CHAPTER 13

It was reckless. Maybe even stupid. Possibly more dangerous than everything else Jeannette had encountered over the course of the night, albeit in a different way. And undoubtedly—assuming they survived—it would most definitely change everything. But she couldn’t muster up even an ounce of regret.

A crisp sheet, pulled from a cupboard and smelling vaguely of fabric softener, covered the two of them. It was enough to stave off any chill. And truthfully, their body heat was more than enough on its own. Their bodies were still twined, with one of Jeannette’s bare legs tangled between Warren’s, and her head resting in the crook of his arm like it belonged there. It felt like it did belong there. As though it was normal. Which was actually exceptionally weird, considering that they were in a stranger’s abandoned boat in the middle of the woods while hiding from a gang or corrupt cops who wanted them dead. And weirder still, when factoring in that she had barely been on a date in three years, and that even before that, her married life hadn’t exactly been full of passion. Not the good kind, anyway. And if Jeannette wanted a cherry on top of the definitely not-normal cake, then all she had to do was recall that a few hours ago, Warren was just a customer. Yes, he was one she knew better—and liked more—than the others, and one she most definitely found attractive. But a customer, nonetheless.

And now? said a little voice in her head.

She didn’t know. But either way, it was worth it.

She trailed her fingers up Warren’s stomach, her nails brushing over his belly button, across his abs and then to his chest. As she traced a small circle in a spot on his rib cage, he let a out a choked noise. For a moment, the sound worried Jeannette. Then she realized that he was trying to contain a laugh. She moved her fingers again, and she got the same result.

“Are you ticklish?” she asked.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Hmm.”

She made the circle again, and this time, a definite guffaw burst from Warren’s lips.

“You are ticklish,” she said.

His hand came out to clasp her wrist and still its movement. “Why does that make you sound so gleeful?”

“I’m not gleeful.”

“You’re going to deny it? Really? I can tell without even looking that you’re grinning like a madwoman. I think you’re happy to have a way to torment me.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” she said, throwing his own words back at him.

But as soon as the teasing reply was out, she realized that the real reason for her delight was something else. What Jeannette liked wasn’t the ticklishness itself—it was simply knowing about it. Because it was an intimate detail. One that she was somehow sure few other people would’ve had occasion to discover.

Probably Stephanie had.

There was no animosity or jealousy with the thought. Just sadness. The girl hadn’t deserved her fate. And Warren hadn’t deserved to be burdened with the years of not knowing. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

“We need to find out what happened to her,” Jeannette said abruptly. “And why.”

“To Stephanie?” Warren replied, not commenting on the sudden change of subject.

“Yes.”

“I think we’ve got more immediate worries to deal with. You know...like saving our own butts and not getting tossed in jail. And maybe trying to figure out where the hell we are so we can do that.”

Jeannette propped herself up on her elbow and looked over at him. “But it’s all connected. Don’t you want to figure it out?”

He threaded his fingers through hers. “Of course I do. I’ve never stopped wanting to know what happened to Stephanie. I was always sure she hadn’t just taken off, and what we’ve seen over the last few hours...it means I was right all along.” His Adam’s apple slid up and down. “It also means she’s dead. Which isn’t a surprise, to be honest. If she were alive, someone would’ve heard something from her over the last twenty-five years. But it does break my heart a little. Again.”

Jeannette’s own heart ached at the admission. “So we have to figure it out.”

“I’ve already made my peace.” The hint of roughness in his words indicated that his statement wasn’t quite true.

“You don’t have to cover it up, Warren,” she replied. “You told me yourself that you haven’t ever really moved on.”

“Have you?” he countered.

Though he asked it mildly, the question stung. It also made her pulse jump nervously, and it must’ve shown on her face, because Warren quickly pulled her a little closer, immediately apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was uncalled-for. I guess you’re right. I’m more on edge about it than I’d like to admit. This whole situation has brought everything back like a freshly opened wound. I know that’s no excuse, but... I really am sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I know you weren’t trying to make me feel bad. And you’re right. It’s not exactly behind me.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it, sweetheart. Really.”

“I want to.”

As soon as she’d said it, she realized she meant it. She really did want Warren to know the details of her past. Even the bad bits, and even though the idea of disclosure filled her with humiliation. So she made herself speak. And once the words started flowing, they came more easily than Jeannette would’ve expected. Just like they had when she’d explained during her very first meeting with Rosie.

She told Warren how she’d met Sal at a bar, and how he’d swept her off her feet with his overblown charm. At the time, she was just nineteen. He was twenty-eight. He’d pursued her in a way that had seemed flattering. His possessiveness had been the same, and nothing about it had struck her amiss. Her friends had been jealous of the fact that they were stuck dating so-called boys, while Jeannette had found herself a man. And admittedly, her lack of a father figure probably left her with a stereotypical gap to fill. But everything had seemed fine. Better than fine.

“I don’t know when things changed,” she said, “but it must’ve happened slowly, because I didn’t see it at all. The first real awareness I had that something was truly wrong was on the anniversary of our first date. I’d found out I was pregnant that morning, and I’d been excited to tell Sal. We’d been having a bit of a tough time, and I thought he’d be ecstatic.”

