by K. A. Tucker
Not likely.
“I thought he moved out!” Ginny’s reedy voice hollers.
Sheriff Gabe has thrown a leg over the fence and is headed my way, his boots crunching the gravel. I don’t really know him, not the way I know Meredith and Amber. He made a total of three visits to the hospital simply to say that there was nothing new to report about the investigation. For a man who deals with politicians, the media, and citizens, he’s not much of a talker. But his very presence—strong and controlled—must make up for it.
“Good morning, Ginny.” He reaches up to tip his hat toward her, ignoring her comment, making his way over to me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
His lips purse together and he nods once. I guess that’s his answer. Glancing back over his shoulder toward the house, where Ginny’s settling back down into her porch swing, he says, “I see Ginny’s in fine form?”
That makes me smile. “She’s okay.”
“I saw you in the barn earlier today, helping her with the horses. That’s good. She appreciates the help, even if she won’t ever say it.”
Now it’s my turn to nod. “You do a lot for her, don’t you?”
“I try to. Before her dad died, I promised him that I would. Our families go way back.” He pauses. “I’m glad you chose to come here. It was smart.”
“I didn’t have many options,” I admit, then quickly add, “but I’m glad, too. It’s beautiful here.”
He offers a small smile. “You’ll be safe here.”
Safe. That word. What does it really mean? Did I think I was safe before, too? Before I wasn’t? “Any news on my case?”
His frown returns. “No. All of the evidence is catalogued and I’m waiting for a break. I’m still watching the missing persons reports, but nothing fits.” Every time Sheriff Gabe talks about the investigation, he makes it sound like he’s taken on all the work himself. “There’ve been no inquiries of any kind coming across my desk.”
“So . . . what does that mean?”
He begins fumbling with the badge on his chest. “It means I don’t think whoever did this is actively looking for you. It was probably a guy driving through, on the way east or west, putting as much distance between your body and himself as he could. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of a body being dumped in the wilderness. He probably didn’t realize you were still alive. And with no DNA match to the criminal database, no witnesses, and no information about you, I’m aiming at targets in the dark. In outer space.”
I frown. “But didn’t you say the place was just outside town? That’s not really the wilderness, is it?”
“It is for city folk.”
“So, you’re saying he’s just going to get away with what he did to me.” The faceless man in my nightmare, his promise still weighing heavily on my mind, will walk free. Unpunished.
“I’m saying you’re safe here and you can put all of your focus on getting better. You don’t need to be afraid. As long as the guy thinks you’re dead, he has no reason to come back. So let’s keep it quiet. The people in Sisters don’t need to know the truth.”
He’s telling me to lie. Just like Amber did. I nod slowly.
Still grazing in the corral, Felix and Felix suddenly take off, the brown horse chasing the black one as they gallop through the stream, their powerful legs sending water splashing in every direction.
Water, splashing.
Water . . . splashing . . .
My eyes widen.
“What’s wrong?” Sheriff Gabe asks, sudden panic in his deep voice.
“I don’t . . .” My deep frown tugs at my scar. “I’m not sure . . .” There’s something . . . A feeling.
Is this what Dr. Weimer warned me about? A fragment of a memory?
“What is it?” Sheriff Gabe pushes, moving to stand in front of me to block my view of the stream, his stern, authoritative tone now in full effect, eyes black as coal sinking into me.
I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, especially mine. It’s so vague, I couldn’t even describe it if I wanted to, except to say that it made me feel . . . happy.
“Jane?”
Ugh. Ginny’s right. Even Felix would be better than Jane. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. I was hoping it was something, but . . .” I shake my head slowly, watching the horses as they disappear over a crest. I guess that’s the only clue they’re going to give me and it’s not enough. “It’s not.”
Sheriff Gabe’s shoulders sag, almost with relief. “Amber gave you my direct line, right?”
I nod. The cell phone she dropped off yesterday came fully programmed with all of their numbers. Except for Jesse’s. For some reason, I noticed that straight away.
“Also, Jane, I need a name. The judge will sign off on the paperwork and we can get you temporary identification quickly, but I need a name.”
“How about Felix?” I joke half-heartedly.
He lets out a loud snort. It’s as close to a laugh as I’ve ever heard from him. “Listen, you can’t drive that truck off this property until you have a license. I don’t care what Ginny tells you. I’m still the sheriff.”
“Got it,” I agree solemnly. He tips his broad-rimmed hat, and then strolls away.
FIFTEEN
Jesse
then
“Jesse?” Her voice peels my attention away from the engine block I’ve been staring at for the past half hour. She’s standing in the doorway, her blond hair hanging damp around her shoulders, a bowl in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.
“Hey.” It comes out scratchy. It’s the first word I’ve said to anyone today, aside from Licks. I had to drag myself out of bed this morning to get here. Normally, I sleep until at least noon on the Saturdays that I’m not working. “Thanks for letting me in.” I assume it was Alex who opened the gate when I buzzed and rolled open the garage door when I pulled up to the house. Her car is the only one in the driveway. “I guess Viktor’s not around?”
