Mowed Over (Sonoma Book 2)

by Mae Harden

  I've found the thread of hurt that's needling me and when I pull it, a hole rips through my chest, spilling out all the things I need to say.

  "You pushed me to trust you, but you were never honest with me. You didn't even give me a chance. And why?! Did you think I couldn't handle it? That I'd shake my finger at you or turn you in for helping people that couldn't do it for themselves?! Did you think so little of me?"

  To be fair, Ben never tries to backpedal. Never interrupts or argues. He just sits there, watching me, listening to me rail against him, his face miserable. I should feel sorry for him, but the anger is climbing in me.

  The unfairness. The hypocrisy of making me trust him when he didn't have the decency to return the favor. How many times did I come home and ask him what he did that day, only for him to lie to my face? Omit, I remind myself. It wasn't all lies. He just hid an immense piece of himself while carving me open and claiming my heart.

  A couple nights ago we laid in bed, half asleep. He stroked my hair, listening to me as I recalled the little pieces of my mom and dad that I remembered from my childhood. "I've never told anyone that," I'd said. I felt so close to him. So vulnerable. And now? Now I feel like such a fool because he could have told me then, but he didn't. I sort through a hundred other moments that he could have told me, and he didn't say a damn word. Not until he absolutely had to.

  I shiver, my jaw clenched, as I roll my shoulders. I'd hulk out and flip his desk if I wasn't 5'2" with all the raw, threatening power of a Carebear. I wish I had an expensive glass of wine to throw at the wall. I bet the shattering glass and wine dripping down the paint would be satisfying as hell right now.

  How did this morning go so far off the rails? An hour ago, I was planning breakfast and a lazy day with Ben. Now I'm imagining destroying his office just to soothe my anger. I need to get out of here. But I can't go back to my fucking house, now can I? Not when someone has been in there, touching my things and doing god knows what. Bile rises in my throat as I fight back that train of thought. I literally can't go there yet. I want to go home, but Ben is the only place that feels like home.

  Felt like home. Tears are sliding down my face, landing hot and wet on the front of my shirt. I'm not even sure when they started, but Ben stands, cupping my face in his hands, brushing my tears off my cheeks with his thumbs.

  "I'm so sorry, Lilah. Truly, I--" His voice is wracked with emotion, but I push his hands away. He feels so good, but I know that if I let him touch me now, he'll make my anger melt away and I am not ready to let go of this.

  "I need to go," I say as I turn and leave the room. I beat him to the kitchen, sweeping my belongings back into my purse and heading for the front door. He follows me silently.

  "Lilah. No. Stay here." It's not a request. His voice is commanding and if I wasn't so pissed off, I'd probably be turned on as hell right now. Too bad for Ben I'm ready to spit nails.

  "How dare you?!" I yell, whipping around to face him. "How dare you make demands right now?! This," I say, gesturing back and forth between him, "was just sex. And now it's over." I regret the words as soon as they fly out of my mouth but turn away and open the door without apologizing.

  Ben's enormous hand hits the door before I can open it more than a few inches and he leans on it with all of his body weight, slamming it shut again. He doesn't touch me, but he uses his massive frame to cage me in as I turn to face him. I'm afraid I'll see rage burning in his eyes.

  But when my eyes meet his, there's no anger or violence. All I see is desperate tenderness. And hurt. I may have gone too far with that parting shot.

  "I'll let you go in a minute, I promise," he says softly. "But you're not leaving like that. This isn't just sex. You and I both know this is more than that. I made a mistake and I'm sorry. If you need some space, that's ok. But I love you and I'm not letting you leave thinking I did this to hurt you."

  I search his face as the blood pumps through my brain, thundering and blocking out rational thought. I give him a hard look, at war with myself on how to respond, but Ben opens the door for me, and I storm out.

  He loves me? And this is how he tells me? The shitty cynical side of my brain is accusing him of saying it to manipulate me, but the rational side is fighting for control. Its squeaky little voice is all too happy to remind me that the look on his face was sincere. That voice gets louder and louder as I stomp across our respective front yards and get into my Jeep.

