Trent opens the passenger side door. “It’s good to see you again, Clare.” He reaches out his hand and she accepts it.
Jealousy surges through me at the sight of their hands touching. I get out of my truck, slamming the door behind me. I take a moment to breathe, to calm the fuck down, and then make my way over to my best friend. Trent gives me a handshake that turns into a half hug and then we enter his home. Clare is talking to Trent about the long drive and the shitty roads while I walk around Trent’s bachelor pad. I’ve been here before, the morning of my job interview, but it was a brief visit. I spot a flat screen television hanging above a roaring fireplace. Three gaming consoles can be seen on an entertainment system along with I don’t know how many DVD movies. I scan the titles: Gladiator, 300, Braveheart, Die Hard, When Harry Met Sally. Wait. What the hell? I am just about to ride Trent’s ass for having a chick flick among his collection when I hear Clare laugh at something Trent said. I immediately look at Trent. He gives me a shit-eating grin, one that tells me he knows what I’m thinking, what I want to do to him right now, and asks, “You two hungry?”
“Starved,” Clare says, still smiling, still pretending I am not even in the room.
“Well, you wouldn’t be if you would have eaten the breakfast I bought you.” I regret the words the second they escape my mouth. Because I sound like a fucking child. They probably expect me to flop to the floor and have a tantrum, which I am not far off from doing.
Clare gives me the look of death and then turns her attention back on Trent. “What smells delicious?” she asks.
“I made a pot of chili. Thought you two could use a hot meal.”
I know Trent is just being hospitable, but I’m pissed. “Sounds great,” I say, setting our bags down. Trent lets out a chuckle, which pisses me off. He then retrieves some bowls and spoons and places them on the kitchen counter.
“Mind if I use your bathroom, Trent?” Clare asks.
“Not at all. The guest room has its own bathroom, so make yourself at home. It’s the second room on the left,” Trent says, gesturing to the hallway. Again, Clare smiles at Trent. “Sorry, Grif, but it looks like you’ll be hitting the couch.”
“I’m used to it.” I flash Clare a look that makes that smile on her face dissipate before my eyes.
She shakes her head at me, turns on her heel and walks toward the guest room. The second she is out of sight Trent asks, “What the hell is going on with you two?” The tension in the air is too thick to ignore or even downplay. I am acting like a brat and Clare is just being…herself. I am being a jackass and I don’t know how to stop. “Does this have something to do with that boyfriend of hers?” Trent goes to the fridge and withdraws two beers. He pops the caps off and hands me a Heineken.
“Dylan wasn’t her boyfriend.” I take a much-needed gulp and set my beer on the kitchen counter. I kick out one of Trent’s breakfast bar stools and sit down. I look up at Trent and see confusion written all over his face. “It took a trip to Philadelphia, down memory lane for Clare to remember. Dylan was her father. He had found her living on the streets, homeless. He adopted her when she was a teenager. Apparently, he died last June.” I take another sip of beer and continue. “That’s where I found her yesterday. At the cemetery mourning him all over again.”
“Christ…she must be…” Trent doesn’t finish his thought. Just shakes his head and starts drinking with me. “So, her memory? Is it completely restored?”
“Philly filled in a lot of gaps. She knows who she is, that she went to Millersville University and graduated last May. She was supposed to start her teaching job in the city, but then Dylan died. She ended up staying in Millersville. It was in Millersville, after she had finished working out at the gym just a mile from her apartment, that she was abducted in the parking lot.”
“Does she remember her captors?” Trent asked.
I tell Trent everything, every vision, every detail Clare has shared with me. Trent drained his beer halfway through our conversation, but he hasn’t bothered to get up to retrieve another. Because he appears to be in shock over what I’ve disclosed. “She doesn’t remember names. She knows one of the bastards had a spider tattoo on his arm, the same guy she recalls stabbing in the throat with a scalpel. Which means he is probably six feet under somewhere. The other guy had a goatee. The woman they referred to as the Doc, her face also remains blurry.”
