by Amy Olle
Deep in the woods, he turned up a rocky path and when they came to a seemingly random spot, he slowed the car to a stop. He switched off the engine and she peered through the window into utter blackness. Instinctively, she shrank back in her seat.
When he shoved open his car door and the overhead light winked on, she could make out the form of a small building in the woods. A house maybe? Was it his home?
He stepped into the abyss and slammed the door shut behind him. A moment later, the car’s interior light faded and she was alone in the darkness. With extreme reluctance, she left the safety of the vehicle and stumbled along an uneven path after him.
Using the light from his cell phone, Leo fumbled with the door while she shot quick glances into the black night surrounding them. A shiver passed through her. Then he pushed open the door, and with a bracing breath, she followed him inside.
He moved into the home’s interior and in the next moment the pitiful light from his phone vanished.
Total blackness engulfed her, and panic closed around her throat. Noises sounded in the dark as he rummaged through a closet. Then suddenly, the dim glow of bobbling light splashed across the room and she could breathe again.
Flashlight in hand, he crossed to her and handed her a second flashlight, which she quickly flipped on. Pointing the light around, she discovered they were in the living room of a small house. A bungalow.
At the back of the house stood a wall of glass, through which the black void of nothingness loomed while the other end housed a tiny kitchen. The white paint on the walls must’ve been put there several decades prior, and the dark wood ceiling, although vaulted, did little to add a sense of space to the room.
Two darkened doorways sat on either side of the living room, and Leo shined his light in the direction of one of them.
“You can sleep in there.” His eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “There are blankets in the closet.”
But his fortress wall suffered a crack when he thrust a hand through his hair and she saw that it trembled. Then he turned abruptly and stalked to the doorway opposite hers.
The beam of his flashlight flickered off the walls in the dark room before he lifted a foot and kicked the door shut with an unqualified bang.
His heart raced, pounding with painful thumps against his breastbone. In the past twenty-four hours, he’d slept little, and fatigue clawed at him. Drained and exposed, the burden of standing in this house again hit him all at once.
He sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking, coming here?
That someone was trying to kill Prue.
Even after avoiding this place for the past four years, it was harder than he expected to come back to it. So much harder.
Everything inside him snarled and twisted with grotesque anguish. He couldn’t make sense of it, except that it all pointed back to one thing. It always came back to this. They were gone, and he was the reason why.
Under heavy assault, he wanted to fall back, to retreat from the threat of his own mind, but there was nowhere to run. Nor was there a drop of alcohol within reach to dull his awareness of the mutilation taking place inside him.
He collapsed back on the bed, defeated, and closed his eyes, trying not to see her face.
It was no use. He was dead to rights. There was no hope, and running only ensured he’d die tired.
God damn, but it was so fucked-up. He was so fucked-up.
His last thought before exhaustion claimed him was how desperately he needed a drink.
The lack of alcohol proved to be the fatal blow. Sober and weakened, he couldn’t fight off the memories, which slipped past his defenses at the first chance.
Four years earlier
The moment he saw her, he knew he would marry her. One day.
Her hair and makeup were overdone, the way all TV reporters overdid it, but her smile and her excitement for her first real assignment with a major TV network were genuine. She lit up the room full of seasoned military men. The brightest star in the sky, she sprinkled her stardust on everyone she encountered.
Leo was just one of the grunts assigned to the crew’s security detail as they arrived in Syria to cover the escalating civil war. She paid little attention to the six-man team, preferring the company of her coworkers instead.
Until their second day in the city center, when a fight erupted between some locals. Leo moved to shield her from the shoving while Owen and Claymore broke up the brawl and dispersed the gathering crowd.
Leo eased away from her. “You okay?”
She snuck a glance at him from beneath the sweep of her eyelashes and nodded.
Later that night, she approached him while he ate dinner alone at the hotel.
She slipped into a chair across from him and regarded him with huge round eyes. “I wanted to thank you for today.”
He finished chewing and swallowed. “Just doing my job.”
She fiddled with a corner of the tablecloth. “How long have you been a security guard?”
“You’re my first.”
She managed to blush and frown at the same time.
He didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Don’t worry. It’s not my first rodeo, only my first private security gig.”
“It’s my first international reporting gig.” Her brilliant smile appeared then. “I guess we’ll be virgins together.”
Oorah.
“I guess we will,” he said.
Prue wasn’t tired.
And she was seriously creeped out.
She refused to switch off her flashlight, and directed its beam around the small bedroom. Light touched every surface and pushed into every corner until she felt certain no bugs or critters occupied the space with her.
The strange, rickety old house made weird sounds, not at all like the creaks and groans made by the historic house she lived in in Boston. Noises outside kept her on edge, the worst offender a sustained, low-level rumbling. It wasn’t a roar, or a hum, but a growl that never stopped. The leaves rustled in the trees as though they, too, were agitated by the monster grumbling in the dark.
Along with a thick layer of dust, her bedroom boasted the same washed-out white paint as the living room. It, too, featured one wall made almost entirely of glass and beyond the fragile barrier, the black abyss loomed.