  Ben is still watching me from his front door, leaning one hand on the door frame. The other is running its way through his curls. I eye him and debate going back and letting him wrap me up in his big muscular arms. I just need a minute to breathe and some room to think.

  Chapter 31: Ben

  Watching Lilah drive away while doing nothing to stop her is one of the most gut-wrenching things I've ever experienced. I told her I love her, and she walked away. Well, huffed away. Fuck me and my big mouth. That wasn't the time or place to blurt that out. God knows if I'll ever be able to fix the damage I just did. I resist the urge to slam the door. I resist a lot of urges, like smashing everything in my house and calling her frantic, begging her to come back.

  I know she needs time to cool off and process, but I hate this. I hate letting her leave, but I have to give Lilah some credit. She's strong, and she's forgiving. She's kind and intelligent. She'll come around if I give her some time to work through her anger. In the meantime, I can be productive.

  Hacking phone companies is unbelievably easy. Within minutes of sitting down at my computer, I'm in the system and looking through Lilah's phone records. It's one more breach of trust I'll have to apologize for, but this is necessary. I am going to track down that stalking bastard and ruin his life so thoroughly he'll be lucky to have a gutter to sleep in when I'm done.

  There's a number hidden behind the blocked caller ID that traces to a prepaid phone. I swear to god, the number of people who think a prepaid phone can't be traced is staggering. The SIM card identification tracks to a purchase at a local electronics store. I shake my head as I pull up the credit card information and check the clock. Thirty-seven minutes. That's all the time it takes to track down the identity of Lilah's dumb ass stalker. The purchase records show a credit card purchase dated almost three months ago and the name Nelson, T.

  Hacking a major credit card website is marginally more difficult than a big box retailer and it takes me a couple minutes to access the account of one Terrance Nelson of Guerneville, California. The name rattles around in my head. I can't place it, but I know I've heard it before. I scroll through the purchase records. Most of it is benign shit. Drive through tacos, drugstore and grocery charges, a little online shopping... but one purchase stands out: $178 to ISpySupplyLLC a little over two months ago.

  A quick search for the company pulls up one of the slimiest websites I've ever had the displeasure of viewing. Trackers, mini listening bugs, nanny cams and other devices specifically marketed for sleaze-balls to spy on and record women without their knowledge. They don't even have the decency to advertise it for catching a cheating spouse. No. They're using phrases like "She'll never know!" "See what she REALLY does in private!" and "What she doesn't know won't hurt her!"

  I'm in a hurry to figure out what this douchebag ordered, otherwise I would out every single one of this website's clients to their mothers and bosses before burning this shit to the ground. As it stands, I'll have to come back to it later.

  The invoice for T. Nelson only has one item, but as I read it my lip pulls back in a twitching snarl. A magnetic GPS tracker for a car. I feel like hot tar is pumping through my veins. I hope the police get to this packet of dick sauce before I do, otherwise I might just kill him.

  I run a quick search for him on social media and pull up a page for Terrance Nelson in Sonoma County. A greasy weasel of a man looks back at me from the cover photo. Something fires up in my memories. I know I've seen him before but can't quite place it. Scrolling through the "About" section, it finally clicks.


  "Works at: Manager at Blue Ruin Speakeasy."

  "Son of a bitch," I mutter as it falls into place. Weasel Face is the manager that was giving Lilah a hard time the first night we met. She's told me a little about him. He was the reason she left the bar. He kept pursuing her after she told him no. Over and over.

  Piece of shit.

  I need to get into his computer, but it's going to have to wait. I need to find Lilah and make sure she's safe first. And I need to warn her.

  I screen shot everything I found as I tap my phone screen to call Lilah. My breath sticks in my chest as I wait to hear her voice on the other end. "This is Lilah! Leave a message."

  "Fuck!" I yell as I remember her phone, power off, sitting in my fridge.

