Chapter 109
"Nothing, I never saw Sloan again."
"What else?"
"What else, what?"
"That can't be the end of your story. What else aren't you telling me? What you told me isn't enough to throw you into hysterical cryin'."
I sat up, anger rising. "Why are you gettin' so irritated? I'm telling you what I know."
"No, you're not. You're lyin' to me." He sat up too, his eyes narrowing.
"There's more to tell, but if you're goin' to be ugly to me, I'm not tellin' you anythin'."
His face softened. He leaned his back against my headboard and pulled me into his arms, my cheek against his chest. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'll be quiet and listen."
What did Joe McAllister have to gain from me? Why did he want to know my secrets so badly?
"Um..." My mind scrambled to come up with what to tell him. He knew there was more, I had to tell him something. Joe rubbed my back, making me torn between enjoying his touch and being suspicious. "The Monday I went back to work, he came back. The woman I work with said he'd been in every day the week before, looking for something or someone. But the day I came back, he came to my counter, with his paperwork. He told me he knew Sloan wasn't my brother."
"How did he know that?" Joe continued to rub my back.
"I don't know, he just said he did." Should I tell him that he thought Sloan was a cop? I began to think that the less I told Joe, the better. I'd tell him just enough to make him think he knew everything. "That night was the night someone broke in, and of course the police didn't believe me."
I suddenly pictured Joe standing in my door in only his boxers and scratches and welts on his head and back.
The intruder had on black clothes and a stocking cap. I'd hit him in the back and head with the broom. What if Joe was the intruder and stripped off his clothes and came to my door, telling me he got hurt tackling the guy?
"Go on," Joe said, rubbing my back again.
My heart began to race. "Ummm..." I didn't know what else to tell him.
"Why did you go to the visitation tonight?"
"You didn't show up and I thought about the night Steve left and how guys kept standing me up, and it made think about Sloan so I thought since I didn't have anything else to do I'd go and pay my respects." I was rambling and talking too fast. He would figure out he was making me nervous. I forced myself to slow down. "So I did."
"What happened?"
"Excuse me?"
"What happened at the visitation?"
"Nothin'," I said, trying to sound innocent.
His arm tensed and he paused before he resumed rubbing my back. "Rose," he cooed into my ear. "You can trust me."
The way he said it made me almost think I could trust him. Almost.
"Nothin' happened. It just made me think of Momma and I got really upset."
Joe tilted my head back and looked into my eyes. His were guarded and searching as he stroked my cheek. "Are you sure? Are you sure that's all?"
I closed my eyes, feeling him touch my face, dismayed at the response my body had to his touch. His lips were on mine, soft and insistent, my resistance crumpling. I can't trust him, I tried to tell it. I can't tell him anything.
m.u.f.fy whined at the edge of the bed. I lifted my head up to check on her, but Joe pulled me back down, kissing me and making me forget.
"What was his name?" he asked, whispering in my ear.
I couldn't think, only feel, as he drove my body crazy.
Making me forget.
I sat up, b.u.mping my head on his. I reached up to rub my head, while Joe looked confused.
Joe was always coaxing information out of me, using my body against me. My guts clenched. Joe didn't like me at all. He was just like Daniel Crocker. Only he used different tactics. And his were much worse.
I bolted to the bathroom, afraid I'd be sick. I locked the door behind me.
"Rose? What's wrong?" Joe followed and called outside the door.
"I don't feel well. I'll be out in a minute," I said, hanging over the toilet. The linen closet door caught my eye.
Joe called after the person tore apart my house, surprised I was home, expecting me to be at work. The person who came in didn't break the door to get in and might have had a key. Joe could have taken keys when he put the locks in. Why did he put the locks in?
Questions tumbled violently in my head, but they all pointed to the same thing. Joe was not only using me, he wanted something from me. I had to get him out of my house.
I opened the bathroom door.
"Are you okay?" he reached out to touch me and I tried not to recoil.
