What is it about this guy? If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d be running to the cops or at the very least to my dad, but something holds me back. Call it loyalty, or standards, or stupid, no matter how I work it all through in my head I can’t and could never bring myself to expose him.
I just didn’t realize how much I cared about him until I pulled away from him. Every time I see him, I hope my draw to him will lessen, that I won’t feel the overwhelming urge to touch him in some way, to hug him, hold his hand, or press my lips to his, but I do. I feel it every single time.
I fist my hands in my hair and groan. “You’re sick, Shy…sick, sick, sick.”
A loud knock sounds at my window and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Cody’s standing by my door glaring. “’Bout friggin’ time.” He pulls open the door to reach over me and grab the checkbook. “Hey…” He tilts his head. “You feeling okay? You seem, I don’t know, pale.”
“Fine. I’m good.” I throw the truck into reverse, happy to get the hell away.
“Whoa, not so fast.” Cody reaches in and throws the transmission into park. “Dad needs you.” He walks away and I’m paralyzed, not with fear, at least not in the typical sense, but anxiety has me dreading leaving the safety of the truck.
I’m going to have to face him eventually. It’s not like he’ll even speak to me after the way I’ve treated him, ignoring his attempts to connect.
I push out the door and move to the house, thankful that my dad is the first person I see. I scurry up to his side. “Hey, Dad. Cody said you needed me?”
My hands tug impatiently on the hem of my T-shirt and my dad peers down at me through a narrow gaze. “Where’s the fire, Shy?”
“Fire? No fire, just ya know, work to do back at the office.” Male voices boom from behind me and I turn, thankful I don’t see Lucas. “Lots of work, so what’s up?” Get to it, man!
He doesn’t seem convinced but ignores my edginess. “I want you to head over to the Dover house. It’s a single level, end of the cul-de-sac. Four-seven-seven is the street number. Woman’s name is Gabby Anderson.”
“Sure, what do I do when I get there?”
“She wants to redo her kitchen and dining room and she’s looking for some custom pieces.”
My heart drops into my stomach like a brick.
“…need him to take a look at the space, get some ideas of what can be done…”
No, no, no!
“…get along so well, figured you could go with him.”
“What? Why?”
My dad’s glare grows impossibly tighter. “He ain’t good around new people, Shy. You know that. You do the talking while he takes a look around.”
“Have him take Cody, or”—I motion around the job site—“one of these guys. I really have too much to—”
“Go.”
I blink at my dad’s abrupt dismissal of my lame excuse. “But—”
“Hurry. She’ll only be there till two.” He turns back to what he was doing, not open to further argument.
What the hell.
I have no choice. He’s given me no choice!
My heart thunders in my chest as I drag my feet outside and after a quick search find Lucas at the circular saw. His hat is still backward and he’s wearing protective glasses that make most men look dorky, but with Lucas’s powerful bone structure and model-worthy skin, they look like designer shades.
It’s impossible to take a full breath as I move to him and brace for him to notice me.
He makes a quick cut, catches me out of the corner of his eye, and moves slowly to standing upright. Is he taller than he used to be or am I starved from not being near him? Ripping off the protective glasses, he stares at me with a blank expression.
I think back to the photos I saw of him on the Internet. Same blank stare. His emotions tucked deep, protecting himself.
“Hey, Lucas.”
“Ma’am…” He shakes his head and drops his gaze to my neck. “Shyann.”
I swallow hard. “I…um…My dad, he said you need to go to a house and give a bid for some custom—”
“Yes.”
“He’s asked that I go with you?” Not sure why that came out as a question other than the fact that although doing this is an order from our boss, I feel the need to gain his permission.
He pulls off his hat and flips it forward on his head, then pulls it low over his eyebrows. “Now?”
I nod.
“Oh…” He grabs his tape measure and brushes sawdust off his shirt and jeans. “Okay.”
“I can drive.”
His chin lifts, and even though I can’t see them very clearly, I feel his eyes on me. “No. I’ll meet you there.”
“Lucas, you don’t—”
“It’s okay, Shyann,” he whispers. “I understand.”
I blink and shake my head. “Understand? Understand what?”
He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’m sorry, okay. I know I’ve been distant, and it’s probably been really confusing for you. I just…” Did Gage murder your family?
“I don’t want to make trouble for you. Nash and Cody, they’ve done so much for me and I can’t afford to…” He sighs. “Never mind.”
My chest hurts at the rejection in his face and suddenly this week of silence between us feels pointless. I’ve promised him honesty and then tucked tail when I should’ve just talked openly about what I’d learned, but at the risk of provoking Gage. I was protecting myself and I dragged him through the mud to do it. Typical Shy. “Let me come with you, okay? You can drive, and we can talk.”
“I don’t know—”
“Please, Lucas.” Now it’s me who’s fidgeting. “It’s only been a couple of days, but…” I dart my eyes around, then study the dirt in front of my feet. “I miss you.”
A hiss escapes his lips.
“Please…”
He doesn’t answer, but his eyes grow intense, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. Seconds tick by until finally he nods.
