by Brenda Novak
“I feel bad about this morning,” he said.
“You don’t have anything to feel bad about.” Despite her rapidly shifting emotions, she knew he’d change things if he could. He was at the same disadvantage she was, merely reacting to forces beyond his control.
“I should’ve been more prepared for your call,” he admitted. “I didn’t respond to it the way I would’ve liked. I was too much of a hard-ass.”
“You said what had to be said. What else could you do?”
“That’s just it. I feel so boxed in, so…helpless. I want to make the past right for you, for Peyton, for all of us. I can’t tell you how much I regret ever joining The Crew—”
“You were only eighteen and fighting for your life inside a maximum-security prison. You had no choice.”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “Still, I wish I could reassure you instead of scaring the hell out of you. But I’m afraid the second you drop your guard it’ll be like two years ago when…”
He didn’t finish, and she knew he couldn’t even speak the words. “I understand.”
He cleared his throat. “Have you heard anything more about Pat Stueben’s murder?”
“No.” But if she kept her date with Myles, she might. And that was why she wouldn’t cancel, despite her earlier determination to do so. “Do you think we should be more proactive about searching for Rex?” she asked. “Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe he needs us, Virgil.”
“That’s just it. The more waves we make, the easier we’ll be to find, and there’re children involved.” He cursed again. “We can’t even be good friends to him.”
“Have you tried calling his family? From a pay phone?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
“His father and brothers won’t talk to me. And his mother is dead. Should I go through the rest of his family tree?”
He wasn’t being sarcastic; he was asking a serious question. But contacting any more of Rex’s relations would be a waste of time. The rift with his family had driven Rex into gang life to begin with. “No.”
“So what else?”
“I guess…nothing,” she said. And then she understood. Being helpless was the worst possible experience for a man like Virgil, who tried to take charge of—and fix—every situation. “We just have to wait. And hope for the best.”
“You asked me if I missed Mom.”
He surprised her with the sudden change of subject, and then didn’t give her any time to respond.
“The answer to that question is yes. I’ve missed her every day of my life since she stabbed me in the back. I wish I could hate her. Sometimes I do. But more than anything, I wonder what was wrong with me that she couldn’t love me the way I love my son,” he said, and hung up.
Vivian rubbed her face. She shouldn’t have asked him about Ellen.
“Damn it…” Where could she turn? She had no idea what she could do to help Rex. She hated the thought that her brother was hurting as badly as she was. And she could no longer justify canceling her evening with Myles.
Jake’s voice out in the yard brought her around to face the door. He was home. She could see him charging toward the house and was glad that Vera was behind him, hobbling up to say hello instead of just dropping him off.
“Mom?” Jake flung the door wide only to find her standing about three feet away from him. “Oh, there you are. We had so much fun!”
She wanted to hug him. To hold him close and never let go. But he was wet and didn’t smell all that pleasant. And these days he wouldn’t tolerate more than a short squeeze. “Did you catch anything?”
“Three rainbow trout! They’re in the cooler. But I don’t know how to gut them and neither does Nana. Do you think Sheriff King’s at home?”
Great. Another reason for him to turn to Myles. “Not yet,” she said. “But I can go online and look for a tutorial. Want me to do that?”
“Nah, Sheriff King will know how.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Where’s Mia? I want to show her.”
Vivian propped up her smile with a bit more determination. “In her room.”
He dashed around her, yelling his sister’s name as Nana Vera reached the front door. “He had such a good time,” she said, using the doorjamb to help her get up that final step.
Vivian held out an arm to steady her. “I didn’t realize you knew how to fish.”
She shrugged her bony shoulders. “I don’t. But there was a book on it at the library. I read it last week. Then I went down and bought what it said I’d need. Somehow…it worked. Jake and I both learned something today,” she added with a tired laugh.
Vivian shook her head. “I’m impressed.”
“I’m a better fisherman than I thought. But I don’t have the foggiest idea what to do with those poor creatures now that they’re in my ice chest. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting to catch a thing.”
“Beginner’s luck.” Considering the smell, the mess and the revulsion factor, maybe they should let her son seek Myles’s help. “I’m sure we can get Sheriff King to teach the kids.”
Vera adjusted her wide-brimmed hat. She was also wearing long pants and a lightweight yellow jacket to protect her from the sun. “I doubt he’ll have time,” she mused. “Not today.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s probably at the autopsy. And who knows what he’ll have to do afterward.”
“The autopsy’s today?” Myles hadn’t mentioned it when he stopped by earlier. He was so careful to keep the details of the case to himself.
“According to Lawrence Goebel.”
Goebel was the county coroner. He was also Vera’s ballroom dance partner. They went down to the veterans’ hall once a month and took a few turns around the dance floor, but a decade earlier, they’d entered numerous competitions. Vivian thought they owned every ribbon that could be won in this region. She’d once asked Vera why she’d never gotten romantically involved with Goebel—they made such a handsome couple—and Vera had whispered that she and Goebel were both interested in the same man. To their mutual disappointment, that man had recently married a third party. “What does he have to say about the murder?” Vivian asked.
