Once I’d shut the door, I dashed into the bathroom and barely made it in time.
***
Shirley’s whispered accusations followed me through the rest of the day. Into the cab whose driver took me to the car rental agency. It haunted me as I filled out forms, showed my drivers license, accepted the key to the new crimson Ford I’d be driving for a while. The car smelled new, had all the right toys to keep me happy.
Except I wasn’t.
I liked Brody. I’d begun to trust him when I seldom trusted anyone. Did I misplace that liking? That trust? Shit, I’d only met him a few days ago. Didn’t he say he’d grieved? Had his soul wounded? Did he murder the woman he’d loved? I gripped the steering wheel, my jaw clenched, my worries and thoughts squirreling through my mind.
“Maybe I should just tell him to go fuck himself,” I muttered. “Stay away from him. I’ve got enough troubles of my own.”
In parking the Ford in my driveway, I noticed the burned wreckage of Brody’s truck was gone. Only the blackened scar on the cement showed where it had been.Makes sense he’d call to have it taken away. Make room for his new ride when he bought it.I locked the Ford with its fabulous smart key and entered my house.
In depression, despairing, I stared at the mess that represented my life. I sat on the couch where I’d nursed Brody after Rivers and his friend cut him with the switchblade, staring at the half unpacked boxes. The decision to stay was now classified under the second guessing stage. Should I pack up and leave? Take my insurance money, buy the best car I could get with it, and blow this town?
“I like him,” I said into the silent room. “I know he likes me. Who am I to judge him without asking his side first?”
Leaning against the sofa’s back, I again rubbed the scar under my shirt. Hadn’t I seen enough violence in my twenty-four years? In staying here, am I inviting more? From my stalker, possibly. From Brody?
I frowned. My instincts for people are pretty damn sharp. Brody never gave offI’m a murderertype vibes. He’d been condemned by the neighborhood by an article and a picture from some out of state newspaper. Where’s the article now? Can Mrs. Jenson provide it? Would she have thrown away the only evidence that Brody killed his wife? The only evidence the neighbors convicted him on?
“Bullshit,” I snapped, standing up. “If a court of law can’t convict him, who are they to judge?”
I returned to my office to work, my doubts and worries still hovering like a black storm cloud. Ignoring them as best I could, I focused on my work researching for an article I was writing. When my cell buzzed, absorbed, I answered it without thinking about it or looking at the caller.
“Hello?”
“Bitch.”
The word hissed through the cell signals and towers and into my ear. I stiffened, my blood turning to ice in an instant. I recognized that voice. I knew it as well as I knew my own. We’d loved each other once. Shared laughs. Shared tears. And the love of a man.
“How’d you get this number?” I snapped.
“I know everything, honey. Where you live. Your cell number. I’ve been watching you.”
I stood up from my desk to pace, restless, scared, and also angry. “You’ve got no right to hassle me,” I snarled.
“I haveeveryright. He died because of you, bitch. And I’ll kill you for it.”
“He killedhimself, you stupid twat,” I screamed into my phone. “You know damn well what he did. You saw it, day after day. I cried in your arms. You took me to the fucking hospital, remember?”
“He loved you. You betrayed him. He killed himself because of what you did. Not anything else. And I’ll kill you for it.”
“Come on,” I grated, staring out my office window, my heart hammering in my chest. “Bring it on, sweetheart. You come into my house, you attack me in any way, and I’ll kill you. Got that? I’ll fuckingkillyou. I’m armed, baby, all the way. I’m not running any more. Let’s end this.”
The click of a disconnection answered me.
Breathing hard, I dropped my cell to my desk and paced.Fuck, dammit, fuck, fuck, shit, this is all bullshit.My nerves strung as taut as guitar strings, I forgot all about my work and stalked into the TV room. From there, I paced again, swearing under my breath, half-expecting my enemy to break through my door at any moment.
I checked all my guns. Chambered rounds. Took the safeties off. Replaced them within their hiding spots. No matter where I was in the house, I stood within a few feet of a gun. Grab, aim, and fire. Bam! Dead as dogshit.Bring it on, baby. I’m ready.
Hours passed. I calmed when nothing happened. I drank cold water from the sink, wiped my sweaty face on a towel. The air conditioning repair dude should be coming by any day now. Brody had told me, as he kissed my cheek that morning, he’d be working late.Catching up on paperwork. Can’t hand that off to a peon.
Why did I need Brody so badly as I did in those hours?
When dusk deepened, I closed curtains and turned on only a few dim lights. Enough illumination so I didn’t trip over boxes. Not hungry, I forewent dinner and watched the dark street outside. Kids walked some mutt on a leash past my house. House lights burned in windows. Cars drove by without stopping.
Turning away from the window, I went to the bathroom to douse my face in cold water. Refreshed to a small degree, I dried myself and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin stood out in pale contrast to my hair. Dark circles pouched under my eyes as though I hadn’t been sleeping. Well, I hadn’t been, truth be told.