  If Terry is tracking her car, he knows exactly where she is and I'm sitting here like a fucking idiot with no way to reach her. I rub my temples and stare at the wall. Where would she go? Her Gran's house is an obvious choice, but I think of her sister's bakery. As close as she is with Olive, I'd put my money on the bakery.

  I run for the front door as I search for the bakery phone number, grabbing my keys and dashing out the front door. I'm in the driveway when I remember the slashed tires on my car. It's sitting like a pathetic heap on the pavement.

  "Double-fucking-fuckity-fuck-fuck!"

  Chapter 32: Lilah

  As I drive, I try to wrap my head around this whole morning. My mind keeps repeating things over and over and over. From the footage of the man entering my house, to Ben's vandalized car, to his confessions...

  My heart hurts.

  I'm angry.

  I feel dirty and violated at the thought of someone skulking through my house, touching god knows what. I'm going to have to burn everything I own and start over somewhere fresh.

  As I mull things over, I wonder if I might have been a little unfair to Ben. His confession was a lot to take in, but would I have flown off the handle like that if I wasn't already upset about the video of the stalker? Probably not.

  I still would have been hurt, though.

  This was a huge secret to keep from me. Sure, we've only been seeing each other for a few weeks and it's not like he knows every single thing about me. And I suppose he can't just go blabbing that hacking stuff around to every person he meets. I'm not a lawyer, but I'm fairly certain he'd go to prison for a long ass time if he got caught.

  I shudder at the thought of Ben in a prison jumpsuit. No matter what happens between us, I’ll protect his secret.

  I wonder how many women he’s helped. How many predators and abusers has he stopped? If he was telling the truth, he’s making the world a better, safer place. Maybe his methods are a little… morally ambiguous. But I bet the people he’s helped and protected along the way don’t care.

  I've been driving aimlessly but end up outside Olive Branch Bakery. I pull in and park in the back next to the dumpsters. Olive isn’t expecting me, but I could use a coffee and a hug from my sister. I'll make it quick; I decide. And then I’ll go back and talk to Ben.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab my purse. As I pick it up, I see the little black box I found under my Jeep yesterday. Jesus, was that really just yesterday? I set my purse back down, picking up the box and rolling it around in my hands as I take another look at it. A cold weight sinks in my stomach for like the tenth time today.

  How stupid can I be? Yesterday, I wondered why a car part would be magnetic instead of wired in. The short answer is, it wouldn't be. I am a fucking idiot. A naïve, trusting idiot. If someone is bold enough to break into my house, they're sure as shit bold enough to stick a tracker on my car.

  I should call the police, but I can't tell them about the video without talking to Ben. I need to make sure I don't say the wrong thing and land him in trouble.

  Ben.

  I should call Ben. I bet dollars to donuts he could figure out who bought it and stuck it on my car before the police even finished filing a report. After what he said, and the way I left, I feel sick to my stomach. Just thinking about the look on his face when I drove away is enough to break my heart. I can't believe I said that it was just sex. Way over the line.

  I need to call him, like, right now. I need to tell him what a dummy I was, and I need to apologize my face off. I dig around in my purse looking for my phone only to realize that I left it in Ben's fridge. A little growl escapes my throat as I remember the way I stormed out while my phone languished next to Ben's bacon.

  I need to go inside and use the phone, but I don't know what to do with the box. If it really is a tracker, and I'm pretty sure it is, I really want to huck it into the nearest body of water. But then Ben couldn't use it to figure out who put it on my car, and I wouldn't be able to hand it over to the police or file a report. I can't throw it away, but I also really don't want to carry it inside. It feels tainted.

  I could hide it behind the dumpsters, I reason. No one will mess with it there, and if anyone is paying attention to its location, it would look like it's still in the parking lot. It's marginally better than keeping it in my possession or leaving it in my Jeep. The whole situation sucks so hard. Tears are welling in my eyes again, borne of the helplessness of the situation. I'm overwhelmed and frustrated, and I feel like a dick for the way I treated Ben.

  This is all so stupid. I was stupid. I want Ben. Just Ben and nobody else. And I really want to apologize for storming off after he told me he loves me. That was so shitty of me.