“Pat was killed by blunt-force trauma.”
Vivian raised a finger to indicate silence. Jake was bringing Mia down to see his prized fish. Although the children would hear about the murder eventually, Vivian didn’t want them to be frightened by the more gruesome details—probably because of the images that still haunted her.
Only after they’d brushed past and run outside did she resume the conversation. “What kind of blunt-force trauma?”
“Who knows? But the killer used something to bash in his head.”
“A rock? A lamp?”
“Could’ve been either, I suppose. It was a furnished rental. But…”
“What?”
She looked around as if double-checking that they were alone. “Gertie had to go through the place this morning and take inventory, poor thing.”
“Was she able to do it?”
“With her sister’s help.”
“Was anything missing?”
“Just an electric can opener.”
Vivian backed up a step. “That’s the murder weapon?”
“Used with enough force, an electric can opener can crush a skull as easily as a bat or a rock, I suppose.”
Sickened by the thought, Vivian bit her lip. Poor Pat. Had The Crew done this to him? If so, would she be able to find out before it was too late?
“Did Larry say if the sheriff has his eye on any particular person?” She needed a hint of reassurance, something to tell her she was overreacting.
But she didn’t get it.
“They have no motive and no witnesses,” Vera said, “which means they have no suspects and very little chance of tracking down the culprit.”
9
The motorcycle vibrated beneath Vivian as she clung to the man driving it. Sheriff King
seemed to be taking the winding road too fast. But maybe it only felt that way because she hadn’t been on a bike in years. She wasn’t used to the exhilaration, the sense of freedom and power, or the other feelings that arose as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him…?.
He’d given her a leather jacket and a helmet to wear. She hadn’t asked where he’d gotten them but they were obviously closer to her size than his. She assumed they’d belonged to his late wife. It was too sad to imagine what Amber Rose must’ve gone through before she died, and what Myles and Marley must’ve suffered. So Vivian chose not to think about it. She told herself she was simply grateful that he’d been practical enough to bring them. Warm as the day had been, the temperature was dropping rapidly as they barreled through the mountains.
“You okay?” he yelled when she kept shifting.
Her gun, which she’d shoved into her waistband, was cutting into the small of her back. She’d been trying to ease the discomfort and put some space between them at the same time. The gun she could move. But with the bike leaning this way, then that, it required constant effort not to plaster herself against him.
Should she ask him to slow down? No. She’d come out with Myles tonight to convince him that she was tough enough to take care of herself. Learning that she was frightened of riding on a motorcycle would hardly boost his confidence, especially when he seemed so comfortable on the bike, as if it was merely an extension of his muscular body.
“Fine!” she assured him.
Apparently taking her at her word, he opened the throttle, and she squeezed her eyes shut as they flew around the next turn and the next.
After that, Myles didn’t attempt to communicate with her. It was too difficult to hear above the engine. Vivian didn’t want to talk, anyway. The noise created a buffer that distanced her from everything, even her cares and worries. For tonight, her children were safe and so was she. Not only that, she had the whole evening, and the longer they traveled, the easier it became to relax. Soon nothing mattered except the speed and roar of the bike and the man driving it.
After an hour or so, Myles turned off the highway and down a dirt path that led into the woods. She got the impression that he was taking her to a cabin—and he was—but there was also a small clearing that became a beach. It sloped down to a lake about the same size as the one they lived by.
“This is beautiful,” she said when he cut the engine.
He barely grunted. He didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. But she didn’t care that he wasn’t Mr. Congeniality tonight. With the sun beginning to set and the weather so mild, she was content to revel in the moment.
After lowering the kickstand, he waited for her to get off before swinging his own leg over the seat. She hesitated a few steps away, tempted to ask how he’d found this place. But she didn’t. They’d reached a tentative peace, and she didn’t want that to change. Besides, she liked being here without feeling any pressure to entertain him.
He set his helmet on the seat and she handed him hers, which he put beside it. Then he got a sack out of his saddlebags and strode to the cabin as if he assumed she’d follow. He didn’t beckon her or even turn around to see if she was coming.
Something had changed since he’d been at her house earlier. He’d made a decision. She could sense it. He’d been matter-of-fact, purposeful. For her part, she’d been so grateful he wasn’t pressing her for information about her ex-husband or why she had a gun in the house that she’d been willing to discount his aloofness as preoccupation with the murder.
Maybe he wasn’t pleased with the results of the autopsy or he was concerned about some aspect of the case, but so far he hadn’t even checked to be sure she’d brought her gun.
When they got to the door, he pulled out a key with a tag that indicated this was a rental. That was when Vivian realized he’d come here with a very specific agenda, one that had nothing to do with the murder—or the target practice she’d been expecting.
“What’s…” She swallowed hard. “What’s this all about?”