We move in silence to his truck and with the drive to the house on Dover being less than five minutes, I never build up the courage to talk to him about what I learned. In typical Lucas form, he doesn’t push to fill the silence with conversation.
At the house, I take the lead and knock on the door when a woman in her midthirties answers.
“Mrs. Anderson, I’m Shyann Jennings.”
She smiles and offers her hand. “Nice to meet you, and please, call me Gabby.”
“This is Lucas. We’re here to take a peek at the kitchen and dining room you were looking to get some custom woodwork done for?”
She offers her hand to Lucas and he visibly tenses. I contemplate pressing my palm against his back to encourage him and hopefully offer him comfort but before I do he reluctantly offers his hand for a quick shake.
“Come on in.” Gabby shows us the space and explains she has somewhere to be soon, so excuses herself to get ready. I stand back in the corner and watch in awe as Lucas moves around the space. Focused, his gaze slides along every surface in a visual caress while the creative wheels spin inside his head.
He stops at corners to do quick measurements, then moves to the next. In the kitchen it’s more of the same. Study, move, measure. Study, move, measure.
Every time he lifts his arms, I get a flash of his firm stomach and a strip of dark hair that disappears into his jeans. The long, corded muscles of his arms flex with every pull of the tape measure and images of being held in those arms have me squirming.
“Okay.” He doesn’t face me but shoves his things into his pocket, indicating he’s finished.
“Get what you need?”
He nods and quickly moves through the house, then outside to wait in his truck while I say goodbye to Gabby and let her know my dad will be in touch with a proposal.
The walk back to the truck is like marching to my own execution, because while I care deeply for Lucas, I can’t be
with someone capable of murder. I’ve read the news accounts of what happened to Lucas’s family, but there are still unanswered questions, and before I walk away from this man for good, I will get the truth.
Just like Momma always said, like a dog with a bone.
Twenty-Six
Lucas
If I didn’t know better, I’d think Nash Jennings hates my guts.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for the torture he’s putting me through. Having Shyann so close, stuck in my truck with her and that penetrating stare, all while knowing I can’t have her.
The only thing worse is not seeing her at all.
She waves goodbye to Mrs. Anderson and I wipe my clammy hands on my thighs, forcing my pulse to slow. I blame my rapid heart rate on Mrs. Anderson. There’s nothing wrong with the woman, but women of her age, especially those who are confident, remind me of a time in my life I’d rather forget.
“Hey, sorry that took so long.” The corner of Shy’s mouth hooks up in a shaky smile, making me want to press my fingertips against her lips and soothe her nerves. “Do you…uh…have some time so we can talk?”
“No.” I don’t want to hear her talk about all the reasons why whatever we had didn’t work, don’t want to hear her confirm all the ways I’m not good enough for her. I turn from my leaning position on the hood of my truck and slide into the driver’s seat.
Her shoulders deflate and she climbs in beside me. I fire up the engine, hoping she’ll leave it alone, not force me to confess how miserable I’ve been not seeing her, how much I’ve missed her friendship, how often I’ve dreamt of her lips.
She cocks her knee and turns, facing my side head-on. “Lucas, there’s something I need to say to you and I’ll say it while you’re driving, but I think it would be better…safer…if we went somewhere to talk.”
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”
I catch a glimpse of her confusion from the corner of my eye. “What do you mean, you understand?”
“I don’t want you to feel unsafe with me, Shyann, but I can’t change what I am.”
“What are you?” she whispers.
“I’m split.” I don’t look at her but I can feel her eyes boring into me.
“Pull over.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The sooner I get away from her the better chances I have of not falling at her feet, begging for another chance.
Her warm hand touches my biceps and the muscle jumps in response. “Please.”
“Don’t. I can’t…” I lick my lips, forcing any excuse I can find out of my throat. “I can’t afford any trouble. You know I can’t. Even the guy at the feed store has warned me—”
“Hold on. Who?” There’s anger in her voice and my already amped up emotional state has me seeing spots. “What did Dustin say?”
“It doesn’t matter.” We stop at a red light and I chance a look. “I think it’s best we stay away from each other.”
Her eyelids flutter and she shakes her head. “No, Lucas—”
“You were right to avoid me. As much as it hurts to let you go, to see you and feel so far away, I can live with that kind of torture. I welcome it even, because I know the pain of not having you means you’re safe.” The light turns green and I’m forced to pull my eyes away from her.
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, Lucas. I want to talk to you about why, but first, let me straighten something out.” The heat of her hand rests on my thigh and she leans in close. “Dustin and Gage have some bad blood between them. You remember I told you about that, right?”
“I remember you told me about the bar. I didn’t know that was him.” I think back to his words. It’s a little late for an apology, don’t you think? “Makes more sense now.”
“Dustin knows how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel about me, Shy?” I practically choke on my own nerves.
She sighs, and I can feel her looking at me, but I can’t meet her gaze. “I feel more than I’ve felt in a long time when I’m with you. I’m scared, Lucas, because…”
I turn to her, hoping she’ll finish that sentence and reveal she’s just as freaked out about us as I am.