  I let my frustration and anger takeover, and sob into my hands for a minute before pulling myself together. I need to deal with everything that has gone wrong this morning, starting with the stupid fucking tracker.

  "Suck it up, Lilah." I mutter to myself as I brush the tears from my face. Taking the black box, I hop out of the car and scoot around the narrow space between the dumpster and privacy fence. I tuck the box on a little rail that sticks out behind the dumpster. The magnet thunks into the metal, keeping it secure. There. I'll come back for it once Ben gets here.

  I've got this, I think as I turn and brush my hands down my hips. This is fine.

  At least it would be, if there wasn't a man standing at the end of the dumpster, blocking my way. Startled and already on edge, I let out a scream before I can stop myself. My fear turns to anger when I realize I recognize the man.

  "Terry?" I ask. "What are you doing here?" He might be the absolute last person I want to see right now.

  "I've been worried about you," he says in a calm voice, as if it's perfectly reasonable for someone to sneak up on a former employee behind a bunch of trash.

  "Right... well, I'm fine," I say as I gesture for him to let me by. He pretends like he didn't see it and holds his position. A heavy dread spreads through my limbs and I feel like I'm going to be sick.

  "Why did you quit the bar? We never see each other anymore." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. The dead-eyed way he watches me coupled with his flat tone gives me the willies. I don't think I ever realized how empty his eyes look until this moment.

  "My sister needed more help here at the bakery. It sucks, but family first. You know how it is. She's probably looking for me. I should head inside, but it was great seeing you." I play dumb and force out a cheerful smile, even though I already know the truth. It was Terry. The calls, my battery, Ben's car, and the goddamn tracker. It was all Terry and I'm about five seconds from throwing up on his stupid wingtip shoes.

  Unfortunately, I'm not much of an actress and he isn't buying the innocent act. His lips pull up to the side in a sneer.

  "Don't be cute. I know it was your boyfriend who threatened me last night. I just wanted to talk to you, but he flew off the handle. He's dangerous. You shouldn't trust him. I tried to warn him. You deserve better." I catch a whiff of Terry's bargain basement cologne mixed with the dumpster smell while he's talking, and it's all I can do to keep the bile down. He should get an award for the sleaziest stalker.

  "Slashing tires isn't a warning, it's a threat," I retort. I should keep
my mouth shut. I really should. The last thing I need is for him to go crazy. Crazier, I mentally amend.

  Terry takes a step towards me, a flash of anger in his cold eyes. I could just fucking kick myself. I'm not going to get out of this by mouthing off. I can't push past him, and I'm probably not going to win any physical encounters. He may be slim, but he still has a good eight inches on me. I might be scrappy, but we're tied at best.

  Scenarios frantically flash through my head and I am kicking myself for leaving my purse in my Jeep. My pepper spray is like six feet away and completely useless. Julia is going to be so salty with me about that.

  The only chance I have is to sweet talk him. Lure him in and sneak attack. As I hold out a hand trying to keep him at arm’s length while giving him the softest look I can muster.

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was just surprising, you know. Just talk to me. It's just the two of us here." Boy, am I painfully aware that it's just the two of us. Unless someone decides to take out the trash, which is doubtful at this time of day, no one is coming to rescue me.

  Terry looks placated but holds his ground. "You were supposed to be mine. I can't let him steal you. It's not fair!" His voice cracks, rising in volume. "I'm a nice guy and I deserve you. He's just a big meathead but you couldn't see past his stupid square jaw!"

  My hands are shaking, but I do my best to hide the terror he's causing. I have to keep him calm and I get the distinct impression he won't like it if I act scared right now.

  "You're right, Terry, but he and I are through. I broke up with him this morning."

  This better be convincing as fuck.

  "Do you really care about me that much?" I ask him, forcing a small smile. "I've never had someone stand up for me like that."

  "Yeah?" he asks, surprise and hope lifting his face a little. I'm not sure what part he's replying to, but I really don't give a flying fart. He's calmer, and he's smiling back at me.