But she didn’t think anything would give her a second chance with Damian. She’d seen his face at the news conference. “I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You better. First thing.”
Summer nodded and waved goodbye. Eyelids heavy with emotion threatened to close before she reached her car. She felt one hundred years old, bent from the strain of a single day. The moment Damian had sung to her and wrapped her in his arms seemed ages gone. She’d had a chance and lost it. That was that, plain and simple. There was no use moping around about it, no use rewinding the day and torturing herself by wondering what she might have done differently.
I need to go home. She slid into her car. Just bury myself under the covers and find a way to make it through to morning.
She turned the key in the ignition. A sad, slow blues song filled the car, and she spun the dial to turn it up. Fatigue tightened the back of her neck and she pulled out of the parking space too fast, jerking the wheel and slamming on the brakes as a police car rolled by. She slowed at the blinking red light. A few yards away the neon lights of Zeb’s Diner shone against the night sky. Beyond that, nothing but dark, quiet homes. No cars appeared and she was about to press the accelerator and continue the final mile to her house when she saw them.
The girl, petite and blonde, pressed against the man, who leaned at an awkward angle as if he were uncertain about the placement of his feet. Summer stared. Lights and shadows spilled down on them, striping them in yellow and gray, but she would have recognized the couple on the moon. A thin layer of perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Damian and Joyce Hadley stood fifty feet away, arms around each other.
Summer’s fingers clenched the steering wheel. Without looking in her direction, they stopped near a thick tree, and even in the dim light, she could see the smile on Joyce’s face as she reached up and smoothed the hair from Damian’s forehead. Summer bit her lip. She knew how that cowlick dipped down toward his eyes. Every day she watched him push it out of the way while he worked.
Damian’s head bent forward. Oh my god he’s going to kiss her. Summer’s breath disappeared. She was suspended in a bubble, trapped inside a terrible theater, forced to watch a horror film she couldn’t stop. He was going to kiss Joyce Hadley out on the street for all of Pine Point to see, and Summer was going to have to watch it happen.
She gunned her car and shot through the intersection as fast as she could. Tires squealed, but she didn’t care. Less than twenty-four hours after making love to her, Damian was flirting with Joyce in the middle of town. She couldn’t believe it.
She coasted to a stop outside her silent house. I’ll stay until they find Dinah. Then I’m gone. She’d meant every word at the press conference. She would help in whatever way she could. But by the end of the week, she’d be back in San Francisco where she belonged. She squared her shoulders and forced herself to face the truth: Damian had found solace tonight in the local girl, something Summer had stopped being a long time ago. She climbed the back steps and let herself in. The house groaned and settled around her. Dark. Empty. Sort of like the hole in my chest.
When her cell phone rang ten minutes later, she’d already slipped into a restless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Theo tried to put weight on his injured hand and failed. Pain shot all the way up to his shoulder. “Fuck.”
Using the other hand to bolster himself instead, he made his way off the sagging couch and shuffled across the room. His buddy snored from a mattress in the opposite corner of the old hunting cabin. He crept into the kitchen. This place stunk to high heaven, and he thought something was growing mold inside the refrigerator. Still, he was grateful for a place to hide. The alerts on the radio had him heading for Canada or the New York-Massachusetts border, so he’d stayed put in Wineglass Lake, a tiny town about thirty miles north of Pine Point. Ronny, a dim-witted assistant he’d met on the job last week, hadn’t asked questions, just let him crash on the sofa when he showed up a couple of hours ago.
But dammit to hell…Dinah had gotten away from him.
Theo stuck his head under the faucet and slurped. He still couldn’t believe it had gone so wrong. He’d planned it all out, waited until he knew Hannah and Dinah would be alone in the house. He hadn’t intended to belt his ex-wife, but she’d gotten in the way. Shown more spirit than he remembered. Used to be, she’d let him do whatever he wanted, never gave him any lip. Must be a few years by herself had given her courage. Theo chuckled. He’d put her in her place fast enough, though. After getting Dinah into the car and promising her an ice cream and a puppy later on if she didn’t cry, he’d driven west like he planned, taking the back roads and cruising with the lights off whenever he could.
But Dinah had to stop and pee, and when he turned around, she’d taken off. He swore again and ran a wet washcloth over his face. What eight-year-old ran away from her own father? In the middle of the forest edging a no-name town? He’d been lucky to hitch a ride here from some broad with no teeth and a station wagon missing the back bumper. He didn’t dare go out and look for Dinah now. He’d run into a pack of local cops within the first ten minutes.
Goddammit, he missed his daughter. He missed watching her sing and dance around the house. Missed having her crawl into his lap and watch television with him after dinner. Hell, he missed having a family, coming home to a warm meal and a soft woman. Didn’t look like he’d be having any of that, though, anytime soon.
There was only one person to blame for that. Theo spat into the sink and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter.
