Chapter 22

“Psst. Mena. Wake up.”

Sarah’s voice broke through my dreams. They were nice ones, too, involving a bare-chested Tierney and a bottle of chocolate syrup. I’d lain awake late into the night, agonizing over my decision to be chaste. I’d wanted to march into the living room and crawl on top of him. To end what we’d started.

But I couldn’t justify jumping into bed with a man I’d known little more than a week, no matter how many friends had tried to push me to do it for the companionship. The uncompromising need I felt for him could easily be explained away by the fact I hadn’t been with a man in over three years.

If a woman hasn’t had a drink of water in three years, should she drink a whole pitcher at once?

I’d fallen asleep irritated at the analogy. If you hadn’t had a drink of water in three years, you’d be dead. And you’d most definitely drink the whole damn pitcher.

I could offer my couch to a complete and utter stranger, but I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with him.

I opened one eye, the other still planted in the pillow. Sunlight spilled into the room, dust motes swirling in the broad beams. I was on my stomach, the covers tangled around my legs and sweat on my skin.

My best friend was already in a pair of pressed khaki shorts and a peasant-sleeved, see-through blouse over a white tank top, her make-up and hair impeccable. She was smiling, so at least this time she wasn’t waking me up with bad news.

I glanced at the ticking clock on the wall: 7:00 a.m.

“Give me my key back,” I grumbled, shoving my face in the pillow.

She rubbed my back. “But I made you coffee.”

I raised my head to eye her. Curled against my side, J.J. huffed at the intrusion, one big paw coming to rest on my shoulder as if to tell me to make it stop. “I’m out of milk,” I said warily.

“Tierney is outside with Kinsey right now.”

“You look entirely too proud of yourself.”

She gave me a wide Cheshire cat grin and stood up. “I’ll be in the kitchen. We have to be at the hospital to pick up Emily at eight.”

After she walked out, I rolled myself from bed and into the bathroom, where I took a quick cool shower in an attempt to wash away the smut I’d dreamed. I tossed my thick hair into a wet braid, threw on a pair of denim shorts and a tank top, and met Sarah in the kitchen.

She handed me a mug. “Here. Drink.”

“Did you get ahold of Tina?” I asked, making a face as I burned my tongue on the first sip.

Sarah sat in the chair across from me and nodded. “I did, just a few minutes ago. She had some difficulties last night, and her husband took her to the ER. The doctor put her on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy.”

“That’s good, right? Not that she’s on bed rest, just that she’ll be safe at home. Both Justine and Molly were taken while they were out.”

“Justine might have been out, but her purse was at home so they can’t prove it.” Sarah sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on, Meens. The girls are talking about taking a break from the weekly meetings. Just in case.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a horrible idea! We have to stick together.”

“Sarah, that’s just stupid.” I stood to refill my coffee as Tierney came through the open back door, shaking dirt from his shoes. “It’s safer for you to stay at home until they catch the guy doing this.”

“You don’t have to play mom for me, Mena.”

“Ah, gals. Quit your fightin’, now.” Tierney waggled a finger at Sarah and dropped a kiss to the top of my head. “What’s fer breakfast?”

“We don’t have time,” Sarah cut in before I could answer. She pointed to her slim, gold watch. “We need to be out the door as soon as you finish that coffee.”

“I have to feed the chickens first,” I told her, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Already fed, lass.” Tierney grinned.

“Oh.” I blushed. “Thanks.”

“See? We’re good to go. Emily will be waiting.”

I gave Tierney a wry smile. “Sorry. On your own.”

In the wake of our heated kiss the night before, and then my semi-X-rated dream, Tierney looked too scrumptious for words. He wore a pair of raggedy, stone-washed jeans that fit tight to his narrow hips and butt, topped by a blue V-necked T-shirt that was so worn, it looked soft to the touch. I had to keep myself from reaching out and running my fingers up his chest. To test the material, of course.

He held my gaze a moment longer than necessary before fishing a mug out of the cabinet. “No problem on breakfast. I’ve got to work at ten, so I’ll just go in a bit early and grab a bite.”

“You can take my car,” I told him. “Keys are on the desk in the workroom. If you’re comfortable driving here?”

“In the land where you drive on the wrong side of the road? Yeah, I believe I can manage. You’re a gem, Mena McGinty.” He gave me a crooked smile that would charm my pants right off if I weren’t careful, and then he left the room.

Of course Sarah was standing beside us, watching our every move and look, but when he didn’t give me a kiss — a real, toe-curling kind of kiss — I was disheartened. Just because I wasn’t ready to move it between the sheets didn’t mean I wasn’t hoping to build up to that.

I tossed back what was left of my coffee and reached for a travel mug. “All right. Let’s go get Emily and get this over with.”

*

I expected Emily to look a mess, but instead, she glowed. Her hair was freshly washed and dried, and she wore a soft cotton dress in teal that made her skin look less sallow and more sunny. Her casted arm was in a sling across her chest.

“How are you feeling today?” Sarah asked, taking Emily’s handbag as I wrapped an arm around her waist and propelled her off the curb.

“The doctor said I’m doing great.”

Sarah stopped me so she could look into Emily’s eyes. “Not what I asked.”

Emily glanced around the parking lot. Clouds were gathering in the west, dark and menacing. We’d been dry a few days, though the sky had been threatening retribution, so we were due a good one.

“I’m scared,” Emily whispered, moving closer into the circle of my arm.