Trent clears his throat and paces his kitchen. After the third lap, he goes to the fridge and grabs two more beers. Trent isn’t a big drinker, so I know that what I told him has left him feeling uneasy. Trent looks toward the hallway. The door to the spare bedroom is still closed. Clare is probably taking a shower, washing off the hours we spent in the car. I don’t want to think of Clare in the shower naked, her body…
“I went to Pete’s last night. It’s where everyone goes to gossip, to shoot the shit. If anyone in this town knew about Clare, about a missing woman, I would have heard about it there.”
“And?”
“Brady Sullivan was there. We had a beer, I pretended to watch a boxing match on television. He was a little more talkative than usual, asking me how my sister was…if you were settling in okay.”
“He asked about me? Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“Not really. Quarry Hill is a small town. And you’re new here, which will give you celebrity status for a while. But don’t worry. It’ll wear off.”
“He didn’t mention a missing woman, anything at all?”
“No.” Trent sighs and stares at his beer. “I’ve known Brady since we were kids, but…”
“But what? What’s wrong?”
“I think your gut may be rubbing off on me or at the very least making me a little paranoid.”
“What did Brady say?”
“It wasn’t what he said, at least not at Pete’s, that got me thinking.” Trent shakes his head. “When I was leaving the bar I remembered something, something I hadn’t given much thought to before now.”
Trent tells me about Brady’s sister, how she overdosed when she was a teenager, how close Brady and Bree were as kids. But what really turned my stomach was when Trent described the fight between Brady and some punk named Jason Wallace...and what he told his sister as the bully hobbled away.
“He can’t hurt you. Only me, Bree. Just me.”
That’s what Brady said to his little sister as he held her, all the while smiling.
“It could mean absolutely nothing, Grif. He could have meant that Jason was only allowed to hurt him, not his sister. To ‘pick on someone your own size’ or some shit like that. I could have easily misinterpreted what he had said. And it’s been over twenty years…”
“What does your gut tell you?” I ask.
I watch Trent swallow and scratch his head. “Like something is off.”
“Then that’s where we start. We start with Brady, the town’s chief of police.”
“The chief who everyone in this town trusts. We have to be careful here, Grif. We have zero evidence that he could be involved in something so horrific. We can’t just go in and accuse him of kidnapping and trafficking. We also can’t forget about the guy with the goatee, the prick with the spider tattoo, and the woman who they called Doc.” Trent stands and walks over to the kitchen table. When he comes back, he has a manila file folder in his hand. “I printed out photos of all the female physicians in the area, women who work at the hospital and in private practices. I even included female veterinarians.” He hands me the folder. “First thing tomorrow we’ll have Clare take a look at them.”
“I would like to look at them now, if that’s alright.”
Trent and I both turn at the sound of her voice. Clare is wearing yoga pants and a fitted t-shirt. Her feet are bare, her face free of makeup. She looks beautiful. Trent stares at her a second too long for my liking. I flash him a look that tells him to take his eyes off her.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, trying to regain my composur
e.
Folding her arms across her chest, she says, “Long enough to hear that you two believe the chief of police may be involved.”
“Like I said, Clare. We don’t have any evidence, not on Brady. But we could start with the female doctor if you are up to it,” Trent says. Clare nods and her arms fall to her sides. Trent pats the bar stool next to me. “Take a seat. I’ll get you some chili while you look over the photos.”
I hand Clare the file and watch for a reaction. She sifts through the photos. I wait for her brows to rise, her breath to catch, or her body to flinch, but she doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash. The woman who performed tests on her against her will and inserted an IUD into her body is not amongst the photos.
Clare lets out a frustrated sigh. “Trent, can I borrow your computer? I would like to look at pics of the Quarry Hill police officers again. Maybe we can expand the search and pull up precincts in surrounding towns.”