The way he figured it, Hannah’s bastard son had been the cause for every problem in his life since the day he married her and took them both in. Ever since that brat turned old enough to see what went on behind closed doors, he’d been looking out for his mother and sister. Shoving Theo out of the way when all he wanted to do was talk to his wife. Standing between him and his daughter when the girl deserved a spanking. Theo emptied the bottle into his throat. Every damn time he tried to discipline his wife and child, that kid had interfered. To add insult to injury, Damian must have convinced his mother to change their last names back to Knight. As if Braxton wasn’t good enough.
“That son of a bitch needs to learn who’s boss,” Theo muttered, wiping his mouth on a dirty shirtsleeve. “Once and for all.” He reached into a kitchen cabinet and pulled out the new bottle he knew Ronny kept there. He stroked the fifth of bourbon with care.
“Come to papa,” he whispered and broke the seal. He eased into a stained recliner, propped the bottle between his thighs and checked his watch. Eleven thirty. He took another long drink and turned over possibilities. Forget Hannah and Dinah. This time, he’d go straight to the devil himself. Even with only one good hand, he had no doubt he’d dominate in a fight. Course, having an advantage in the form of a trusty sidearm wouldn’t hurt either.
He checked his watch a third time, patted the forty-five lying on the table beside him and watched the moon move across the inky sky.
* * * * *
Damian stood in the front hallway and watched the cop pace the length of their driveway. Joyce Hadley had left less than an hour ago, after the cops hurried them back to the farmhouse with the news about Dinah. Call me, she’d whispered, one damp palm in his, but Damian knew he wouldn’t.
The suspect’s probably a hundred miles away by now, Officer Burdick had repeated. We’ll call you as soon as we hear anything. We have to focus our efforts now on finding the girl.
But how do you know he doesn’t have her? Doubt had filled Hannah’s expression.
Two sets of footprints go in two opposite directions where the truck was ditched. The cop cleared his throat. He might have gone after her, yes, but it’s more likely he’s taken off, afraid of getting caught. Typical M.O. with kid
nappers when something doesn’t go according to plan.
But then don’t you think he’ll come back here? Hannah had asked. Don’t you think he’ll try to find her again?
We’re keeping a watch on your house. But even a fool doesn’t push his luck that much.
The cop’s reassurance hadn’t convinced Damian. Didn’t matter if the police set up a barricade around the farmhouse twenty-four seven for the next three hundred and sixty-five days. If T.J. wanted to, he’d find another way to fracture the safe life the Knights sought. Damian was sure of it.
Hannah sat beside him on the couch. “Listen to me. I want you to go over to the house. Talk to Summer.”
“No. Not until we hear something about Dinah.”
“Damian.” Her voice broke, and she took a deep breath to try to still it. “It might be hours. It might not be ’til morning.”
“I don’t care. I’m not leaving you here alone.”
“You should talk to Summer. You haven’t said one word to her since everything happened.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“She cares about Dinah too.”
Then she never would have told a stranger how to get to our house. He hadn’t told his mother about Summer giving T.J. directions; he couldn’t bear to. And if she cared so much, she would have believed my hunch. She would have listened to me last night when I said I had to leave. He balled his hands into fists.
“After what she went through today, she needs someone to talk to.”
“She lied about driving the night her brother died.”
“She did not. She never remembered. And as soon as she did, she stood up and took responsibility.” Hannah paused. “Not a lot of people would do that.”
He went to the window and pulled back the curtain. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”
“Damian, it’s less than a quarter mile from here. The police will tell us the minute they hear anything. And I’ll call you.”
“I don’t know…”
She put a hand on his wrist. “She’s leaving. Soon. You heard her say that at the news conference.”
“Exactly. So what’s the point in talking to her now?” It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. Obviously.
“Listen to me.” Hannah’s voice took on an edge “You cannot spend the next fifty years trying to protect me. Or Dinah or yourself. There’s a whole life out there, starting with someone on the other side of those trees who’s waiting for you to come to your senses. She needs someone tonight. Go see her.”
His cheeks warmed.
“Have you even called her?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t understand. I see the way you look at her. The way you look at each other.” She lifted the house phone from the table beside her. “At least call her and make sure she’s all right.”
Damian’s shoulders sagged. “It’s past midnight.” Besides, he didn’t want to call Summer. He didn’t want to stand on the other side of a room and try to make small talk. He wanted to feel her, to kiss her and wind his fingers into her hair. He wanted to play all the songs stored up in his head, the ones that made his fingers itch to play for her. But he didn’t know how to begin a conversation after everything that had happened. Plus, he couldn’t leave his mother here alone. He wanted to go. He needed to stay. Doing nothing at all trapped him in the middle, where he lost his nerve with every hour that passed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Summer sat straight up in bed. Something had woken her. Not the sun rising—it wasn’t yet dawn. She squinted against the darkness and checked the clock. A little past five. She’d slept barely four hours after tossing and turning and trying to work things out in her head. But despite the little bit of shut-eye, she felt restless and wrung out. She rubbed her eyes. Her cell phone beeped.
A message. That’s what had woken her. Maybe they found Dinah. Oh please please please… She lunged for the bed stand and fumbled with the tiny keys of her phone. But it was only Rachael.