“No. He didn’t come home last night. He just texted to see if you were here. He’s on his way.” A look of resignation passes across her face but she says nothing more about it. Maybe her candor about her husband last night was on account of the beer she chugged in front of me. She herself admitted that Viktor doesn’t let her drink. “I figured you could use breakfast.” My heart picks up its pace as she takes the three steps down, her blue jeans tight around her long, slender thighs. She’s wearing another T-shirt, but this one’s oversized and sliding off one of her thin shoulders.
“How’d you know?”
“That you don’t take care of yourself? Lucky guess.”
“I told you, you don’t have to do this.”
“I know I don’t have to.”
I start laughing when I look down to see the blue balls floating around the creamy yogurt.
She cocks her head playfully. “Not even blueberries? They’re my favorite.”
“Not even blueberries.”
She shrugs, still smiling, taking several steps toward the door. “I figured it was worth a shot. I’ll leave the bowl here, in case you feel like impressing me. More than you do.” She adds quickly, “With the cars, I mean.” Her cheeks flush with red.
I watch her take another step and bump into the boxes with the brake parts. One tumbles, hitting the ground with a rattle. Her eyes widen with panic. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry!”
I chuckle at her sudden shyness and her clumsiness. She’s cute when she’s awkward. “It’s fine. They’re car parts, not china.”
Her bottom lip slips between her teeth and then she bursts out laughing. It’s an infectious sound and it lights up her entire face. I’m pretty sure she’s laughing at herself.
I hope so. Because I love a girl who can do that.
A slew of Russian words fly from Viktor’s mouth as he marches past the open garage door, a phone in his ear. I try to keep my focus on the engine that’s now sitting on the floor, a mess of cylinder caps a
nd valves and bolts, but it’s hard, especially when I hear who he’s talking to.
There’s a pause, and then in English, “I am a busy man, Alexandria. You should know. You are out spending my hard-earned money right now! . . . I do not have time to chauffeur you around . . . No . . . Maybe waiting two hours for roadside assistance will teach you to watch your gas levels after this. Or, you can always walk the five miles.”
Oh Jeez. What is with that woman and cars?
He jabs at the “end” button and then to me, he raises his index finger. “When you marry a woman, Jesse, make sure she has some common sense. This one?” He holds up his phone, as if it represents his wife. “I married her for her youth, her beauty, her obedience, and her ability to suck my cock. I should have also looked for common sense. All she does lately is cause me headaches.” Shaking his head, he slides his phone in his pocket. “You are on your own here until she gets back. How much longer for that list?”
“I should be able to get it together in another couple of hours.”
“Good. And, just remember, the longer you take on this car, the more time you will need to work on yours.” With that thinly veiled threat, he climbs into the passenger side of his Hummer. The big blond guy from The Cellar is behind the wheel.
What a dick.
And I’m not even talking about my Barracuda. He’s going to just leave his wife sitting on the side of the road, in the rain, because she made a mistake? We’ve all made mistakes. Hell, I’ve made more than my share. I watch the gate close behind the Hummer and wonder if he’s just shooting his mouth off, acting tough. If he’s actually going to go get her.
Twenty minutes later, I still feel convinced that he’s not.
And now I can’t concentrate. Finally, I throw the wrench down and run out to my car, hitting the garage door button on my way out. He said she’s five miles out and she was shopping. The mall’s to the west, but I’m guessing she doesn’t shop at malls. So, she’s likely coming in from the trendier part in the north.
But if she’s not?
I look at the gate across the driveway . . . If I leave, I won’t be able to get back in to finish what I was working on. Viktor will be pissed.
I crank my engine.
The rain hits my windshield in sheets, the pools of water across the road pulling at my steering. Normally, all we get is a drizzle. Yet this is the second time she’s been stranded and it’s pissing rain. I’ve heard enough stories from my dad to know that drivers can get confused in heavy rain and plow into cars on the shoulder. I bite away at my thumbnail, speeding down the road, keeping my eyes peeled. What if I’m wrong and she is a mall girl?
I crest a hill to see the silver sports car pulled over on the opposite side. My chest swells with relief. And nostalgia. Even though it’s mid-afternoon, this is all too familiar.
I can just make out a single figure sitting behind the steering wheel, the windows fogged up with her breathing. Making a U-turn, I park directly in front of her. That way she can see me. Ducking from the rain, I run to her driver’s-side door and rap against the window.
There’s a long delay. And then a delicate hand wipes the fog away and Alex’s face appears. She cracks open her door, wiping the tears from her wide, red-rimmed eyes. “Jesse?” She frowns, glancing at the back of my car. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting soaked.” My sweatshirt’s drenched and clinging to my body. “So I hear you ran out of gas?”
“I was trying to make it to the full-serve near our house, but obviously I didn’t.”
“You’re not the first to ever admit to that.” I pull the door open and offer my hand. “Come on.”
“But I’ve called Triple-A.”
“And how much longer do you want to sit out here, waiting for them?”
She considers my callused palm, then slides her smooth one into my hand. She squeezes tight as I pull her out. “I have an umbrella,” she offers.