Trent retrieves his lap top and begins searching with Clare at his side. I grab my phone and start with the Quarry Hill police department. Clare takes a few bites of chili, but her eyes remain on Trent’s computer screen. But like last time, she doesn’t recognize anyone, Brady Sullivan included. Another hour goes by and still nothing. I see Clare yawn as she raises a spoonful of now-room temperature chili to her lips. “Let’s continue this tomorrow,” I say.
Trent agrees and shuts his computer down. To my shock, Clare doesn’t argue. She simply hops off her stool, leans over and kisses Trent on the cheek. I don’t get so much as a nod. I watch her walk to her room and close the door behind her.
I want to put my fist through the wall. I know I have no right to be mad at Trent, but rational thought flew right out the window the second those plump lips of hers feathered my best friend’s cheek.
“Relax, I know she’s yours,” Trent says. Miranda flashes before my eyes, of her fucking my brother, of her betraying me for over a year. Trent grips my shoulder and looks me in the eye. “I’m not Colin. And I would never cross that line…ever.”
I feel like an asshole. Trent opened his home to me and Clare and is doing everything he can to find out who is after the woman I am obsessed with, and what do I do? I pretty much accuse him of wanting a woman who doesn’t even belong to me.
I look away. “I’m sorry.” A few awkward seconds pass and then he punches my shoulder.
“Get some sleep,” Trent says.
I watch him grab a bottle of water from the fridge before he disappears into a room across from Clare’s. Exhausted, I make my way over to the couch and fall into the soft leather. The house may be silent, but the thoughts in my head are so fucking loud. I stand and retrieve the handgun from my duffel bag and place it on the coffee table. I lie back down and hope that was the only reason I’m restless. Because I’m concerned with Clare’s safety. But within minutes my mind goes somewhere else. Trent’s words play on a loop, making me more irritated by the second.
I know she’s yours.
How I wish that was true.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clare
The smell of coffee is enough to make my eyes shoot open, but it is Griffin’s scent, that sandalwood soap combo, that has me springing out of bed. Standing there wearing what I have to assume is his paramedic uniform and holding a cup of coffee in his hand, he looks beyond mouthwatering. The tips of his hair are wet and he has recently shaved. My gaze drifts to his eyes and I like what I see. He makes no attempt to hide the want in his eyes as he peruses first my bare legs and then my breasts. “I brought you coffee,” he says, placing the cup on my nightstand.
I’m wearing just a tank top and panties, but I don’t see the point in trying to cover up. He has seen it all before. But the way he’s looking at me, his pupils dilated, the vein in his neck throbbing, you would think this was the first time he has seen me like this. “Thank you,” I say, not making a move toward my coffee. I can’t stop staring at him.
“I start my new job today. I would call out, but I can’t.”
“I thought you said you were going to push your start date back a few days.”
“I did. But things are different now. Someone was at the cabin. And until we find out who it was, everything has to appear normal, which means I need to go to work.”
“What if someone finds out you’re staying here and not in the cabin you just moved into? Won’t that look strange?”
“I’ll blame it on the heater. I’ll just say that it gave out on me again and until I can get it fixed, I’m crashing at Trent’s.”
His rationale makes sense. I know he should go to work, but the thought of him leaving makes my heart drop. I shouldn’t want him, a man who can fuck a woman and then tell her he doesn’t do relationships. I’m disgusted with myself. For not being stronger. For letting Griffin McGuire get under my skin. “I’ll be fine, here,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“Trent doesn’t have to go into work until tonight, so he’ll stay with you until I get back.”
“He’s going to babysit me, you mean?” I should feel grateful that I have two men concerned about my safety, to ensure that I have around-the-clock supervision and protection, but all I can feel is the hurt this man has caused me.
“Trent’s staying here so he can keep you safe.” I watch his hands fist at his sides. “But if you need me, you can call…”
That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I explode on him and don’t regret it for a second. “You have no idea what I need!”
