off during the local news-at-noon broadcast when I’d walked into the kitchen to get started. She turned it off even though I told her it was okay.
It had to be okay.
I couldn’t spend my entire life hiding from random violence. Though I was sure there were a billion other people who wished they could.
“It’s all a little freaky,” I admitted finally, rolling the fat highlighter between my palms. “But I’m okay.”
“It is really freaky.” She glanced down at her sneakers for a moment. “When I heard the news, I thought of you.”
“Don’t think about me. I’m fine. Think of that woman and her family,” I said, placing the highlighter down. “But I do appreciate where you’re going with it.”
Her gaze lifted. “I know. It’s just that . . . it has to be hard considering everything you went through. I know it’s a huge coincidence, but still. There’s just . . . something wrong about it.”
My brows knitted. “I can think of a lot of things wrong about it.”
“Me too,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “But for someone to use the same place that . . .” She swallowed hard as she opened her purse. “There’s just something epically messed up about that.”
The laptop screen flickered and started to fade into hibernation mode. “Maybe the person responsible didn’t know about that place’s history. It is possible.”
“True.” She reached into her bag. “It could’ve been someone who didn’t know the area, but . . . you know how they always say it’s someone the victim knows?”
Saying nothing, I nodded.
“I heard on the news this afternoon that she and her husband’s family are from the tristate area. They had to know what that area was,” she explained.
The screen on my laptop went black. “Maybe it was an acquaintance of hers who isn’t from this area.”
She raised a shoulder. “They haven’t said how she died.”
Acids in my stomach churned. “They won’t for a while. Or they may never say how.” It had taken weeks before the news had said how the first victim of the Groom had died. “I guess the police release that kind of info when they’re sure it won’t hurt their case.”
“Makes sense.” She shook her head and then forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to talk about this and—”
“It’s okay.” I wished I hadn’t reacted the way I had the first time with her. “It’s human nature to want to talk about these kinds of things.” I paused, taking a sip of my now-cold coffee. Yum. “Back then, everyone talked about what was happening, even before people realized the cases were related. I talked about it. It’s normal. Don’t apologize for it.”
Her smile wasn’t forced this time. “Thanks.” She took a step back. “Well, I got to go—damn it.” Frowning, she withdrew her hand from her purse. Her eyes rolled. “I forgot my keys.”
Remembering what my mom had said, I smiled as she darted across the kitchen and entered the back room, returning a few seconds with her keys in hand and an accomplished expression on her face. “Found them!”
Wiggling my fingers, I watched her leave. Before my mind started thinking about everything she’d said, I hit the mouse pad on my computer and got back to work.
An hour later, Mom stuck her head inside the kitchen. “You have a guest.”
Before I could scrutinize the wide smile on her face, she pushed the door all the way open, revealing said guest.
Air caught in my throat as I sat straighter.
Cole stood beside her.
My first thought was damn, he looked amazing in dark trousers and a white button-down. No jacket, and it was pretty cold outside. My second thought was that even though I’d decided to contact him, I hadn’t done it yet.
“Hey,” he said in that deep, rough voice of his that sent the very right kind of shiver down my side.
Over his shoulder, Mom opened her mouth and eyes wide as she jerked
her thumbs up.
Dear Lord.
She closed the door halfway as Cole stepped into the kitchen. “Hi,” I said, shutting the laptop. A hundred butterflies fluttered in my stomach and chest—a hundred carnivorous butterflies by the feel of them.
He walked across the kitchen, stopping at the island. His gaze coasted over my face, and it was at that moment I realized that I didn’t have a speck of makeup on and I hadn’t showered. I’d planned to—at some point. My hair was up in a messy knot, and I was definitely the kind of woman who benefited from some blush, mascara, lip gloss, and an entire face full of makeup.
“I know the last time I left, I gave you my number, which can easily be assumed meant I was leaving it up to you to contact me, but—”
“I was planning to contact you,” I blurted out, flushing. That sounded genius. “I mean, I was going to do it later this evening.”
“You were?” The half grin appeared, replacing the quick flicker of surprise, and my stomach tumbled in a pleasant way.
I nodded. “I was.”
“Well.” He chuckled as he propped his hip against the kitchen island. “That does make me feel a lot better about busting up in here two times already.”
My lips twitched into a grin. “Glad to hear that.” Lowering my lashes, I checked him out, because . . . well, because I kind of couldn’t help myself. Those slacks looked really good on him. “You don’t work today?”
“I don’t keep normal work hours, but I had court this morning and then I was heading back home.” He glanced at the door. “So, you were going to get in touch with me tonight because . . . ?”
I exhaled softly, feeling my cheeks heat. “I was going to take you up on your offer to catch up over dinner.”
