“I’m afraid you won’t have a choice.”
“No,” she said, wheezing. “My mom was… I won’t go.”
“Katherine—”
“What if…what if you didn’t call this in?”
Cocking his head to the side, he studied her with curious eyes. “And why would I do that?”
That he didn’t immediately shut down the idea gave her an ounce of hope.
“Um…” She searched for something that would make sense. “It wouldn’t look great on you that not only did you know I was going to sneak out, but you let me, which put me in danger.”
“Ah,” he said with a small smile. “So your concern is solely for my well-being?”
“I think that’s a good reason.”
“And what about all this?” he asked, gesturing around at the mess. “This all just goes away?”
She gulped, willing away the thoughts she didn’t want to have until later. “You said you already swept for fingerprints and didn’t find anything…”
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t find anything at my father’s office when they broke in either, right?”
“Mhmm.”
“So what could they do if they knew about tonight? How would that help anyone? All it would do is have me on lockdown.”
“Maybe a lockdown is what you need. They could always come back here.”
“They could always go back to my father’s house too.”
When he sighed, she sat up on her knees and almost grabbed his hands, but pulled back.
“Please,” she said. “I can’t go back there. I promise I will never do anything like that again. It was stupid. Reckless. Irresponsible. I know that, and trust me—I’ll be paying for it. Just don’t make me go to my father’s house.”
Jason’s lips pressed tightly together as he considered her. He glanced up at the knife gleaming above them as if to say, What about that?
“I trust you. I trust you to keep me safe. And you’ll have to trust me too.”
Leaning toward her, a glint in his eyes, he said, “So this will be our little secret, is that right?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her for what felt like hours, and she desperately wished she could look inside his mind at what he was thinking. There was no hint in his face, and she was about to start begging again when he got up and closed the window. Then he turned to face her, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
“There’s no point in security if you leave the window open.”
“I’ll never open it again,” she promised.
“Then I suggest you get a trash bag.”
Surprise had her scrambling to her feet and wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. He was warm, so warm, and she had to stop herself from nuzzling her face into his neck. He didn’t reciprocate her embrace, but she didn’t care. He’d agreed, and everything else could wait.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said before letting him go.
“Don’t thank me. This could turn out to be a monumentally stupid decision on my behalf.”
“It won’t. I promise it won’t.”
Looking past her shoulder, he nodded at the damage. “Let’s clean it up.”
As they rid themselves of the torn pillows and feathers and Jason bagged the knife, the momentary relief she’d felt at winning that battle transformed into dread. Whoever it was that was after her and her father had been here. In her room. Touching her things. Ripping them apart. Taking back what was theirs.
Now, the biggest question was… Since they have what they were searching for, will they leave me alone…or will they come back?
THE RING WAS gone. The ring was gone. The ring was gone.
Even as she repeated those four words to herself, it didn’t seem real. It wasn’t sinking in. She felt as hollow as the empty jewelry box on her desk.
The ring was gone.
The only reason her body was numb instead of scared shitless was because her eyes were still open. Too many terrifying images awaited her once she closed them, so she planned to stay awake and not dream. She wouldn’t think of the destruction they’d spent an hour erasing from her room, or the past that was trying to creep its way into her periphery.
The clock by her bedside blinked four a.m. The last time she’d stared at a clock this early had been—
No.
Rolling over, she balled the pillow Jason had let her borrow beneath her head and tried to think of something happier to push that memory back and keep the anxiety at bay. The heady scent of him wafted over her, and she clutched the pillow tighter. Jason in his classic black suit and day-old stubble took center stage in her mind, and her shoulders relaxed. She couldn’t believe he had agreed to go along with her plan. It made sense that he would avoid trouble where he could, but she got the impression a guy like him didn’t give a fuck about what anyone else thought—even someone in authority.
Maybe…maybe he actually cared enough to not see her so miserable? Okay, no, that was wishful thinking. It was probably more like, “God I hope the annoying punk doesn’t make a spectacular return to make my life hell.”
There. That she understood. That made sense. A guy like Jason caring in a more-than-friendly way about someone as broken as her was just unfathomable.
But he’d agreed…hadn’t he?
That little bit of hope fanned the flames inside her chest, and she hugged her pillow.
She took another deep inhale, pretending it was him lying there comforting her. He must’ve held her tight when he’d brought her back home, because his cologne also lingered in her hair, sweet and salty drops of seawater mixed with wood and spices—an intoxicating mix. Forbidden. That was what the hell he smelled like. Something she longed for but could never get her hands on.
Or could she?
Maybe after tonight, he’d feel compelled to show her those self-defense moves she had mentioned before. She’d been half joking then, but now it was obvious she needed to at least be prepared in some small way. And, if she were honest with herself, she was getting desperate to feel those strong arms around her—while she was conscious, this time.
