by Elise Sax
Amos slowly turned toward Wade and shot him a cold look. Wade took a step back. Amos took a tool off his belt and cut the zip-ties off my wrists, letting them fall to the floor.
“Are you letting her go?” Wade asked, incredulous. “You can’t do that. She’s a criminal.”
“Mr. Georgia, don’t you worry about what I’m going to do or not do,” Amos said, his voice hard as steel. “I do my job. That’s all you need to know. And I’m doing my job right now.”
Amos wasn’t a man used to being told what to do. That much was clear. He touched the back of my arm, and I stood. He walked me out of the small room, past Wade and the two security guards, without saying another word.
We left the building. Amos’s SUV was parked in front, and he opened the passenger door for me. I climbed into it, and he closed the door behind me. A few seconds later, he was sitting down, and he peeled out with a loud squeal of his tires against the blacktop.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” I said, as he nodded to the guard at the gate and drove through at eighty miles an hour. “I was just doing my job. I mean, visiting a friend. I mean, finding justice for Jimmy and Silas. Putting me in jail doesn’t make the world safer. It doesn’t help society. Yes, I shouldn’t have climbed the fence. Yes, maybe I shouldn’t have snooped around. Okay, technically I’m a criminal. I’ll give you that. Technically, I should be in jail. But don’t put me in jail. I have dogs to take care of. I’m a nice person. I…”
He took his hat off and threw it into the back seat. “Haven’t you ever watched Law & Order? Don’t say anything without a lawyer.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer. I already have a lawyer to fight my killer husband, who is making divorce impossible. I don’t even have enough money to go to a movie. I like movies. I… I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Where are we going?”
“South.”
“What’s south? Is that where the jail is?”
“No, that’s where my place is. Where I live. I’m taking you home, Trouble.”
Chapter 9
Amos owned Yellowstone, or at least it looked like that was where he took me. We drove through miles of lush land and forest across a bridge and over a wide, winding river. His ranch house was huge, made of beautiful wood, and it was surrounded by a barn and a large paddock.
“Holy cow,” I said. “You’re J.R. Ewing.”
“I can’t complain,” he said, the first words in fifteen minutes.
I didn’t know why we were going to his house. I was hoping that it was because he wanted to get me naked and seduce me.
At least, I would have hoped for that if I wasn’t done with men.
Amos parked the SUV in front of the house. He opened the front door, letting me in first. The inside of the ranch house was breathtaking. The door opened up into the living room, which had tall ceilings with massive beams and big, comfortable ranch furniture. It was hard to believe that a man had the taste to decorate a house this way, even if it wasn’t frilly. But then I remembered that Amos was a widower, so it was more likely that his wife had decorated the house.
As we walked through the living room to the kitchen, we passed a wall of photos, most of them Amos with his wife, a woman with long blond hair and no makeup. A natural girl. Fresh. Pretty. Amos’s type.
Amos tossed his hat on a chair in his chef’s kitchen and washed his hands. Opening the refrigerator, he took an armful of ingredients out and put them on the large marble island. I pulled up a stool at the island and watched him cook.
“What’re you making?” I asked.
“Dinner.”
He wasn’t a talker. But that was okay because he was a looker. He had rolled up his sleeves, revealing the corded muscles on his strong forearms. His back was wide, pushing against his shirt. Physically, he looked like a protector. Competent, strong, a hero. He also had the face of a model. The Marlboro Man. Looking at his face made me want to take up smoking.
“Is this my last meal before you take me to jail?” I asked.
He chopped vegetables on a cutting board, and his mouth turned up into a small smile. “Only if you consider my cooking jail.”
“Won’t you get in trouble if you don’t arrest me?”
“Trouble,” he repeated, half-laughing.
“You shouldn’t arrest me. I’m on assignment,” I explained. “There’s a good chance that Wade and New Sun Petroleum killed poor Jimmy and threw Silas off the roof.”
Amos pointed his knife at me. “You’re right,” he said, surprising me. “It might be a good idea to stay clear of them. You know, so you don’t get into trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t very well stay away from them and prove that they’re killers.”
He tossed some ingredients into a pan on the stove, and it made a loud sizzling noise. His hands moved quickly, adding, mixing, cooking. It was like watching an episode of Iron Chef. He plated what he was making, and he pushed the plate in front of me.
“Appetizer,” he said. “Eat up.”
I didn’t know what it was, but it was delicious. I closed my eyes in appreciation. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” I said.
When I opened my eyes again, Amos was staring at my mouth, his eyes big and dark. “This thing can’t happen,” he said.
“What? Was I eating it wrong? I don’t know about fancy food. Was I supposed to use a special fork?”
He shook his head. “No. This,” he said, gesturing toward me like I was a prize on a game show. “It can’t happen.”
“I agree,” I said. “What? What can’t happen?”
He walked around the island, slipped his hand under my legs and pulled them wide apart, settling his body between them. Gently he put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up. “This,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.
Then, he kissed me.