His eyes riveted on hers, but he didn’t answer. He just waved her into the cabin ahead of him.
With walls of half-sawn logs, antler light fixtures and animal-skin rugs, the inside looked like a clean but rustic hunting lodge. They passed through a small mudroom with pegs for coats and a metal trough for snowy boots, which sat empty. After that, they encountered a small kitchen and dining area with a view of the lake. A family room—furnished with a gas stove, U-shaped leather couch and bookshelves crammed with books, magazines and games—took up most of the ground floor, along with a master suite at the back, a half bath and a ladder leading to a loft where, Vivian guessed, she’d find more beds, probably bunk beds for renters who had children.
So…why were they here?
Her palms began to sweat as she became more and more certain of his intentions.
Folding her arms, she backed up against the closest wall. “I don’t understand.” That was a lie; she understood very well. Too well. She just didn’t know why he’d changed his mind.
He threw the keys on the kitchen table and tossed her the bag he’d carried in.
Vivian was almost afraid to open it. When she did, she barely resisted the urge to drop it and run outside. “You brought…condoms?” Her voice went up on the last syllable; she couldn’t help it. There was other stuff in there, too. Lubricant. Lotion. A G-string. She could hardly breathe as she took the G-string out and held it up. “Really?”
A boyish grin curved his lips. “Put that on for me.”
He couldn’t be serious. When she merely gaped at him, he stood in front of her with one hand on the wall above her head. “This is what you wanted, right?” He ran a finger down the side of her face. “What you asked me to give you?”
Yes! But that was last night. She’d been drunk last night. Today she wasn’t so sure. “I—”
“Don’t worry.” His thumb caught on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “I accept your terms. You can have it your way.”
“My terms?” There was an air of mischief about him. This wasn’t what it seemed. And yet…
His eyes met hers again. “No repeats. No strings attached. Tomorrow, we’ll go our separate ways as if it never happened. But for now, you can have it as down and dirty as you want.”
Down and dirty. He was trying to intimidate her, make her nervous. And it was working. “What about my, um…what about the gun? I thought—”
“You have it with you?”
“You said to bring it.” She removed it from her waistband and he took it but only so he could put it on the table.
“We’ll deal with that another day.”
“Why not now?”
He grinned again. “You’re stalling.”
Breathing became as difficult as swallowing. “It’s important, don’t you think?”
“It can wait.”
She twisted to be able to see her Sig. “How long?”
Cocking his head to the side, he blocked her view of anything else and gave her a look that taunted her sudden terror. “What’s the matter, Vivian? You were sure talking tough last night. Been making promises you can’t keep?”
Frantically trying to gain control of the situation, or at least to stop panicking, she licked her lips. “You—you turned me down, remember?”
“You’d had too much to drink. I couldn’t take advantage of my beautiful neighbor.”
“That’s the only reason you refused?”
“No,” he said. “But you’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”
She didn’t know what to do. Shoving him out of the way so she could get to the door came to mind. She knew he’d let her go. But beautiful neighbor had her a bit entranced. And the way he was looking at her added to the paralysis caused by those words, made her feel as if she was melting from the inside out. “Your rejection was pretty humiliating.”
She was teasing—and stalling—and he knew
it. He toyed with the hair above her ear. “Good. Now you know how it feels.”
“That’s why, when someone turns you down, you don’t ask again,” she said.
“Unless you can tell they don’t really want to turn you down.”
What could she say to that? She already knew he’d noticed her acute interest in him. He’d mentioned it last night.
“So here’s your chance to say yes,” he prompted.
His warm breath carried the scent of spearmint gum. She liked spearmint…?. “What if I stick with no?”
“Then you have to go out with me. Dinner in Libby. Once.”
So that was his game. But if they went to dinner, they’d talk. He’d ask her where she was from, if she had any family, where her family lived, why she had no contact with them. She’d have to dance around the truth, one question after another. He’d think he was getting to know her when, in reality, he’d only be coming to know the fictional character she’d created. What was the point?
She hated the lies. That was the reason she didn’t date, why she avoided social gatherings altogether, at least any that required conversation beyond the superficial, especially if she didn’t have the buffer of her children. “And if I say yes?”
His smile disappeared. “You know what you’ll get if you say yes.” He’d been setting her up, forcing her into a corner this whole time, hoping she’d capitulate and date him. But he was aroused. Maybe he’d crept a little too close to the fire. Because if she said yes, she had no doubt he’d deliver. There’d be no talk. Only sensation. Like the ride on his bike. She could completely escape her life, her precarious situation. For however long it lasted, she wouldn’t be touched by the fear that constantly plagued her. And then, after that, there’d be no contact.
“I’m not so bad to have dinner with,” he murmured. Obviously he’d rented this cabin, purchased sex aids and put her on the spot because he believed that with her normal inhibitions back in place she’d chicken out. He was calling her bluff, trapping her into finally accepting his dinner invitation.
