Fuck, he wanted to tear his arm away and roar, to tackle that fucking bastard to the ground, but he didn’t. What stopped him was his own profile, reflected in the glass. What would it look like if he fucked this up? Was he willing to gamble it all away? Willing to waste more years and months and those precious lost hours?
It took more strength than he knew he possessed to relax his arms, calm his voice, and let the officers lead him aside while Joseph Chisholm drove happily toward the woman he loved.
He’d find a way to get to her first, before it was too late. He could love her, and protect her, and respect her enough to listen to her wishes—even if fear for her was rattling like mad in his chest, ticking like a bomb waiting to go off.
* * *
Uma sat in Blackwood’s coffee shop for an hour and a half before finally giving up. Joey wasn’t coming. It was time to go. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. A little of both, probably. Although the relief was currently winning.
Why hadn’t he come? It didn’t make sense.
She seesawed back to fear. Did Ivan get to him after all? After the phone call? No. No way. The sheriff would have heard it on his…thing by now. They’d know.
But, God…she thought of the call. How Joey’d surprised her by sounding eager. Through the fear, she’d had a flash of why she’d gone out with him to begin with. It was strange to be reminded that not everything had been bad. It made her feel like less of a loser for staying with the guy. It had also calmed her, grounded her, made her more decisive, sucked away some of her terror.
He’d sounded gleeful when they’d talked. Mentioned a surprise he had for her and said “I love you” before hanging up. How weird that she used to repeat those words back to him. Today, they left her cold.
And now he hadn’t shown. She’d given him more than enough time to drive down from Northern Virginia and locate the coffee shop.
She pulled out Jessie’s phone again and called. No answer. What was he playing at?
“Think it’s a no go?” Steve said from the table beside hers, and she nodded.
She stood and stretched, eyeing the coffee shop’s dark window. Something wasn’t quite right.
Oh God, Ivan. Please, please, please don’t have done anything stupid.
Steve and Jessie walked her to her car.
“Let me know if you hear from him, and we’ll try this again. Keep the phone open so he can call you back. Speaker phone. Witnesses. Be safe.”
She glanced at Jessie, who lifted a hand. “Keep the phone. It’s yours.”
“Okay. Thank you. Thank you both.”
“No problem,” said Steve. “Call my direct line or 911 if you need anything. Give ’em my name.”
Jessie hugged Uma tightly and closed her car door once she was inside.
She turned the ignition and set off back home, hoping against hope that she’d see a big, white truck in the drive next door.
Instead, she saw Joey Chisholm’s red Audi and felt it like an anvil to the chest.
This wasn’t the plan. How’d he find the house? He’d known. He must have known.
Shaking, she pulled over and put the car into Park, tugged on the emergency brake, and turned off the ignition—normal, everyday things, but it took all her concentration not to forget a step. She kept her eyes on his car, adjusting to the sight from the safety of her own, and once the shaking settled down, she dialed.
“This is Sheriff Steve Mullen.”
“He’s here.”
“Lloyd place?”
“Yeah. What should I do?”
“Get out of there. Now.”
Breathing hard, she shook her head, more for herself than for him. “Would a recording get him in court? If he admits to what he did?”