I laugh, switching hands to rope my arm around her waist and keep her close to me as we run on the shoulder. Her body tenses against me. I can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the proximity. I usher her into the passenger side and stand in the rain, waiting for her to buckle up—another by-product of being raised by a police officer and a surgeon who have seen too many ejected bodies—before I shut her door and circle my car, my fingers grazing across the rain-splattered hood.
I shiver as I climb in. “Sorry it’s not as nice as your ride.”
“Does it have gas? Because if it does, I’ll take it over my car right now,” she jokes, pulling a tissue out of her purse to blow her nose. “Did Viktor send you?”
I grit my teeth and pull onto the road. “No. I caught the conversation. Figured I’d come find you.”
“I didn’t think so.” She leans forward to inspect the heavy gray sky. “It hasn’t let up all day, has it? It’s depressing. I much prefer the sun.”
“You’re living in the wrong city, then.”
She chuckles. “Tell me about it. I grew up in Seattle. Rain is what I know best.” There’s an awkward pause. “So, where’d you grow up?”
“In the interior. Small town called Sisters. Way more sun there.”
“So you’re a small-town boy in a big city.”
“I guess you can say that.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I’ll move back again, one day.” When I can buy my own piece of land so I’m not living under “the sheriff’s” roof. Hopefully by then, he won’t run the town anymore.
“I’ve heard it’s stunning out there, all those wildflowers in the mountains. And horse ranches, right?”
“Yeah, my parents live right next door to one. Well, former ranch. The old woman who lives there now hasn’t kept it going.”
She sighs. “I’ve never seen a real horse up close.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. My mom was terrified of them. Of their size. She thought I’d be trampled to death. I’ve never been swimming in a lake, either.”
Horses and lakes are what I know best.
“I think I’d like to live somewhere like that. One day. Lie out under those stars that you can’t see here.” She pauses. “I guess I’m a city girl who should have grown up in a small town. I feel like I’ve been living in the wrong life all these years.”
I try to picture Alex—in her sparkly blue dress and exotic sports car—pulling up to Poppa’s Diner in town, where three generations of families stuff their faces with grits and sausage every weekend, and every single person sitting in there has not only seen a horse but has probably grown up riding them. The image makes me smile. Then again, I know that these clothes, this car . . . it’s not the real Alex. It’s what Viktor has made her out to be.
“Your husband’s an asshole. You should leave him.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Her gaze drops to her hands resting in her lap, her fingers tugging at the thick diamond band. “I wish it were that easy.”
Fuck it.
“He left you sitting on the side of the road.”
She clears her throat. “He’s right; it’s my fault. I should have filled up twenty miles ago.”
“No, Alex. I hope you don’t believe that. If you do, then he really is right and you have no common sense.” I catch the hurt flash across her features and immediately regret my words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Not that way. It’s just . . . he’s an asshole. He talks down to you. He was out fucking some bartender last night; we both know that.” She flinches. “Hell, I’ve seen him slap you around!”
“I know,” she admits in a whisper.
I sigh. “How much older is he than you, anyway?”
She turns away from me to look out the window. “He’s forty-two. Twenty years older than me.”
“You’re only twenty-two?” I’m two years older than her. For some reason, I assumed she just looked young. I try to picture an eighteen-year-old Amber bringing home a guy like Viktor Petrova
to meet my parents. To tell them that she’s marrying him. My dad would have his gun out in under five seconds. Where the hell were her parents in all this? Who was there to say, “Whoa! Hold up. This guy is all wrong for you!” For all that my parents are and have been, they’ve always made sure I know where they stand on my choices and my mistakes.
“Do your parents like him?” I can’t imagine anyone wanting their eighteen-year-old daughter to marry a man twenty years older.
She sighs. “I never met my dad, so I guess I don’t need his permission.”
“And your mom?”
“My mother would have married him for herself if he was willing.” Her lips press together. “She worked right up until the day that she collapsed from cancer. Twenty-five years of working with cleaning chemicals. She died before the wedding. I have nothing, no one, without Viktor.”
“And he knows it, Alex. Buying you expensive cars and jewelry doesn’t give him any right to treat you like this.”
“Well, what should I do, Jesse? Just pack a bag and leave?” She stares at her hands in her lap. “I want to finish school so I can get a real job first.”
“So you’re just going to put up with a cheating, abusive husband for how many more years? And what if he wants kids?”
“He doesn’t, believe me.” There’s venom in her voice, and I can tell there’s more to this topic of kids that she’s not telling me. “He doesn’t want me in school anymore. He said he’s not paying the tuition. My job is to take care of him. That’s why he married me. Apparently I haven’t been doing that well enough since school started.”
“I assume you signed a pre-nup?”
She shakes her head.
“Seriously? Well, hell! Take half his money and run!”
Another quick head shake. “I wouldn’t even know how to ask for a divorce from Viktor. Besides, it’s his money. He earned it.”
“What do you know about that, anyway? About how he earns his money?” It feels like the wrong word to use in relation to Viktor Petrova.