Turning her back to the disturbing void, the opposite wall contained built-in bookshelves, which sat empty. A row of boxes lined the floor in front of them.
She plucked her cell phone from the pocket of her purse and thumbed through her apps. After her attempt to log in to her email failed, she searched for a Wi-Fi connection.
There was none.
If he didn’t have Wi-Fi, maybe he had a cable connection? Curious, she poked her head through a crack in her bedroom door and shot her flashlight’s beam around the main room for signs of the hookup. But she spotted no wires or evidence of any internet connection at all. In fact, she found no signs of any technological device whatsoever. There was no TV. No laptop or PC. No stereo, or radio, or tablet, or mp3 player. Nothing.
Indeed, she would be surprised if the home had been upgraded from candle to electric light. What was the point?
With a sigh, she dropped her phone on the bed. Then she went over to one of the boxes and lifted the dust-covered lid.
It was stuffed full of books. Tilting her head, she read their spines.
Books on military history and weaponry abounded. With a flip of her wrist, she flicked up the lid on the next box, and the next. All full of books, on every topic from world history and philosophy, to political theory and psychology. One entire box was crammed with classic fiction novels.
In all, there were hundreds of books.
Sitting in boxes.
Were they Leo’s books? Had he moved in recently? Maybe the home was a fixer-upper that he hadn’t yet fixed up?
Selecting one of the novels, she settled on the bed and flipped it open.
After she’d b
een reading for a while, a sound pulled her from the story. She grew still, listening.
There it was again.
Arlo hopped down off the bed and slipped through the small crack of the door’s opening. Prue tossed the book aside and pushed up off the bed to scurry after him.
By the time she caught up to Arlo, he sat in front of the closed door Leo had disappeared behind. He peered up at her and meowed.
She inched closer but drew up at the harsh sound of Leo’s voice. She leaned forward until her ear almost touched the door, trying to make out his words, but the words coming from him were mumbled and jumbled together.
Was he on the phone? Or was he dreaming? She recalled the night he’d slept in her bed in Boston. Was he having another nightmare?
Reaching out, she twisted the knob on his bedroom door.
Arlo bounded into the room and onto the bed. Prue hesitated, but when Leo whimpered, the sound filled with agony, she sidled closer. In sleep, he grimaced as though he were in pain, and his hair appeared damp with sweat.
Her heart throbbed. She wanted to help him but knew of no way to do so. When he flinched in his sleep, she went around the bed and drew back the covers. Climbing beneath the sheets, she snuggled close to him and laid a hand on his spine.
When he didn’t wake or startle, she rubbed his back in light, slow circles. Motor humming, Arlo settled into the crook of Leo’s knees.
She didn’t speak or whisper reassurances. Considering she knew nothing of what troubled him, she didn’t have any reassurances to give anyway.
Eventually he calmed and his breathing evened out. The tension left his body.
But Prue didn’t leave his bed.
Chapter Eleven
He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against his chest. She was soft and warm, and he buried his face in her hair. A lazy contentment seeped into his bones.
Then something cold touched his bare arm, and he lifted his head to find a one-eyed cat staring at him.
Leo reared back with the violent blow of reality that crashed into him. His head snapped around and he gaped at his arm hooked around Prue’s waist, his hand inches from the heavy underside of one breast. The sound of her soft, peaceful snores, now almost familiar to him, ripped a hole wide open inside him.
He’d imagined this very moment a million times and more. Waking up here, in this house, but with a different woman tucked inside his arms.
He jerked his arm away as though he’d been scalded and stumbled from the bed, tripping when his feet tangled in the sheets.
Prue stirred and stretched. With her knuckles, she rubbed her eyes, then blinked several times into the bright sunlight. Her dark hair adorably disheveled, a soft smile curved her mouth when she looked up at him.
Grief and fear and anger, so much fucking anger, pounded into him, like the unrelenting breakers rolling off the lake outside the patio doors. He was defenseless against the torrent of emotion.
It wasn’t Prue’s fault, he knew, but in that moment he didn’t particularly care if his aim wasn’t true. Everything had been taken from him, and his helpless fury couldn’t be contained any longer.
He loomed over her. “What the hell are you doing in my bed?”
But rather than answer, her gaze snapped to the glass doors behind him and she bolted upright as a cry of surprise tore from her. Throwing back the covers, she shot from the bed and over to the patio doors where she fumbled with the lock before bursting out into the warm morning sunshine.
At the edge of the patio, her toes sank into soft sand and she gazed at the clear blue expanse of Lake Michigan stretching beyond the horizon. She made a slow turn that took in the exterior of the small cottage and her pretty face filled with wonder.
The air wheezed from him, as though he’d been punched in the gut. Once, he’d hoped to behold that exact expression on Lauren’s face the first time she saw the house he’d bought for her.
Prue’s laughter bubbled up. “It’s a paradise.” She gaped at the lake another moment, then stepped back inside and blasted him with her bright smile. “This place is incredible. Is it yours?”
Her words struck him like a knife lodging in his sternum. It wasn’t supposed to be his house. It should’ve been hers. Theirs.