"It's been a really rough night, I think maybe you should just go home."
"I can stay with you." He actually had the nerve to look hurt.
I made a face, unsure what to say. I didn't want to look too obvious.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom. You think about it and you can tell me what you decide when I come out. Okay?"
I nodded and went into my bedroom looking for m.u.f.fy. She lay on the floor, looking sad.
"Were you trying to warn me?" I whispered to her. I leaned down and rubbed her head. "Good girl."
I heard a rattle and jumped, my heart jolting. I didn't know how many more surprises I could take tonight. Joe's cell phone vibrated on my nightstand.
I tiptoed over, which was ridiculous, sneaking up on a cell phone. I picked it up, seeing a number on the screen with no name attached. What should
I listened for him, still in the bathroom. The toilet flushed and knew I had maybe thirty seconds at the most. I pressed the b.u.t.ton to listen.
"Everything's going as planned. We have confirmation she was seen with him. Let me know if you find out anything. Otherwise we stick to the schedule."
The message was short and abrupt, but there was no mistaking the ident.i.ty of the person leaving it.
Hilary.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
I set the phone down on the nightstand just as I heard the bathroom door open. I was quivering like a Jello salad just shook out of its mold. How was I gonna hide that? I lay down, my back to the door. m.u.f.fy jumped up on the bed and lay beside me, her head on my legs as if she watched for Joe.
He came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed my arm. "Hey, are you feelin' any better?"
m.u.f.fy lifted her head and whimpered.
I was scared.
This was Joe. Joe who helped me paint and stood outside the funeral home with me, handing me tissues. Joe who laughed with me until we cried over m.u.f.fy and her intestinal issues. Joe who taught me how to use chopsticks and about drinking and kissing. And more. I felt so hurt and betrayed it overshadowed the fear. But I couldn't confront him with any of it. I had no idea what he was capable of. Turned out, I didn't really know him at all.
"Yeah, I'm just tired."
"I can stay and just hold you. It might make you feel better."
Ten minutes ago, I would have killed for that. "Nah, that's okay. I'm about to drift off to sleep. You go home."
He hesitated, like he wanted to say something and then he stood up. "If you need me, I'm next door." He started for the door, m.u.f.fy's head moving as she watched him.
He picked up his phone and looked at it, then leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Sweet dreams."
It took everything within me not to snort. Nightmares were more likely.
"Call me tomorrow, okay? We still have to work on your list."
I'd begun to hate that stupid list. My list got me mixed up with him in the first place, that and my overly aggressive hormones.
I lay on the bed, and about half a minute later the kitchen door opened and closed. I waited a few more minutes, then got up and snuck out into the kitchen, half expecting to find him waiting in a chair, but found an empty room. I went to lock the door and discovered Joe had already locked it. How did Joe lock the deadbolt? I searched my purse and the table for my keys.
A sc.r.a.p of paper lay on the counter.
Rose, I took your keys so I could lock up for you and you didn't have to get up. Call me as soon as you're awake so I can return them.
Joe c.r.a.ppy doodles. Now, I was trapped and had less than twenty-four hours to figure out what kind of information this mystical flash drive contained, certain Joe was after it, too. Why else would he care about Sloan?
I looked out the front window onto the street. A few houses down, an unfamiliar car parked on the curb. I ran to the hall closet and searched for the binoculars. They were hard to find in the dark, but I told Joe I was going to sleep. I couldn't very well turn on any lights or he might consider it an invitation to come back.
Once I found them, I crept to the front window and looked at the car. A man sat in the front seat. Looking right at me. Thank goodness he didn't have binoculars or we could have waved to each other.
c.r.a.ppy doodles.
Who was he? Who was he with? Daniel? Joe? Someone else?
I sure didn't want to be trapped in my house all night and now, more than ever, I needed to get out to my shed and see what Joe had been doing out there the night before. But first I needed to change clothes. I put on a t-s.h.i.+rt and capris, suddenly wis.h.i.+ng I'd paid attention to what I was wearing in my vision. I sure didn't want to be caught dead wearing that.
m.u.f.fy gave me a dirty look. I had a mind-reading dog.