There was so much about him that he kept hidden away behind those inscrutable eyes, and she wanted to crack that unyielding exterior and force him to open up to her. After tonight, a sense of solidarity was there…after all, they had a secret now. She’d trust him to keep the events of tonight quiet, and he’d trust that she wouldn’t jeopardize his job. Maybe if she confided in him her truth, the whole truth, he would be the one person in the world to know and possibly help her.
Yes, I like that…
She yawned and curled her legs into the fetal position as exhaustion and the lingering effects of alcohol began to overtake her. Tomorrow, she’d begin to learn more about who the reticent man who’d saved her tonight was. And then she’d insist on some physical body-to-body action. But as she faded into sleep, her subconscious took over, forcing her troubles to the forefront.
The last thing she remembered was the empty jewelry box…
“Can you take the green bean casserole out of the oven, baby?” Katherine’s mother called over her shoulder as she reached for another handful of stuffing.
Her arm was elbow deep inside the huge thawed turkey when Katherine walked around her to grab a pair of oven mitts, and she couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter at her mom’s…interesting position.
“You look like you’re molesting that poor bird,” she remarked, opening the oven door and grabbing the handles of the dish inside before setting it on one of the hot pads laid out on the counter.
“Well, you’ve gotta get it in deep. Can’t scrimp on the stuffing.” Her mother looked up at her and winked. “It’s your dad’s favorite part.”
Katherine wrinkled her nose. “Why does that sound so much dirtier than it should?”
Her mother shook her head, smiling to herself as she grabbed another handful. “Probably because—”
“No, stop.”
She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “My virgin ears aren’t listening, la la la.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” her mother said as she brushed by and bumped her arm before heading to the sink to wash off. Her long blond hair was loosely knotted in a bun, not a strand of grey to be seen, and an oversized apron hung off her petite frame. “One of these days you won’t think it’s so gross. Wait a second.” Her head snapped up, and her ice-blue eyes pinned Katherine with an inquisitive look. “You said virgin ears. Does that mean you’re still—”
“God, Mom,” Katherine said with a shudder. “Please don’t ask me that.”
“Well, I know you and Steven are close—”
“Not that close.”
Her mom raised an eyebrow and grabbed a dishtowel to dry her hands before leaning back against the counter. “You spend an awful lot of time together…”
“Well, yeah, we have all the same classes. Hard to miss him.”
“And he drives you to and from school…”
Katherine shrugged. “It’s on his way home. What are you getting at?”
“Nothing,” her mom said, her tone suspiciously high. “I’ve just noticed he’s grown into a pretty good-looking kid, and wondered if maybe you thought the same, is all.”
“Ugh. He’s like my brother. Now you’re just getting incestuous, so can we please change the subject?”
“Will he be taking you to prom in the spri—”
“Mom!”
Her mother laughed and held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait a few months to bring it back up.”
Katherine rolled her eyes. “Can’t wait.”
After grabbing an unlabeled mason jar from the pantry, her mom headed back to the turkey and propped herself on a stool in front of it. She shook some of the spices into her palm and began drizzling them over the large bird in generous heaps.
“When are you gonna tell me what’s in the special spices?” Katherine asked, joining her mother and opening her hand so she could sprinkle some into her palm. Working her way down the side, she patted the mixture onto the skin.
“Things are revealed as you’re ready to hear them.”
“So secretive,” she whispered, concentrating on covering every bare inch. “It’s just a recipe.”
“Your great-grandma’s special recipe,” her mom corrected, and twisted the lid back on the jar. “Besides. Some secrets are powerful and should be guarded.”
“Dad says secrets always come out in the end, so it’s best to be open and honest in all things.”
“Well, can you blame him for thinking that way in his line of work?”
After wiping her hands off on a dishrag, Katherine passed it to her mom and said, “I guess not. You don’t agree?”
“I think there are reasons people keep things hidden. Sometimes secrets are important to protect those you care about.”
“Like mysterious, life-altering turkey spices that could change the world, right?” she joked. When her mom’s serious expression remained, Katherine’s grin faded. “Is…is there something you want to talk about?”
Her mom looked at her for a long moment before shaking her head. “No. And don’t worry, you’ll learn of life-altering spices when it’s your turn to cook Thanksgiving dinner.”
Something in her mom’s tone had changed, and Katherine couldn’t help but press her again. “Are you sure? I’m not a kid anymore, ya know. You can talk to me about the hush-hush adult stuff now.”
“I was merely offering an alternative perspective to your father’s, is all,” her mom said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Okkkay,” Katherine drew out and then decided to ask one last time. “But you’d tell me if it was something important?”
Her mom gave her a sad smile. “Of course, baby.”
Katherine pursed her lips, unconvinced, but attempted to lighten the mood. “Would one such secret have anything to do with a new car to match my new driver’s license?”
That made her mother laugh. She opened the oven and heaved the turkey pan inside. “The only car you’ll be getting anytime soon will be one of the Flintstone variety. Be a doll and go grab that cornucopia centerpiece out of the hall closet for me so I don’t have to pull out the ladder. Top shelf.”