I squeezed her. “With good reason. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be human. But it won’t last much longer.”

“You’ll love it at my house,” Sarah told her, and we resumed our walk to her SUV parked in the emergency lane. When you were the mayor’s wife, you could get away with crap like that.

“Is it okay?” Emily’s haunted eyes sought reassurance.

Sarah nodded firmly. “More than okay.”

*

I drove Sarah’s SUV across town to the small trailer park where Emily lived with Butch. As we passed through the rusted cow gate and began passing tiny hovels that hadn’t been painted and grass that hadn’t been cut in ages, I was even happier Emily would be going to Sarah’s.

Emily and her piece of crap, soon-to-be ex-husband lived at the end of the first row of houses in a trailer that looked as if she’d tried to make it “home.” There were daisies in a small, freshly turned bed near the front steps, and a pretty planter holding chamomile and lavender hung on the side of the camper. Sarah fished the keys out of Emily’s purse as I helped our invalid from the car.

“Are we sure he’s not here?” I asked, slamming Emily’s door.

Emily cringed as she hit a sinkhole in the grass and stumbled, jarring her arm. “He has a mandatory meeting at work every Wednesday morning at nine.”

“Let’s get in and out,” I told Sarah, who nodded in agreement.

The inside of the trailer was stuffy and smelled like garlic and stale beer. The narrow front door opened into a cramped living room with an ancient, rabbit-ear television on a stained coffee table and a couch that had been red at some point in the distant past but had paled to pink. The kitchenette was tucked against the wall on the way to the rear of the trailer, the small counter covered in moldy take-out containers and sideways, empty beer cans that still reeked of hops. I wrinkled my nose, following an unsteady Emily to her bedroom, where she proceeded to tell Sarah and me what to pack.

For a man who ran his own business, Butch hadn’t taken care of his wife. Big surprise there. The comforter on their bed was threadbare, the mirror over their dresser cracked down the center. Emily sniffled while she chose what to take and what to leave, but not once did a tear fall.

It seemed our friend had finally found her strength.

It wasn’t until Emily was settled in the backseat once more, two garbage bags full of clothes and three duffel bags of stuff in the trunk and on the seat beside her, that trouble happened.

I noticed the huge, rusted Ford truck pulling in behind us, and quickly shut Emily’s door. “Get in the car,” I hissed at Sarah.

My best friend shook her head. “No. I won’t leave you to face him alone.”

“Sarah.” I rubbed her belly as if she were Buddha. “Look, good luck for me. Now think of Junior and get in the car.”

Her door shut and the locks clicked just as Butch Allen burst from his pickup.

Butch was big the way a buffalo was — thick, wide, and furred all over. He had a bulbous nose, red from years of alcohol abuse, and palms the size of trashcan lids. I could have sworn the ground shook as he stomped over to me.

“What are you doing here, McGinty?” he grunted.

“Leaving.” I brushed past him, headed for the driver’s door.

One extra-large hand shot out with speed abnormal for a guy his size, and he stopped me cold, fingers crushing my bicep. “Answer the question.”

I tried to jerk away but he held fast. “Let me go, Butch. Don’t make me call the cops.” Inwardly, I hoped Sarah already had.

Butch snorted, his jowls shaking. “I’d like to see you try, you little bitch. When my wife gets out of the hospital, I’m taking her away from you and your filthy influence.”

I stopped struggling and stared at him. “Excuse me? My filthy influence?”

“That black magic bullshit.”

My blood ran cold. “Take that back.”

“Witch.” Butch Allen took a word I loved — a word I tried my damndest to represent as a hardworking, good person, a word my witchy sisters and I had been slowly molding into beauty and light — and twisted it into something dirty and foul.

Before he could react, I gripped the front of his shirt and brought us face to face. “Listen to me, you lousy piece of shit. This witch is ten times the person you’ll ever be, and you will never, ever be a part of Emily’s life again. Even if it means I have to cast a curse on you to make that happen.”

Empty words, of course. I would never have considered cursing someone, not even Butch. Probably.

Butch reciprocated my shirt grip. He let go of my arm and grabbed my throat, lifting me to my tiptoes. His grip cut off my windpipe, and I gagged, fighting for a breath.

“Butch!”

The call scared the hell out of me, and it made Butch drop me like a hot pan. I hit the ground and stumbled backward, then jerked up to see Emily rushing around the back of the SUV, gripping her broken arm with her good one.

“Emily, get back in the car!” I barked, jumping in front of Butch as he started to move her way.

“Butch, leave her alone,” Emily pleaded, tears rolling down both cheeks. “Please.”

This wouldn’t be a sweet homecoming. There was nothing in Butch’s expression to show he was happy to see Emily. The only thing I saw was rage, and he reared his large fist back, his sights set on my friend.

For a while after I came to Maine, I’d taken martial arts. It was a comfort thing. It had given me something to occupy my mind and had helped strengthen me, inside and out. There was something about training that helped me reclaim myself after Tyler had destroyed me.

When I saw Butch about to hurt Emily, I didn’t think. I attacked.

Punching Butch Allen felt like putting my hand through a brick wall. The shockwave of contact reverberated through me like the thrum of a guitar, and I screeched as bones crunched in my hand.

Butch didn’t even stumble, but his beady eyes looked away from Emily and focused on me. He advanced, that same meatball hand curling into a weapon of destruction. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to come.

“Freeze!”