There were two doors out of my house, the front and the side. Both were in plain sight of the guy in the car. If I left, it had to be out the back window. I found the flashlight and went to one of Momma's bedroom windows. It would be tricky getting in and out with the window almost four feet off the ground. It only proved the intruder had long legs to be able to get his leg in the window in the first place. Like Joe's.
I'd show Joe McAllister what I was really capable of with a rolling pin.
As an afterthought, I unlocked my front door, so if I got caught I could say I went out the front. I opened the bedroom window and pushed out the screen, unsure of the best way to go about climbing out. I'd never done that before, climbed out a window. Maybe I could fill that in spot twenty-nine.
Maybe I wasn't ready to give up my list yet.
I threw the flashlight out the window. I decided to stick my left leg out first, and there I hung, my head still inside, hanging onto the ledge. I was gonna have to fall. So I just pushed myself out and landed on the side of my left leg with a thud. That would hurt tomorrow.
I'm gonna make Joe McAllister pay for this. After I'm finished beating him with my rolling pin, I'm gonna stick it up- m.u.f.fy whimpered in the window.
"No, m.u.f.fy, stay there. I'll be back in a minute." I whispered.
m.u.f.fy rested her chin on the ledge.
In my haste, I hadn't thought about the fact Joe was probably still up, evidenced by the lights on in windows on the back of his house. I sprinted for the tree line at the far corner of my yard, hoping he wouldn't look outside. I stayed in their shadows until I reached the back corner of the shed. When I reached the edge, I realized I hadn't grabbed the key to the padlock, and was about to beat my head against the metal wall when I saw the padlock wasn't even on the door. Joe must not have put it back on the other night.
I slid the door open, pus.h.i.+ng gently to minimize the screeching sounds, only it didn't make its usual creaks and groans. Had Joe oiled it? I slipped inside, turned on the flashlight, and began to look around. Nothing appeared out of place. The beam of light searched the corners, illuminated the shelves, nothing. I shuffled my way around the lawn mower, my foot hitting something hard and I swung the light down. A yellow shop towel lay on the ground, partially shoved under the lawn mower. I squatted to pick it up, surprised to find the towel wrapped around a heavy object. I put the flashlight between my legs and unrolled the cloth, nearly dropping it when I saw what it contained.
A gun. A handgun.
The combination of finding a gun and being in the shed, caused panic to slip in and take hold. I had to get out of the dark, confined s.p.a.ce, but what did I do with the gun? I had to get rid of it. I laid the gun, still in the towel, on top of the mower. A plastic bag on the shelf caught my eye. I grabbed it and picked up the gun, wrapping it up in a wad, smart enough to keep my fingerprints off of it. Next I pulled a wrench out of the tool box, wrapped it up in the towel, and put it back underneath the mower.
But what should I do with the gun?
I saw a garden trowel hanging on a hook. I would bury it.
I planted the gun next to my roses, somewhat ironic considering my name and the fact a gun would probably kill me. As I dug the hole, I couldn't shake the fingertips of eerie dread inching its way up my back and nestling in the base of my neck. This was so much like my vision: trees, night, a gun. The only thing missing was the bullet hole.
I gasped. Is that what happened in my vision? Did Joe shoot me with this gun? Not if I can help it. I dug even deeper, then placed the gun, still in the bag, in the bottom and covered it with the dirt, smoothing it out so it didn't look so obvious. To finish it off, I spread the remaining mulch around.
I put the trowel back in shed and closed the door. I'd turned back to the house when m.u.f.fy jumped out the window, running over to me. She gave me a defiant look.
"m.u.f.fy, I told you to stay inside."
My dog, who believed life was better lived in the slow lane, took off running for the front of the house.
"m.u.f.fy!" I whisper-shouted. "m.u.f.fy! Come back here!"