With an agonizing wrench, he twisted away and stalked from the bedroom.
She pursued him. “How long have you lived here? Did you grow up on this island? Is the weather always so perfect?”
Every one of her questions landed as a brutal stab on his scarred heart, and he struggled to gain ground against the assault.
“Why didn’t you tell me to bring my bathing suit?” Her light, lyrical laugh twisted the knife in his chest.
It should have been Lauren standing in his living room, overcome with joy and excitement and asking him a thousand questions.
Fresh blood flowing from his wounded heart, he snapped, “Who gives a fuck about the house? We need to figure out how to fix this mess you’re in and get you out of my house. Out of my life.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, and the hurt his words caused her showed plainly on her face. Unable to bear the sight of her pain, he shoved to his feet and turned his back to her.
Regret churned and an ancient resentment flowed through his veins when he dragged open the refrigerator door. Seeing it was empty, he slammed it shut again.
He was so tired. Tired of the bitterness. Tired of the war. He opened the cupboard doors, one after the other, hoping he’d stashed a bottle of liquor somewhere. Despite the fact that he knew he wouldn’t find any alcohol, at the last vacant cupboard, he kicked the door shut with a frustrated growl. He never left a drop in any bottle. If he had it, he drank it.
Flattening his palms on the island countertop, he dropped his head while his untethered emotions wrought havoc in him. When he looked up, she had retreated to the other side of the room. Her arms folded protectively over her abdomen, she stared out at the lake.
“What do you eat?” he asked.
She half turned and eyed him with suspicion. “What?”
He scooped his car keys off the counter. “I need to pick up some supplies in town. What can I get you?”
Her arms dropped heavily to her sides as she twisted to face him fully. “You’re leaving?”
The vulnerable catch in her voice gutted him. “I won’t be gone long.”
He had to get away, even if only for a few minutes. Enough time to catch his breath. The desperate need to escape the torture of being back here even outweighed the pain of watching The Fear take hold in her eyes.
“I’ll search the property before I go, but we’re completely alone out here. You’re safe.” For now.
The struggle to believe him played out on her features. Finally, with a firm nod, she accepted his assurances. She chose to trust him.
Something soft and slippery niggled in the center of his chest, but he ignored it.
“When I get back, we’ll sit down and figure this thing out, okay?”
She pulled her hair over one shoulder and worked it into a braid. “Okay.”
“What can I get you?”
Her small hand flitted through the air. “I’m not picky.”
The wide neckline of her T-shirt slipped to expose her bare shoulder, and the surge of longing that curled through him nearly dropped him to his knees. He yearned to go to her, to touch his mouth to her skin and take away the hurt he’d inflicted.
Instead, he fled.
She gaped at the door he’d disappeared behind with a resounding bang. Again.
What the hell had just happened? He was upset, yet again, but why now?
Her heart sick, she looked out at the stunning view. The lake stretched endlessly toward the horizon and sunlight danced on the water’s surface, twinkling like cut diamonds among the waves.
Turning back, she considered Leo’s home. White paint on the walls appeared faded from the abundance of sunlight pouring in through the patio doors, and the wide-plank hardwoo
d floors were worn smooth, probably from years of being buffed by the beach sands carried indoors.
She couldn’t believe this was the same dark, creepy house she’d experienced the night before. In the light of day, the home’s charm was evident. No longer did it seem old and unloved. It was quaint and enchanting, as much a product of the sea as the rocks being eternally pulverized to sand mere steps outside its doors. Both yielding and stubborn.
And she’d fallen instantly, completely in love with it.
She frowned. How could he own a place like this and be so unhappy? Well, get over it.
“Jerk.”
But the truth was, after his self-imposed isolation the night before, the outburst stunned her. And, well, it stung.
She tried to will her hurt into anger, but it was no use. Not after she’d glimpsed that hitch of heartbreak in his eyes and detected the teardrop of pain in his voice. What was that? Did it have to do with her? What was the name he’d said, that first night?
Rose.
She recalled the way he’d begged her stay with him and how he had clutched her hand, as though he’d die if she let go. With the memory, whatever emotional hurt she might’ve harbored evaporated like a puff of campfire smoke.
A weary sigh pulled from her. She’d been so caught up in the miracle of this magical place, and the magnificence of his bare chest, lean and muscular with the dark markings of a tattoo flaring across his right pec and shoulder, that she hadn’t heeded the grumpy scowl marring his well-formed features.
She didn’t heed it, though she should have.
She really, really should have.
Sliding open the glass door and screen, she stepped onto the wooden deck nestled between the house and those first soft ripples of soft sandy beach. Once again, the sound of that rumbling monster from the previous night greeted her, having been revealed as nothing more than the low, steady roar of the lake’s waves crashing ashore.
Beneath her feet, the sun-warmed wood was hot, and she scrambled to a shaded area beneath the pergola perched outside the slider door off her bedroom. Overgrown with greenery, the nook felt like a hidden sanctuary, complete with a tattered hammock hanging between two pillars. Discovering a bravery she didn’t know she possessed, she climbed in.