“You don’t know what you need. How could you when…”
“When what, Griffin? When my head’s so fucked up? Because my memories are a jumbled mess? Because I can recall some things, but other things are still fuzzy? Tell me, Griffin, tell me what you think I need since I’m so incapable in my traumatized state to make a goddamn decision, let alone have an opinion!”
“I need to go,” he says.
I walk right over to him, until we are just inches apart and say, “I may be fucked up in the head right now, and probably will be for a while, but I’m not alone here.”
I know my hands are shaking. That my voice is wavering. I can even feel my bottom lip quiver, but I also know that my words are affecting him. Heat radiates off him and I watch the muscles in his forearms clench. “What?” he asks in a dark whisper.
Matching his tone, I say, “You heard me.”
“You don’t know me,” he says.
“I know enough. I know that your past has something to do with the fact that you choose to live in the middle of nowhere, why you shut people out, why you can tell a woman that you will protect her, cherish her and then turn around and say she was a mistake.”
“You don’t have a clue…”
“I also think you either want to strangle me right now or fuck me until I can’t walk.”
His nostrils flare, the vein at his temple throbs. I look down and see a bulge in his pants. His hand finds the back of my neck and he squeezes. “Why can’t you…why can’t you…” His words end on a minty breath as his eyes dart back and forth.
He could snap my neck so easily. With just a twist of his wrist it would all be over. But even now I know he won’t hurt me. “Why can’t I what, Griffin? What do you want from me? To leave? Hightail it out of this town? That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to disappear like I never existed, like we never…”
“Enough!” he shouts. He releases me and leaves the room. I hear Trent’s voice and then a door slam. I wait a full ten minutes before deciding to venture out. Because that’s how long I needed to expel the sobs that I miraculously kept at bay while Griffin gutted me.
I wipe the last tear away and walk out of my room, only to find Trent waiting for me. He is standing in the hallway, his back to the wall, holding two cups of coffee. He gives me a sad smile and asks, “Ready to continue our research? Check out some more photos?” He hands me a cup and I attempt a smile in return.
“Thanks, the coffee Griffin brought me is cold now.�
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“Figured as much.” He pushes off the wall and starts walking toward the kitchen. “But before we hit the computer, let’s have breakfast. Are you hungry?” he asks. Even though Griffin has tied my stomach in knots, I am actually starving.
“Yes, oddly enough.” I follow him to the kitchen. A spread of bagels and at least three types of cream cheese are laid out on the breakfast bar. I take a seat on one of the stools and reach for a plate and an everything bagel. I cut it in half and start to slather some red pepper cream cheese all over the larger of the two halves. “You know, you really don’t need to babysit me all day.”
Trent grabs what looks like a salt bagel and smothers it with plain cream cheese. “Yes, I do.”
I place my bagel on my plate. “Why?”
“Because my friend cares about you,” he says, his face serious.
I snort. Which is probably the most unladylike response I could give, but his smile doesn’t return.
I take a bite of my bagel and swallow. I dab my mouth with a napkin and say, “No, he doesn’t. He feels obligated to help me because he almost hit me with his truck.”
“That’s what you think?” he asks, his brow raised. “That he drove to Philly in a snowstorm, abandoned his home and is keeping you hidden here because he feels it’s his duty?”
“He doesn’t care for me. He made that perfectly clear yesterday morning at the motel and the morning I had taken his truck and drove to the train station.”
Trent sips his coffee and sets it on the counter. “You mean the morning you uttered Dylan’s name while you slept, not long after you and Griffin were…together?”
My eyes widen and I feel my stomach drop. I don’t know what stuns me more. That Griffin told Trent we slept together or that… “I said what? Dylan?”
Trent nods.
I think back to that morning. I dreamt of Dylan earlier that night, right after we made love. And it wasn’t a pleasant dream. Dylan mutated into one of my captors, the man with the spider tattoo. “Dylan…he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my dad.”
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