“You’re right. I’m safer without you.” She chews her bottom lip and then huffs out a breath. “But the thought of living without you is worse than my fears.”
Could that be true? Could she possibly feel as lost as I do when we’re not together? My hands shake and to be safe I pull over on an old road that leads to an abandoned mill. I shut the truck off. The air in the cab thickens between us and my mind clambers to sort the million questions that jumble my head.
“Then what happened? What did I do to chase you away?”
She groans. “You didn’t do anything. I…” Her fingers fist into her hair. “Dammit, this is so hard.”
Her silence weighs down the air in the truck and I’m tempted to open a door, stick my head out, and suck in much needed oxygen.
“I saw your employee paperwork, Lucas,” she whispers.
My spine stiffens and I stare at nothing in front of me.
“Your name. I’ve heard your name before.” As if every molecule of air between us swells, the space between us strings tight with tension. “Menzano. I know all about you, Lucas,” she whispers.
No. She can’t know; she’ll hate me if she knows.
“I know about the Menzano Massacre.”
I hold my breath, praying I imagined those words and she didn’t just confess to knowing what I did.
“Lucas?”
My throat closes in and my head spins. She knows…but only knows what the news reported, the details released from my case, but still to this day, no one knows the truth. Not even me.
“Lucas, please talk to me.”
The warmth of her hand hits my forearm and I recoil, trying to melt into the door. My hands shake as visions play out before my eyes like a bad dream.
The confusion, the blood, the voices of panic all around.
“You’re shaking—”
Finding out my mother was dead.
“…scaring me, Lucas…”
My brothers.
“…breathe!”
My baby sister.
“Lucas! Breathe!”
Shyann, my only friend, the only woman I ever cared for, knows how sick I am. She trusted me once; even knowing about Gage, she accepted me. No way she’d believe in me now, knowing what I am, what I’m capable of.
“Lucas, please!”
“I think…I killed them.”
Twenty-Seven
Shyann
I suck in a quick breath at Lucas’s confession.
He did it. He killed his family.
Everything I read online said after a hung jury and a retrial the case was dismissed due to insufficient evidence. The entire family’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapon. The angle of the gunshot entry wounds were sketchy, and eventually, after Lucas was held in juvenile detention for almost three years, it was determined to be a mass suicide and he was released. Controversy stirred around the case because of Alexis, the youngest victim. It seemed unlikely that a seven-year-old would willingly commit suicide, but nothing could be proven without witness testimony.
Whatever Lucas said, there’s no way he’s capable of murder.
But Gage, for Lucas’s protection, I believe, would kill.
I study the man now, so different than the boy from the pictures online, and yet somewhat the same. He’s pressed against the door, eyes cast out the window. I don’t see a cold-blooded killer; I see a shattered soul who’s pieced himself back together and despite his abuse has shown nothing but compassion and selflessness, putting his own desires aside by staying away to ensure my protection.
So I’ll risk safety to give him what he needs.
I reach for him with shaky fingers and slide them behind his neck. “Lucas?”
“I can’t…breathe.”
My eyes burn as he becomes more and more like a boy and less like the man I’ve come to know. The man I’ve come to care deeply for.
“The air…I can’t.”
“Okay.” I hop out of the truck and jog around the hood to the driver’s side. Cautiously I open the door.
“Come on out.” I try to sound strong, try to force a steady voice despite my anxiety. “You need fresh air, Lucas. It’ll be okay.”
I peel his fingers back from their clenched position at his thigh.
He’s shaking and his palm is sweaty, but he grips my hand. “Why…? Why are you doing this to me?”
My heart fractures and shreds through me. I don’t want to hurt him, I never wanted to hurt him, but I can’t stand secrets between us. My job has always been to seek out information and search for the truth. That’s all I want. I never expected what I’d learned about Lucas to tear him down so low.
I hold tight to his hand and tug. “Come on. You need to stand, get some air. It’ll be okay.” My voice cracks and I realize the lie in my words. It won’t be okay; nothing about any of this is okay.
My conscience whispers that I am holding on to the hand that was responsible for ending the lives of four people, three of them children.
I’m in the forest alone with a self-proclaimed murderer and although I trust Lucas completely, I sense Gage just below the surface.
He drops out of the truck but only to lean back against it, his head bowed, his free arm wrapped around his body and tucked under his biceps. He tries to free the hand in my grip but I refuse to let him go. “I never wanted you to find out.”
“I don’t believe it was your fault.”
He shakes his head. “How can you say that?”
“You tried to kill yourself. You”—my gaze darts to the angry scar on his neck—“shot yourself in the neck.”
“Yeah, I…I don’t remember that. I don’t remember any of it because…” He lifts his chin and his gray eyes glisten. His eyebrows pinch together and he blinks slowly. “I wasn’t there.”
“Gage.” The single name reverberates in the air around us, sending goose bumps racing up my legs, down my arms, and across my neck.
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