by Brenda Novak
He had another spoonful of her ice cream. “Are you afraid he might come here?”
“Of course. What’s to stop him?”
“And yet you’re acting as if nothing’s changed.”
“What else can I do? Quit living my life? Barricade myself in my house? Move again?” She frowned. “I might have to move again. I can’t bring Cassia to a place where she might not be safe. But trying to sell the house and find somewhere else to go... It’s not something I’m looking forward to.”
“I’m just surprised you haven’t said anything about it. We’ve been talking all night, and you haven’t mentioned a word.”
“You’ve had enough of your own problems. I figure you don’t need to hear about mine.”
But someone had to help her. She had a child to protect, couldn’t stand up to the man who killed her husband all by herself. “The cops can’t do anything?”
“No one can do anything. That’s the problem.”
“So what are the chances?”
“That he’ll come here? I have no clue what’s going on in his mind, if he’s glad to be free and plans to stay out of trouble, or if he’s angry and will take the opportunity to exact a bit of revenge. I lied to him that night. I had to. I did whatever I could to protect my child. And then I testified against him, so he knows I lied. The only thing I can be sure of is that he hates me now.”
“You didn’t leave a forwarding address when you left the Bay...”
“I did. My mail had to go somewhere, but for the time being it goes to a PO box.”
“Does he have contact with anyone who might tell him where you’ve moved?” Because once he heard the name of the town, it wouldn’t be hard to find her.
“Not really. But he could ask around. When I bought my house, the trial was still going on, and I was sure he’d be incarcerated for the rest of his life. I saw him shoot my husband. I couldn’t believe he’d get off after that. So I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been.”
“Meaning...your friends know.”
“The ones who didn’t abandon me before I decided where I was going to move. Then there’s Cassia’s day-care lady, and a neighbor or two, as well as a handful of other people I might’ve said something to without realizing it.”
Rod felt anxious for her. “Now I know why you’re not sleeping.”
“I wasn’t sleeping even when he was in jail. I have...nightmares about...about what happened. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that he’s standing at the foot of my bed, watching me. My sense of security is completely shot—to use a bad pun. But knowing he’s out there, free to go where he will, only makes it worse.”
And yet...what was that she’d told him when he picked her up? “But didn’t you say you were actually able to sleep last night? Did exhaustion get the best of you, or...?”
A guilty smile curved her lips.
“What is it?” he asked when she didn’t reveal what she was thinking.
“Last night I had a little help.”
“So you did take a sleeping pill.”
“No. I slept on your deck.”
He sat up straighter. “You...what?”
She rolled her eyes. “I know. It’s pathetic to go creeping over to your neighbor’s house. But it was the safest place I could think of, and I needed to crash so badly.”
“You should’ve knocked. I would’ve shared the bed.”
“After hitting on you Friday night for... Well, I wasn’t about to knock,” she said with a laugh. “Besides, I don’t want to drag you or anyone else into this. One person’s already been killed simply for being part of my life.”
“Sometimes bullies throw their weight around until someone stops them.”
“This bully is a murderer. You don’t want to mess with him.”
He scraped the bottom of the bowl, then pushed it aside. “What was he like before? When you were dating him?”
“He wasn’t perfect, by any means. But he was never particularly violent.”
The way she qualified that statement concerned Rod. “Particularly?”
“We had a few minor skirmishes,” she allowed, “but nothing big, nothing that would lead me to believe he could seriously harm anyone.”
“What made you date a guy like that in the first place? Or a Hell’s Angel, for crying out loud? I can’t see a girl like you being attracted to those kinds of guys.”
“Wow, you really did your homework.”
“I was interested.” He was still interested, maybe even more so. There was something about her that got to him, made him want to protect her.
“You and everyone else since Charlie died. I feel like my past’s been put on display for everyone to criticize.”
“I was looking for reasons to believe you.”
She smiled. “That feels good. It’s why I’m talking about this at all, why I’m trusting you after shutting everyone else out. But I can’t explain why I was attracted to bad boys. I was young and reckless, and they were...exciting.”
“You can’t tell me you thought they’d make decent husbands...”
“In those days, I wasn’t looking for a husband. I wasn’t thinking in terms of what would be best for my life.”
“You were more interested in hot sex.”
“Could be,” she said wryly. “But it was more than that. Every emotion was exaggerated. Life in the fast lane can be sort of...addicting.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Are you saying life—maybe sex—with a man like Charlie wasn’t quite the same?”
She looked pained, as if she preferred not to answer that question. Her reluctance, as much as anything else, told him she’d had no hand in Charlie’s murder. She couldn’t say a bad thing about the guy. She’d have to be able to disconnect from that in order to kill him or even want him dead. “No, of course not. It was good. Just...different.”