But things hadn’t gone as planned. Her then-boyfriend had accused her of doing it on purpose to trap him. When she’d cried and reminded him that he’d told her—on the night they’d met—that he wanted her to have his children, he’d switched gears and insisted that when the baby was born, he’d want a paternity test. No way could it be his.

Jeannette paused and closed her eyes. The next piece really made her heart hurt and her lungs burn with remembered sorrow. She was glad that Warren was holding on to her as tightly as ever, because if he’d loosened his grip at all, she might’ve had to stop talking.

“I left him there at the restaurant,” she said, her voice breaking. “Except I only made it as far as my car before I knew something was wrong. I called the ambulance myself.”

It hadn’t been fast enough. It was over before they even got there. And afterward, they’d told her that she would’ve lost the baby no matter what—even if she’d already been stationed in the hospital when the miscarriage had started. Jeannette had been devastated. But Sal had rallied. He was all apologies and promises that they’d try again right away. So they had. And they’d gotten married. Of course, Jeannette had never conceived again. Sal had refused any kind of testing. He’d started blaming her for not being able to hold on to their first pregnancy. And for more than a decade, they carried on. She stayed.

“Twelve years,” Jeannette confessed emphatically. “I didn’t want to stay. I swear I didn’t. But there was a small part of me that believed him. And it grew all the time. He treated me horribly. He called me names and had affairs and made it all my fault. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t try hard enough. Twice, he hit me. But it was mostly the verbal abuse that dragged me down and kept me there. I lost friends because I couldn’t admit what was going on. I couldn’t keep a job because every time things started looking up, Sal would accuse me of meeting men at work.” She let out a long, slow breath. “I was married to the wrong man for the wrong reasons for a long time, and so to answer your question...no, I’m not sure I’m fully over it. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

When she was done, she opened her eyes and met Warren’s gaze. He’d listened in utter silence, and she didn’t know what she expected to find in his blue stare. Sympathy, maybe? Pity? But what she got instead was a look of cold anger.

“That man never, ever deserved you,” Warren said, his voice full of just barely veiled fury.

“I know now. Honestly, I even knew then. But I just... I thought I was exaggerating things. Sal made it seem like I was a bit nuts at the time.” She gave an awkward, lying-down shrug. “I realize how it sounds. But clichés exist for a reason, and when you’re inside a relationship like that...”

“Jeannie?”

“Yes?”

“Permission to drop a bit of overblown machismo?”

“Um. Sure?”

“If your ex-husband was here, right this second... I’d probably coldcock him. And as you may remember from our encounters this past evening...fighting isn’t my forte.”

Jeannie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she settled for pressing her head against Warren’s bare chest and drawing in a deep breath of his pleasantly musky scent. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Sounds like a damn necessity to me,” Warren argued in a growly tone.

“Sal died in a car accident before I ever got the chance to tell him where to go.”

There was a long pause before Warren spoke up again. “Do I say that I’m sorry? Because I’m never glad when someone dies—even that detective back there, or a dude like Sal—but I also hate the idea that someone treated you like that.”

Jeannette noticed that he hadn’t said that she’d let someone treat her like that, and it made her wriggle even closer. It was an important distinction. One people often didn’t get.

“It was sad,” she admitted. “I’d be lying if I told you his death didn’t crush me. I did all the things I was supposed to do, as his widow. I mourned him. I had his funeral and celebrated his life. I didn’t—couldn’t—eat for a week. But the accident woke me up, too. It was like coming out from under a cloud. And right on time, because my mom had just found out about her cancer, and she was trying to find a way to get me to leave Sal. She said she’d probably go straight to hell over the fact that when she first heard the news, she was relieved.”

“I would’ve liked her, I think.”

“My mom?”

His fingers twined through her hair. “Yes.”

Jeannette leaned into the touch. “I think she would’ve liked you back.”

Oddly, no hint of humiliation had crept in yet. Jeannette had fully expected it to. Because even though she knew—in the logical part of her brain—that the years of abuse weren’t her fault, she usually experienced a heavy dose of guilt anyway. But right then, her conscience was reasonably clear. And it gave her the mental strength to push through the vulnerability and make a final divulgence.

“It’s been over four years since Sal was killed. Which means it’s been over four years since I’ve had an insult hurled at me just for existing, and it’s been three and a half years since my mom passed and I made her the promise to get myself a good life. And I really am a different person than I was then,” she said, inhaling deeply before adding, “But I’m not fully over it. If I were, I would’ve gone on all those blind dates my friends tried to make me accept.”

“I’m not glad that your past still has a hold on you, Jeannie,” Warren replied. “But I am glad you didn’t go on those dates.”

“Me, too.”

A million things seemed to hang in the final bit of their exchange, and Jeannette was afraid to explore any of them. What was in Warren’s head? Obviously, he disliked what had happened to her. He’d said so. And it was how any reasonable person would feel about Jeannette’s past. But did it affect him just because of that alone, or was it more personal? Was the comment about being glad she hadn’t gone on any of the blind dates meant to be light, or more serious? Did Jeannette want it to be? She’d never disclosed so much to anyone before, and she had no idea how someone else would take it all.