His lips were warm and rough, and they possessed mine with a wild passion that was also sweet and caring. I closed my eyes and leaned into the kiss. Our tongues met and caressed, and the interaction sent waves of arousal through me. My core throbbed, and heat consumed me. Amos ground his hips into me, his arousal pressing high up against my inner thigh. My legs wrapped around him, and his hands reached under me and picked me up like I weighed nothing. He carried me into the living room and laid me down on a couch. I pulled him down on top of me, our lips never parting.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that it was the first time I had ever been kissed like this. I had had my share of passionate kisses by big men, but this was this was the first time my body reacted this way.
It was on fire. I wanted to get naked fast. I wanted to erase all of the touches I had ever felt by other men in my life and only remember Amos’s hands and Amos’s lips and his arousal growing and growing, pushing against me like he was demanding to take me. Like a soldier conquering new territory.
He fumbled with his jeans button, and I moaned in anticipation.
As the sound left me, Amos froze in place. After a second, he lifted himself off of me and sat on the couch, laying my feet on his lap.
“This,” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “This is what you can’t do.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. “This,” he repeated, exhaling.
My eyes were drawn to the fireplace and the mantel above it. Pictures of Amos and his wife at their wedding, pictures of him and his wife on horseback, pictures of him and his wife at the Goodnight Diner. And love. Pictures and pictures of love.
“You’re right,” I said sitting up. “You can’t do this.”
He took my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it gently. Standing, he tugged me up. “I’m starving. Obviously,” he added with a slight smile. “Let me make you dinner. While we eat, I can lecture you about staying away from New Sun Petroleum.”
“You’re just going to leave them alone? You’re just going to let the bad guys win?”
“I said you need to stay away from them. I’m a different
matter.”
While Amos cooked, I wrote the McNugget story and emailed it to Klee. After a wonderful dinner and two glasses of wine, Amos drove me home. I was surprised to see my car parked by the gate. “I had my men retrieve it,” Amos explained.
“Again?”
“Huh?”
“You brought my car back to me twice.”
“What’re you talking about?” Amos pointed to a place outside the SUV. “Looks like we have company.”
The dogs were jumping up and down by the car. I opened the car door and was ambushed by Abbott and Costello. I was late with their dinner, and they knew it. Amos insisted on walking me through the courtyard to make sure I got into the house all right, but I noticed he didn’t cross the threshold into the actual house. He tipped his hat to me and walked away.
Yes, I was disappointed that Amos couldn’t do this, but I was also giddy with the knowledge that I was driving a man mad with desire. I knew that there were a few cold showers in his future, and I was the cause of it. The idea made me feel sexy and powerful, like I was the Mata Hari of Goodnight, New Mexico.
There was also the not-so-small reality of my situation. I was trying to get out of a toxic marriage that had left me bruised and battered and almost dead. I had a man in San Quentin fighting me in every way. I was trying to re-start my life. Reinvent myself. Find happiness. If I jumped into a relationship right away, I would never fix myself, and the relationship probably wouldn’t be healthy, anyway.
Still, Adele was right. Amos wore jeans good.
After feeding the dogs, I decided to take them for a walk in the forest to make up for not giving them a lot of attention lately. I took a flashlight from the pantry and opened the door to the courtyard. Across the way, Boone’s part of the house was dark and quiet. Where was he? He had mentioned that he had just gotten back into town, so maybe he traveled a lot and was gone again. I couldn’t imagine where he would go. Did he have another storage shed that he lived in part-time?
Abbott sniffed the air, howled, and took off out of the gate. Costello looked up at me, as if he was asking whether I was ready or not. “Sure,” I said, turning the flashlight on. “Let’s have a little adventure.”
The forest was spooky at night, full of shadows and animal sounds. Costello stayed by my side, which comforted me, while Abbott was in the distance howling at whatever he was chasing. The air smelled of juniper, and I had to stop and rest every few feet to try and gather air into my lungs. Above me, the sky was overcast, hiding the normal show of stars.
We walked deeper into the forest with my flashlight shining a sliver of a path in front of us. Costello stopped suddenly, and looking up at me, whined. “What is it, boy?” I asked and realized that the animal noises of the forest had stopped completely. There was a loud noise as something ran toward us in the underbrush, kicking up debris as it went.
“Are there bears in this forest?” I asked Costello, and he whined in answer. “Perfect. I’m going to get eaten by a bear. That really tops this day off nicely. At least I got kissed on my last day of life.”
The noise got closer. I shined my light in that direction but couldn’t see a thing. I was just about to turn and run for home when the girl in the UFO t-shirt appeared from behind a tree.
I jumped in the air and dropped my flashlight when she surprised me. I bent to pick it up and noticed how it illuminated her dirty and bloody feet. As I stood back up, it lit her dirty, baggy pajama bottoms and the torn, too-small t-shirt. Finally, I shined it on her face, careful not to get the light in her eyes. She still had the lost look on her face as she looked back at me, like she was also surprised to find me in the forest. But now there was something else on her face. Terror.
“Was that you, running in the forest?” I asked her.
She blinked, as if she was trying to focus on me. “You didn’t help me,” she said, quietly.
“You disappeared. I didn’t even know your name. Come back with me to the house, and I’ll help you.”
“You didn’t help me. I’m lost. He hurts me. He’s going to hurt me more.”