“Better?” he pushed. Something had been missing. What was it?
“In all the ways that’re important.”
She sounded slightly defensive, so he took it one step further. “But not in other ways, like maybe...you weren’t as sexually compatible as you’d hoped?”
Suddenly defiant, she lifted her chin. “I loved him, so that didn’t matter.”
“It’d matter to me,” he said point-blank.
Her eyes met his, revealing in their intensity. She felt something for him, if only that old attraction to men she thought weren’t good for her. Rod almost called her on it, but then she looked away and seemed to stifle what she was feeling—as if that, too, was disloyal.
“I think what I’d been searching for before was all-consuming passion,” she said. “But I’ve realized those types of relationships don’t last, except in books and movies. What I had with Charlie was a solid marriage, especially when you compare it to all the dysfunctional, volatile relationships I’d had before. He gave me consistency, dependability, unconditional love, and he was such a wonderful father.”
Rod had pushed her too far. Instead of acknowledging that despite her love for her dead husband, she was feeling the spark of attraction right here, right now, with him, she was singing Charlie’s praises. To stop her from becoming any more entrenched in the defense of her marriage, he backed off. He’d learned what he needed to know. For all the great things Charlie was, he hadn’t fulfilled India completely, not in a deep-down, intimate way.
Maybe Rod couldn’t fulfill her, either, but he wanted to try. He supposed that said a lot about the level of his attraction—that he’d choose to continue their relationship knowing she had a homicidal ex. “What would a minor skirmish with Sebastian include?”
She seemed to relax, definitely didn’t feel the same impulse to defend Sebastian that she’d felt for Charlie. “An angry shove here or there. A raised f
ist. But until that night, he never struck me.”
Rod felt his muscles tense. “He hit you?”
“Not as hard as I wish he had,” she muttered.
How was he supposed to interpret that?
She must’ve seen his confusion because she explained. “If he’d beaten me to a bloody pulp, it wouldn’t have been so hard for all our friends and his family to believe I wasn’t in league with him, and I wouldn’t be such a pariah.”
“Charlie’s family turned against you, too?”
“Not completely. Not yet. But I’m afraid that’s coming.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Things between us feel...different, strained.”
“And if he’d nearly killed you, everyone would know you were as much of a victim as Charlie was. Is that it?”
“Exactly. And then...”
“Then?”
The bell over the door jingled as a small group of tourists entered the shop. After glancing up and taking note of them, she lowered her voice. “Then maybe I could forgive myself for not doing more. If I’d managed to call for help, maybe I could’ve saved Charlie.”
They’d come full circle—back to the guilt she felt, which was probably why she could remember only the good things about her husband. “So why didn’t you call?”
“At one point I got hold of a phone. But Sebastian told me he’d kill Cassia if I didn’t put it down.”
“You don’t believe he would’ve done it?”
She bit her lip. “Could he really kill a child? I don’t know. That’s the thing. The threat seemed real. He’d just shot my husband. But I keep going over and over the events of that night, wondering if I could’ve done this or could’ve done that. And everyone else has done the same, questioned my every move.”
“Let it go,” he said. “You had no choice.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
So did Rod. The questions she was asking herself were terrible. “What if” was always hard, but it would be excruciating in this serious a situation. “You acted in the safest way you could. You need to accept that.”
She opened her mouth to respond but didn’t get the chance. Someone else called his name. “Rod!”
When he looked up, he saw Theresa Santiago, a girl he dated now and then. They weren’t in a committed relationship. She was as aware of that as he was. But because she sometimes acted as if she’d like to get serious, she wasn’t one of the people he’d hoped India would meet when he brought her out for ice cream.
Only Melody would’ve been worse.
“Hi, Theresa.” He stood and collected the napkins they’d used, to signal that they were leaving.
“What are you doing here?” Theresa’s eyes cut to India.
“Just enjoying the night,” he replied. “You?”
She didn’t bother shifting her attention back to him. Clearly, she wondered who India was—and what they meant to each other. “Same thing,” she replied, except that she was alone, which made him think she’d stopped in because she’d seen his truck on the street. “Did you get my message?” she asked.
“About the barbecue next Saturday? I haven’t had a chance to check my schedule. I’ll do that and get back to you.”
“Okay.” She gestured at India. “Is this...a new friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
The garbage can was only a couple of steps away. Rod walked over and tossed in the napkins before returning to the table. “This is India Sommers, my new neighbor.”
“The woman who bought the house next door?”
“That’s me.” Wearing a polite smile, India held out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Wow. I was hoping you’d be older.” She looked thoroughly disheartened as they shook hands. “And I think I’d feel better if you weren’t so attractive.”