Those intense eyes brightened. “I really like the sound of that. Do you have any place in mind?”
Thinking about what happened yesterday, I bit down on my lip. “Can we do takeout?” The moment I asked that question, I immediately wanted to take it back. Holy hell, that was a damn weird thing to ask considering everything and really sounded like I was—
“How about I make you dinner instead,” he asked, not missing a beat. “I don’t know if you remember, but I like to cook.”
Our gazes collided. I remembered. I wanted to scream that I remembered. “At . . . at your place?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
My pulse was thrumming unsteadily. Was that okay with me? Going to his house was intimate, but I was the one who made the suggestion about not going out. I smoothed my palms over my thighs. “That will work.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
Oh. Oh wow. That was quick. Nerves hit me. “I . . . I think it will be okay. I just need to make sure Mom is good with running the—”
“I’m good,” she yelled from the other room. “Been doing this by myself for about ten years.”
Oh damn it.
“Thanks, Mom!” I smiled tightly.
Cole’s half grin spread as I blushed. He bent his head, his eyes glimmering with humor as he said in a low voice, “I forgot how much I liked your mom.”
“It appears I am free tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” His gaze didn’t waver for a second. “It’s a date.”
* * *
She wanted to believe that it would all be okay, that poor Mrs. Banks was just a victim of random violence. Everyone wanted to believe that, but she was nervous.
No hiding that.
Could she sense it? Ripe and violent vengeance, righteous retribution, lingering just outside the inn, waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She’d pulled the curtain back, the light in the apartment outlining her form. She’d sensed it. Of course she had.
She just didn’t want to see it yet.
The front doors of the building opened, and there a slight body appeared. The young woman cleared the sidewalk, her bag thumping off her hip as she eyed the device in her palm. Not paying a damn bit of attention to her surroundings. She crossed into the parking lot, heading toward her car. A fucking tanker could plow right into her at this moment and she wouldn’t see it coming.
People needed to be more aware of their surroundings. Weren’t there enough 20/20 specials highlighting the importance of vigilance and personal safety? Apparently this little one thought she was invisible. They all did.
A horn blew in the distance, and she still didn’t look up, didn’t seem to hear the footsteps only a handful of feet away. So close, the apple-scented shampoo wafted into the air as the wind played with the blond strands of hair.
This one . . . this one was going to be really special but required a bit more patience. Not tonight. But soon.
She would see this one.
Chapter 8
It really wasn’t a date.
That’s what I told Miranda when I spoke to her Tuesday evening. That was also what I told Mom every time she brought it up, which was around a hundred times. And when Jason stopped by Wednesday during lunch, bringing a plate of cookies an employee had made and which he was obviously trying to unload on us, I told him the same.
Apparently Miranda had gone to Jason with an update.
Angela snatched a chocolate-chip cookie off the plate as she walked past the island, carrying an armful of clean dishtowels. “It sounds like a date to me.”
I was eyeing the plate, but was trying to behave myself. “How do you know about this?”
“Your mom,” she replied, popping the cookie into her mouth.
Jason watched Angela shove the towels into the drawer. When she pivoted around, he hastily faced me. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.” Angela all but skipped past us, snatching another cookie. “These are delicious. Thank you, Jason.”
“Y-You’re welcome,” he stammered.
Angela smiled brightly as she headed out of the kitchen, appearing oblivious of Jason’s gaze latched onto the sway of her hips. I arched a brow when he finally managed to drag his attention back to me.
“What?” Jason asked.
“Nothing.”
He grinned as he folded his arms on top of the island and leaned over, slightly bent at the waist. “I’m only a man.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I did have another reason for coming over here that had nothing to do with cookies or checking out Angela.”
“Good to hear,” I replied dryly.
Jason winked. “Did the adjuster for the insurance company get out here yet?”
I shook my head. “One is coming out tomorrow.”
“They should’ve gotten here quicker or had you get the appraisal. You should let me look at your stuff. I bet I can get you better rates and better service.”
“I do need to update my insurance.” I continued to eye the plate of cookies. “I can get you the stuff later.”
“Great. Give me your email address and I can send you the list.” He smiled. “Eat a cookie.”
“A cookie is the last thing my ass needs,” I told him as I grabbed a pen and a Post-it note from the counter. I scribbled my email address down and handed it over.
Jason chuckled. “So how are you getting out to Cole’s then?”
“I’m using Mom’s truck.” I really did want a cookie.
“Sounds good.” He pushed away from the island. “Don’t forget if you need any help with the insurance claim to ask and to get me that info.”
“Will do.” I smiled at him. “Thanks for the cookies.”
“No problem.” Jason started to turn but stopped. His shoulders tensed. “I am glad you’re back, Sasha.”
Till Death Page 8