“Who? Who’s hurting you? Is it Boone?” I didn’t want it to be Boone, I realized. And not just because he was my roommate. I didn’t want it to be him because I liked him. He had been kind to me and saved me when I was stranded because of the rattlesnake in my air-conditioning vent.
“He keeps me in a cage. I screamed and screamed, so he moved me down.”
“Down where?” I asked. Even though it was a warm evening, my skin had sprouted goosebumps.
“With shackles,” she continued and lifted her arms to show me the red and bruised marks on her wrists. “You didn’t find me. You didn’t help me.”
“Let me help you now,” I said.
I was getting the impression that she needed some professional help. Maybe some pharmaceuticals. She wasn’t playing with a full deck. But all that aside, she appeared abused, and I imagined that there was more than a little truth in what she was saying.
“Help me,” she repeated. Her voice was barely audible. “There’s others, too, you know,” she added.
“What?”
“Save the others. Save them before…” She looked around her, scared of something. “I have to go.”
“No, come back with me,” I said. “Let me help you. I don’t even know your name.”
“I am ninety-seven,” she said. “Watch out.”
“Watch out?”
“He will come for you,” she said, pointing at me.
Then, she disappeared. It was just like before. One second she was in front of me, and then next second she vanished into thin air.
“Girl? Girl? Where are you? Where did you go?” I called.
There was no sign of her. The forest was quiet, and then, I heard footsteps and a muted popping sound, followed by a tree branch breaking next to me.
Costello went wild, barking up a storm. Abbott howled in the distance, coming toward me fast.
There was another popping sound, and another tree branch broke. “What the hell?” I said. “Am I being shot at?”
I was being shot at. I knew because the third shot hit Costello in the leg, make him howl in agony. “Someone shot my dog!” I yelled. There were more footsteps, and Costello whimpered. I kneeled down and touched his leg, which was sticky with blood. Dropping the flashlight, I picked him up and ran for it.
Running at night in the forest while being shot at, carrying a hundred-pound dog while I had altitude sickness, wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. But adrenaline is an amazing thing. “It’s going to be all right. It’s going to be all right,” I repeated over and over to Costello as we ran for cover. Abbott was running, too and coming closer, never stopping howling. There was another shot, and this time, I could feel the bullet whiz by my head.
“Stop shooting at us!” I yelled.
That’s when I tripped over a rock and went flying. Costello went flying, too. I heard footsteps, again, this time running full-out in my direction. “Matilda, are you okay?”
It was Boone. He reached us, and checked me for injuries. “Sonofabitch,” he said.
“Someone shot at me. He got the dog. What’re you doing here?” I demanded, suspiciously.
“I heard you yell, and I came out to see what was wrong. With you, there’s always something wrong.”
“Are you sure you weren’t shooting at me?”
He ignored my accusation and scooped the dog up into his arms. Costello licked Boone’s face, which could have been taken as a sign of Boone’s innocence. Or Costello could have just been a dumb dog, licking the face of his attacker. I didn’t know which was the right answer.
“Don’t worry, boy. I’m going to get you help,” Boone told the dog. The beagle reached us and continued to howl. I followed Boone to his truck. He got in the driver’s side and laid Costello on his lap. I picked up Abbott and got in the passenger’s side.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The vet. I think it’s
a flesh wound, but he needs antibiotics and stitches. What kind of monster shoots a dog?”
“I think I was the target,” I said.
“What were you doing out there?”
“Walking the dogs.” I didn’t know if I should tell him about the girl, again. What if Boone was her captor? What if he had been shooting at me? I could choose to believe him that he had heard me and came running to my defense.
But I had believed my husband, and it turned out that he had been gaslighting me. I wasn’t good at believing anymore.
“You’re not a serial killer, right?” I asked.
“This again? I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered. I’m not a serial killer. It’s like you want me to be a serial killer. Wait a minute. Did you see the girl again?”
I sunk down in my seat and petted Abbott. “I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no.”
“Who was shooting at you and why? What have you done now?”
“Nothing! Well, I did break into New Sun Petroleum to get the dirt on Wade and have him imprisoned for murder and get his polluting, corrupt company shut down.” I paused and thought about that for a moment. “Okay. I apologize.”
“For what?”
“For thinking you shot at me. It’s far more likely that Wade shot at me.”
“Gee, thanks for your confidence in me.”
“I should probably call the sheriff,” I said.
“I’m not sticking around to talk to that asshole.”
“What do you have against him?”
“What don’t I have against…your dreamboat.”
“He’s not my dreamboat,” I insisted and blushed.
“Uh-huh.”
“On second thought, I’m not going to call him,” I said. “He’ll just tell me to mind my own business and stay away from New Sun Petroleum.”
“And you’re not going to do that, I take it.”
“Of course not. I’m on assignment.”
It turned out that Costello had a flesh wound. The vet sewed his wound up and gave him antibiotics, just like Boone said he would. I asked the doctor to send me the bill and we left with Costello still in Boone’s arms. When we got home, we put the dogs on my bed. Abbott refused to let Costello out of his sight. In less than a minute, they were fast asleep, snoring and farting into my blankets.