Rod hadn’t expected Theresa to make her interest in him so obvious. She’d never been that bold in the past. He was about to say something about how she’d always been a great friend. He felt he needed to clarify their relationship, since India seemed a little confused. But India spoke while he was still trying to come up with the kindest way to phrase what he wanted to say.
“I’m no competition,” she said. “Rod and I just met.”
Theresa studied him, as if she was taking note of the fact that he’d dressed up—and then he remembered refusing to be her date to a friend’s wedding because it would mean putting on a jacket and tie. “Well, if you’re like me, it won’t take you long to fall in love with him,” she said. Then she nodded in his direction. “Have fun.”
India remained silent until Theresa had walked out. “Please tell me that woman isn’t your girlfriend,” she said.
“No. We’ve been out a few times, that’s all.”
“Did you know she was in love with you?”
He scratched his neck. “I’m pretty sure she was joking when she said that.”
India tilted her head to give him a “no way” look. “I’m pretty sure she wasn’t.”
Well, she’d certainly picked a fine time to tell him. “I’ve never made her any promises.”
“But you have slept with her.”
“Casually. And not often.”
“Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?”
“I’ve had a few,” he said, but he didn’t want to talk about the last one. What Melody had to say wouldn’t recommend him to any woman but would especially frighten someone like India, who’d been abused by men in the past.
“Let’s go.” He jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll take you for a ride on my brother’s bike, since mine’s not working at the moment.”
“You’re not comfortable with this subject,” she guessed, watching him closely.
“Like I said, I’ve never made Theresa any promises.”
She said nothing.
“About that motorcycle ride...”
“I’d have to change my clothes.”
“Of course.”
She didn’t seem convinced it was a good idea. “Motorcycles are dangerous, even when the driver has full use of both hands.”
He slipped his left arm around her shoulders as they walked to his truck. “Babe, who do you think you’re talking to?” he teased, hoping to put the melancholy of their earlier conversation, and the awkwardness of running into Theresa, behind them. He felt it was time for India to forget her problems and have some fun.
“Who am I talking to?” she quipped, playing along.
“Someone who’s been riding his whole life,” he replied. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you.”
10
The rush of the wind and the roar of the engine seemed to block out all other sensation, except the feel of Rod’s back against her chest. When they’d first started, India had been terrified. She’d almost insisted he stop and let her off. The last time she’d ridden on a bike, she’d been in a bad accident, and the one Rod had borrowed from Grady was about as big and powerful as she’d ever seen—not to mention that she was trusting a driver who had only one good hand. But Rod seemed to manage the bike effortlessly despite his cast. The longer she rode with him, the more she came to trust his ability and embrace the rush of excitement.
She even began to wonder if, in her fear of getting hurt, she’d become overly cautious. Had she given up too much?
Maybe, because she’d never felt more carefree than she did as they leaned in to each curve of the winding, mountainous road. She no longer felt like the wife who’d watched her husband killed. Or the wife who’d fallen under suspicion for that terrible act. Or the mother who was afraid she’d soon have a custody battle on her hands.
She was just...living in the moment, and she didn’t want that moment to end. Rod was so sure of himself
. She wished she could hang on to him all night, without having to identify the reason or feel guilty for having that desire. It felt as if he was slowly bringing her back to life, or at least reminding her that life was still worth living, and that made her want to be with him more and more.
When they reached the summit, he pulled into a turnout and shut off the engine.
“You okay back there?” he asked as he removed his helmet.
She got off the bike, removed her own helmet and shook out her hair. “Yeah. That was fun,” she said. “Quite an experience.”
He seemed slightly surprised by her enthusiasm. “I thought you were scared to death.”
“Only at first. After that I loved it.” He was a big part of the reason, but she didn’t let on. “Will you teach me to drive?”
“Sure.”
“Tonight?”
He laughed. “No. When we have access to a bike that fits you. You wouldn’t even be able to hold this one up.”
He was probably right, so she didn’t argue. “Someday I’ll buy one,” she mused. She had a lot to worry about before then, but it was fun to dream of a time she’d feel safe and secure enough to consider such a purchase.
“I can help you look when you’re ready,” Rod offered.
She liked that he didn’t try to discourage her. Charlie, bless his conservative heart, would’ve told her how foolish that was, how dangerous owning a bike would be, how many other places they could and should put the money before “wasting” it on a toy like that.
And he’d be right. That was the quandary.
“It’s beautiful up here,” she said as she gazed at the red-and-orange sunset.
Rod beckoned her to the mountain’s edge. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he told her.
The vista below nearly stole her breath.
She climbed onto a rock so she could be as high as possible.
“Careful,” he warned.
“I’m tired of being careful,” she said. “Tired of being worried. Tired of trying to compensate for all the things that have gone wrong in my life.”
“Good. Anger is the next step in the healing process. It’ll make you strong.”