Probably should’ve thought about those things before jumping into bed with him.

Finally, Warren spoke up again. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need to figure out what really happened to Stephanie, and maybe it will help both of us somehow.”

Jeannette’s throat tightened, because she wanted the suggestion to be real. “That’s a lot of maybes.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean they’re not plausible.”

She nodded. She could almost see how it might work. Warren would finally know Stephanie’s fate, and he’d be able to close that door for good. Jeannette would help another woman get justice, and maybe that would help her get rid of the nagging feeling that Sal had still managed to win, despite his untimely death. They’d finish moving on together.

But what if it doesn’t? she thought. It’s a bit of a fairy tale idea. What are the chances that it’ll overtake what’s obviously a nightmare situation? Or that you’ll even get the opportunity to find out?

Jeannette’s spine prickled with renewed fear. They really did need to find a way out of the woods—literally and figuratively.

“You okay?” said Warren, clearly picking up on the shift in her mood.

She nodded. They didn’t have time to pick over every raw nerve. “I’m fine.”

“I can tell that you’re not,” he replied, “But I’m not going to force you to say things you don’t want to say. I do have one question, though.”

“What is it?”

“Do you already regret this?” He asked it quietly, but it was weighted with a worry that was both endearing and made guilt stab at Jeannette.

She adjusted so that she could look him in the eyes. “You know that thing people say? ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

His brow lifted. “The ultimate cop-out, you mean?”

“It’s only a cop-out if someone doesn’t mean it. And I mean it. I don’t regret sleeping with you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Her face heated with a powerful blush, and Warren’s mouth quirked up.

“Well,” he said. “That’s good to hear.”

The warmth didn’t ease. “What I mean is that my issues aren’t because of you. They’ve got a mind of their own.”

“I guess we both have a bit of that going on.”

Warren touched her cheek, and the contact sent a zap of want through Jeannette. And the desire doubled when he tipped his head down, angling his mouth toward hers. But before their lips could meet, his gaze strayed to the side for a moment. His eyes widened. He stopped abruptly. And he pushed up and reached around her to grab something from the cubby that acted as a nightstand. For a second, Jeannette didn’t recognize it as anything other than a colorful piece of paper. Then she clued in.

“Is that a map?” she said.

“It’s more than that,” Warren said, flopping back to the pillow again and lifting the glossy item up so that they could both see it. “It’s our way out of here. See this? Someone drew this line here.”

He traced his finger along the felt pen marking in question, and Jeannette visually followed the path. It went from a small town—Joss Lake was its name—to a spot in the middle of the greenery. The seemingly random end had two additional scribbles added. The first was a thickly drawn, pirate treasure X. And the second was a stick-figure-style boat.

“Oh!” Jeannette exclaimed. “Is that us?”

“Sure looks like it, and I’d bet my left foot that whoever abandoned this boat here must’ve started there,” said Warren, a slow frown etching its way into his forehead. “And you know what? I’ve been to this place.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” He tapped the dot that indicated the starting point. “It’s a fishing town, northwest of Calgary. My stepdad used to go there annually. When I was eighteen, he took me along. There’s a lodge that offers all-inclusive deals—fly-fishing, food, beer...the works. The town itself is pretty small, but my stepdad complained that it had gotten too big by the time he was there last.” He paused to chuckle. “That’s not really a very good measure of size, though. Anything with more than one stoplight made him grumble. From what I remember, there’s a grocery store, a restaurant and a bakery. A tiny motel and some permanent residences, too. Also, it’s got a bus station with runs into Calgary. Which is probably the most relevant thing to us, other than the proximity.”

“So if we use this map to find our way there...”

“We’ll at least get somewhere where there’s the potential to find help. And look here...” His finger landed on a spot below the marked areas. “Gray Spot Hideaway. I might not quite bet my left foot on this...but I’d still say odds are that this is where Harper took us.”

“It looks so far away,” Jeannie said. “A lot farther than the distance between the boat and Joss Lake.”

“I agree,” said Warren. “Which explains why my feet hurt. And which is also why, if I were Harper, I’d be assuming that we were heading this way.” His finger slid again, moving southeast along the Bow River. “There are some larger towns here, which would probably make more sense for getting help. That is, if we hadn’t taken a weird turn somewhere and gone in a different direction.”

Jeannette’s heart lifted hopefully. “Okay. Great. Let’s do this then.” As she spoke, she threw back the sheet and moved to get up. “The faster we get out of here, the faster we can—”

Warren’s hand shot out and closed on her wrist. “Hang on.”

“What?”

“It’s still raining.” He pointed to the ceiling, which was indeed tapping with the falling droplets. “Besides which... I think you said something along the lines of doing it all over again?”

And then his lips curved, his eyes slid over her body—which she belatedly realized was completely exposed—and he grabbed her and pulled her back to the bed once more.