The time of the garbled message read as twelve-oh-five. “Summer, listen. Dinah… They think Dinah got away from him. Witness said they saw someone matching T.J.’s description walking on a road up past the lake last night. By himself.”
Rachael’s voice faded out for a moment, replaced by static. “…cops found the guy’s truck a little while after that, dumped off at a rest area on the highway.”
She got away from him? “So where is she?” Summer asked aloud.
Summer? Where are you? …Summer?
She pinched the bare skin on her leg and tried to keep from dropping the phone. This is not then. Dinah is not Donnie.
“…so the cops are checking the bushes around the rest area and the gas stations close by. They’re thinking she slipped out when he stopped somewhere. Maybe a couple of miles away on the other side of the cemetery.” Pause. “Just wanted to let you know.” Another pause. “Call me when you get this, okay?”
She dropped the phone into her palm. Dinah had gotten away from her father. Thank God. Summer drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them. But what did that mean? Was wandering around lost really any better than being kidnapped? What if the girl fell and hurt herself? What if she—
Summer shook her head to stop the thoughts. Maybe she could help. They must be organizing search parties. She knew this area as well as anyone else who’d grown up here, and much better than Dinah or Damian or Hannah. She played Rachael’s message again, trying to draw out any clue of where Dinah might have headed. She frowned. The other side of the cemetery? That wasn’t too far from—
A strange noise froze her in place.
“Hello? Mac?” She turned toward the bedroom door, nerves bristling. It was too early for either guy to be showing up for work. What was that? She waited another minute, tensed and ready to leap for the nearest window. But she didn’t hear it again.
Five thirty, read her digital clock. Summer gave up on sleep and padded out to the kitchen. She turned on the coffeemaker and stared over the treetops to where Damian and Hannah lay sleeping. Or waiting, she supposed. She didn’t guess they would have slept a wink.
She filled her mug and walked back through the foyer, trying not to think of the last time she’d sat on the porch inches away from Damian while he played the guitar and knotted up her insides. Two legs in the darkness, brushing. Her pulse beating too fast. His gaze holding hers as a tune emerged in silver waves beneath his hands. If she closed her eyes, she could almost recapture the melody, the way it moved from his fingers and hung on the air.
Tell him how you feel, Gabe had said. But would she have the chance? Or would it be much smarter to just get on a plane and leave everything behind?
The noise came again. Her heart thudded. She hurried back into her bedroom and checked the bathroom. Nothing. She moved to the window and took a long look at the front yard. Only trees and flowerbeds. She’d almost turned away, convinced her imagination had gotten the best of her, when she saw it—a beat-up sports car parked beyond the hedgerow. Summer squinted. She didn’t recognize it.
“Well, look who’s here.”
The gravelly voice came from her bedroom doorway. She spun around and dropped her mug. Coffee splashed everywhere. A wild-eyed, disheveled man stood ten feet away from her. The man from outside Flo’s. T.J.
And he was holding a gun.
“Wh-wh—” She tried to form a word and couldn’t. Air whistled past her teeth. Her legs gave out and she stumbled, reaching for the window seat.
He took a few steps toward her. “Didn’t know anyone was livin’ here.”
She stared. He smelled terrible—of urine, liquor, body odor and something else. Something evil. She opened her mouth and tried again.
“I’m not lookin’ for you,” he said, “though this little predicament might work out to my advantage.”
“Wha
t are you doing here?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. Instead he let his head fall back, taking in the crown molding, the high ceilings, the chandelier in the foyer behind him. “Nice place.”
Summer eyed her cell phone sitting on the bedside table six feet away. It was directly behind the crazy man with the gun.
“Damian do all this?”
“Uh, yeah. And—and Mac.”
“Who?” His eyes flashed, bloodshot, and Summer could tell he’d been drinking. She edged closer to the bed.
“You can stay right there.” Dropping any pretense of kindness, T.J. stepped closer and pointed the revolver directly at her chest.
Summer’s vision fuzzed, and she scrabbled back into the window seat. She eyed the muzzle of the weapon and pressed her spine into the cushion.
“You know what happened.” It was a statement rather than a question.
She shook her head.
“Don’t fuck with me!” he screamed. “It’s been on the radio, how I kidnapped my daughter.” He laughed, a sinister, choking sound. “She’s my daughter!” he thundered. “How can I be kidnapping something that’s my own blood? She belongs to me.”
Summer sat motionless. She thought maybe if she stayed still enough, she could melt away, just vanish from the room.
“I’m just trying to be a father,” he said in a quieter voice. “Trying to keep my family together.”
She wanted to vomit. A father? A family? This guy had no idea what he was talking about.
In the silence, her cell phone began to ring. T.J.’s head snapped in the direction of the bed stand. “Don’t answer that,” he growled.
“It’s probably just Mac. He’ll be here soon, usually comes by six or so.” She hoped T.J. would believe the lie.
Summer's Song: Pine Point, Book 1 Page 19