As Katherine walked out of the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think this is all some sort of evil plan to keep Steven around to chauffeur me.”
“Or an evil plan to keep you home for a little while longer,” she heard her mother say.
Katherine smiled to herself. Their parents would’ve had them in an arranged marriage years ago if this was 1800s England. She wondered if she’d fetch at least twenty cows for her dowry, or whatever the going rate was.
The door to the “hall closet” in their house was lodged in the front hallway next to her dad’s office, and it wasn’t actually a closet at all. The man that had built and owned the house before them had been a famous, but reclusive, writer, paranoid about government conspiracies, and had installed a panic room. When they’d moved in, they’d promptly stored her mom’s endless assortment of knickknacks and discarded paintings into it but left the ’70s-era setup as it was. There was even a panic button inside that, once pressed, locked out anyone outside the room and alerted authorities.
Growing up, her friends were fascinated by it and, during sleepovers, they’d taken turns locking each other inside. That is, until the police showed up at their door, causing her father to ban her from even looking at it. She’d gotten her privileges back when she’d outgrown her mom and became useful at retrieving items she couldn’t reach.
Standing in front of the bookcase that shelved her father’s law guides, she pushed in a faded green hardback and heard the door click before whooshing inward. She stepped inside and flicked on the light, scanning around the top shelves for the awful cornucopia that was, unfortunately, a tradition her mom’s side of the family insisted on keeping. Good grief, her mom was a packrat. Silver shelving units lined all of the walls, piled high with who knew what. No doubt a garage sale would net a down payment on her first vehicle, easy.
Making a mental note to bring that up to her parents, she pushed up to her tiptoes and moved a few items closest to the front out of the way to peer at the back row. When a familiar rectangular box that she hadn’t seen in years was revealed, she gasped.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, reaching up for the item hidden under a spare microwave. Grunting when she couldn’t quite wrap her fingers around it, she pulled back and grabbed the ladder. After pushing the door to a close, she sandwiched the ladder between the entrance and the shelving unit and climbed up to snatch her lost board game, Ask Zandor.
She stared at it, wide-eyed. After Zandor had told her when she was eight that she would be at least six feet tall before she’d stop growing, she’d cried for days that she’d be taller than all the boys in school, and had taken to placing heavy books on her head to stunt her growth. Her parents were not amused by her extreme reaction, and had snatched the game up and told her they’d thrown it away.
Hah! Thrown it away to the junk room, they meant. That prediction had turned out to be pretty right-on, though, since she now hovered right under the six-foot mark. Maybe she could get some more answers out of that little genie. She bet Steven would play it with her. After setting it down on a lower rack, she started back on her search for the ugly ceramic horn of fruit.
The muffled sound of her mom yelling sounded through the closed door, and Katherine muttered under her breath, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Would be a lot easier if you weren’t a hoarder.” She spotted the cornucopia on the opposite shelf and climbed down the ladder to make her way over to it. But when her feet touched the floor, she heard a man’s voice.
No—more than one man’s voice. At least two—no…three. Rough and angry and mingled with her mom’s cries—
Oh God. Her stomach bottomed out as she moved the ladder away from
the entrance and pulled open the door. And then…
For a long moment, time stood still.
For a long moment, she couldn’t move.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t look away.
The scene in front of her could not be real.
There were three of them, all in black, faces covered except for their eyes.
Her mom—apron ripped and hanging to the side.
Knives in their hands.
One holding her by the hair. One slashing at her stomach. Her chest. Her face. Drops of red steadily hit the hardwood as her mother’s screams rang out, and still, the overwhelming horror of what was happening in front of her wasn’t registering.
Why couldn’t she move her feet…help…she needed help… Oh my God, Mom, oh God—
“Where’s the daughter?” the third asked, his voice clipped, casually walking through the house as if nothing was going on in front of him.
“Not…here,” her mother rasped before falling to her knees, her shaking hands sliding across the pool of blood on the floor as she bent over.
Oh God, Mom, look at me… Please look at me…
The third man cocked his head. “I don’t believe you. Maybe this will entice you.”
The man behind her grabbed her hair again and lifted her up as the man who’d spoken slashed a cut across her chest so fast that it caused something to fly from his hand and roll toward where Katherine stood frozen in the half-open doorway.
The whole scene had lasted only seconds, but as all eyes turned toward her and the ring rolled past her and inside the room, her mom finally looked in her direction. Sickening gashes covered her pale face, and her eyes were pleading.
“Mom!” Katherine screamed, her body fighting to move forward to help her, save her. But before she could take a step, they were coming toward her.
The third man’s eyes were a murderous shade of black—a horrifying image she’d never be able to unsee. Her cries cut off as her adrenaline kicked in, and she jerked back inside the room. Her eyes landed on the limp figure of her mother, discarded in a heap on the floor, and that was the last thing she saw before she slammed the door shut and hit the panic button.
Flash Point Page 9
