CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Brett
Present
“Did he send you back here,” I raise my chin and narrow my eyes, “or did you come on your own?”
Blood rushes into my ears as I take in her ring; every facet of that stone, every detail of that gold band. An anxious hum fills my head—the hum that only happens when adrenaline crashes through the body and reduces sight to tunnel vision. The messy bun at the crown of my head pulls at my scalp as I glare at her.
Two women facing off to see who will bend first.
She blinks in surprise, “What?”
Staring into her soft, caramel eyes, I unfold my legs from beneath me and rise from the sofa.
Intruder. Interloper. Trespasser. Invader. Fraud.
Filled with fury, I want nothing more than to eject this woman out of my home, to kick her through the door and throw her from the porch onto the concrete walkway. Maybe I could embed some gravel in her face while I’m at it.
Lying snake in the weeds.
Ignorance is no excuse. We all have choices, and she’s made hers.
I lower the pitch of my voice to a growl, “Get out of my house,” I clench my teeth, “now.”
She nervously rises from the sofa, her eyes round with fear. I track her with laser focus as she makes for the front door, averting her eyes. Somehow, she’s both shocked and agreeable with my demand.
You should hide your face.
She reaches for the doorknob and glances over her shoulder. Her expression changes, but only for a split second. I see the flash in her eyes, the realization she’s been discovered, and then the seething disdain just beneath the surface betraying her demure, unassuming posture. There are no more excuses, no way to hide her insidious intentions.
She jerks open the door, flies down the steps, and marches across the lawn to the white SUV parked on the gravel. I follow her, keeping a steady pace, my eyes glued to the back of her head, her dark chocolate hair blowing wildly in the breeze. The wind’s picked up; a storm is coming.
“Go tell him!” I call after her, my voice dripping with poison. “Tell him I’m waiting for him!”
She tugs open the driver’s side door and glances up momentarily, casting me an indignant scowl before ducking inside. I scoff to myself, running my eyes over the vehicle, and then shake my head.
So fucking obvious.
The vehicle roars to life and immediately turns sharply, throwing gravel into the grass. I glower at her through the windshield as she jerks a 3-point-turn and then starts down the driveway back to the road.
I follow her all the way to the end of the driveway, knowing she’ll nearly be out of sight by the time I reach the strip of weedy dirt at the edge of the asphalt. But I have to make sure she’s gone. I come to a halt at the end of the drive, staring down the empty road until it curves to the left and all I can see is a wall of conifers. The SUV is gone, but a heaviness hangs in the air like a thick cloud of cigarette smoke.
I knew what was coming. Eventually, it would be time to step out of my whimsical hiding place behind the columbine and junipers, and face what’s lurking outside. Because I’ve never forgiven, and I’ve never forgotten.
And neither has he.
I’ve finally been discovered, and these woods and sprawling vistas are suddenly, for the first time, a threat to me.
A gust of wind hits my cheeks and fills the air with the rustle of leaves. A chill slices through the once balmy air, and when I turn to look at the horizon, I see deep bluish grey clouds building to the west. The trees turn emerald, popping against the thunderheads fast approaching. A faint rumble of thunder hums and grows into a deep concussion.
When I return to the house and reach the top of the porch steps, I stop abruptly, and stare at the front door. A stark white, folded piece of paper is affixed to the heavy oak door with a knife.
His knife.
I’d recognize it anywhere.
