Hot water ran over my head and down my face in scalding streams. I’d long since rinsed the shampoo from my hair, but the memory of my face on that creepy bulletin board refused to be washed down the drain.
Whoever the photographer was, he’d been watching me for months. He’d seen me eat, and study, and swim in the school’s indoor pool. There’d even been a shot taken through my dorm room window—with some kind of zoom lens?—which had caught me walking behind Robyn and toward my closet wearing nothing from the waist up but my bra.
How could that have been going on for so long without my knowledge? Weren’t cats supposed to have amazing instincts? What good were my super-sensitive sight and hearing without the instinct to know I was in danger?
Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be an enforcer after all.
Frustrated, I turned off the shower and grabbed the towel I’d set on the counter before I got in. It was coarse, because both the bathroom and the cabin around it belonged to the enforcers, and no guy in the history of testosterone had ever taken the time to add fabric softener to a load of laundry.
Most of them would probably still be satisfied with beating dried sweat from their clothes with sticks if Jace’s mother would let them get away with it. But the laundry room was located in the lodge—the main house—and what happened there happened according to her rules.
That was exactly why I’d kicked my brothers out of their own room in the west cabin rather than stay in the lodge. I had the strong suspicion that neither Jace’s mother nor his sister really cared for me, no matter how polite they were to my face, but most of that probably had to do with the fact that my father had fought against Jace’s stepfather, Calvin Malone, in the shifter civil war.
When Cal was Alpha, two rapidly disintegrating trailers had sat where the east and west cabins now stood. They’d been propped up on concrete blocks, which had been clearly visible between rusted panels of metal underpinning. One of Jace’s first acts as Alpha was having the trailers hauled off, because he couldn’t stand to see them.
He’d lived there with his stepfather’s enforcers from the time he was twelve, because Malone couldn’t look at him without seeing Jace’s biological father—his mother’s first husband, and her true love, by all accounts.
Because Malone hadn’t liked or respected Jace, his enforcers didn’t either, and twelve is way too young for a boy to be kicked out of his own house. I could only imagine that Jace’s life was truly hell before he’d turned eighteen and gone to work for my uncle Greg at the ranch.
I wrapped myself in the towel and wiped fog from the mirror with one hand, admiring the craftsmanship of the rustic frame holding it in place.
The cabins that now sat behind the lodge were built by hand, by Jace’s men, under his supervision. When he’d moved back to Kentucky to run things, he’d taken a day job at a construction company and had risen through the ranks to become supervisor after just a year. Faythe told me that’s the way it usually went for Alphas—their instinctive leadership shines through in their daily lives, and most of them find success both at work and at home.
While they were building the cabins, Jace and all his enforcers had slept on the living room floor in the main lodge. Jace thought it would help them bond, which was crucial for men expected to put their lives on the line for one another on a daily basis.
He must have been right, because I’d never seen a staff of enforcers as close-knit as Jace’s were. Their unity and loyalty gave them formidable, noted strength.
Which, naturally, made me the outsider. And likely the only one who would chafe from using towels about as soft as dead grass.
I tightened the towel around my chest and had just grabbed my phone from the bathroom counter when it rang. Brian’s name and number popped up on the screen. I groaned out loud.
I’d told him I would answer his calls. He’d probably heard about my psycho stalker and was worried, but the last thing in the world I wanted to do after seeing my pictures tacked up all over a murderer’s bulletin board was talk to Brian. Though truthfully, the last thing Ieverwanted to do was talk to Brian.
What did that say about the future of our relationship? How was I supposed to spend the rest of my life with him if I didn’t even want to talk to him?
With a sigh, I sank onto the edge of the tub and pressed the button to accept his call. “Hey.”
“Hey. Your dad just told me what you guys found today. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Really? Because I think anyone else would be pretty freaked out.” Brian sounded openly frustrated for maybe the third time in our entire engagement. Usually, he was careful to keep his tone so light and gentle that it just kind of floated over us both, never really dipping into the realm of true substance.
Evidently, after our “breakthrough” in the woods, he’d expected me to be more forthcoming. But I’d had a breakthrough of my own.
I couldn’t spend every day for the rest of my life like that. Avoiding conversations. Ducking kisses. How was I supposed to give either of our parents grandchildren if I couldn’t stand the thought of Brian touching me?
“Okay, it wasn’t a great first day on the job.” I shrugged at my reflection in the mirror. “But I didn’t sign up to cuddle puppies and fluff pillows.”
“Abby, it’s okay to be upset. Do you want to tell me about it?”
I can’t.
I was keeping too many secrets and telling too many lies, and letting the truth out—any of the truths—would mean losing someone. The only person in my life that I could stand to lose was Brian. Thatmeantsomething. Right?
I took a deep breath. “Well, I do need to talk to you, but not about the crime scene.”
“What’s wrong?” Over the line, I heard the squeak of springs, which told me he’d just sat on the edge of his bed. Or maybe a large chair. I wasn’t sure what the furniture in his room sounded like, because I’d never been there in all my time on the ranch.
