Thirteen
THEY WALKED DOWN the dirt road in silence. Several times, Tess tried to take the suitcase, but Jackson stopped her with a grunt and kept walking, and she could do nothing but hurry along beside him.
“You lied to me,” he said.
“I—”
“What did he do?”
She didn’t answer.
“Thérèse.” He said her name in the French way—Tair-ez—and she flinched. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to presume he’s right and it was a misunderstanding and you overreacted, and if that’s not the truth, then you need to tell—”
“It might be.”
“What?”
“It might be the truth. I…I don’t know. He didn’t say anything weird or try to touch me. He offered me a place to stay, and I said no.”
She stiffened. “Of course.”
“I’m not questioning that. I’m pointing out that’s not his story. If you refused and he insisted…” He glanced over. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? He insisted, and that’s why you jumped from the truck without your suitcase.”
“I took my suitcase.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’m just saying I took it. I had to leave it behind. In the woods.”
“Because he chased you?”
She nodded.
A hard look. “And you still think it could have been a misunderstanding?”
“I—I guess not. I said no more than once, and he started driving to his place…”
“Not a misunderstanding.”
“I don’t think it was planned. He was just—”
“Taking advantage of the situation? Getting you to his place so he could figure out his next move?”
She nodded.
“That doesn’t make it any better, Tess. Not at all. It’s still kidnapping. The moment someone tries to forcibly…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “The legal definition isn’t important. But just because he wasn’t grabbing you and telling you what he planned to do doesn’t make him any less culpable. You knew something was wrong. Go with your gut. Don’t ever worry that you’re overreacting.”
A flicker of discomfort as silence fell, and he said gruffly, “I have sisters. That’s what my parents taught them. Someone should have taught you the same thing.”
She nodded again.
“You knew whose house it was, didn’t you?” he said after a few minutes of silent walking. “That’s what you lied about. You let me go up there, knowing—”
“That’s why I told you to talk outside. So I could listen.”
A humorless quirk of a smile. “And run to my rescue?”
“I know I’m not exactly big and intimidating. But I could have done something.”
“I appreciate that, and you’re right—it would have helped. However, what would have helped me even more was a warning. I’m not accusing you of putting me in danger, Tess. I’m saying that if you want my help, you need to give me more than five bucks. You need to give me some honesty. Otherwise, I’m fumbling in the dark.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked over, as if checking that her apology was sincere. It was, and he seemed to see that and nodded.
“That’s why you asked me his name, isn’t it?” he said. “You saw the road and thought it was him, and the name confirmed it.”
“Actually, no. When he picked me up, he said his name was John.”
“So he lied about his name, and you still think he might not have been planning anything?”
“You’re right. The age seemed wrong too. It’s hard to tell with the gray hair. It wasn’t until I saw the truck that I knew. But I should have told you then.”
“Yes, you should have.” It wasn’t a rebuke. She almost wished it was. This was quiet, thoughtful, and that stung more.
Tess reached into her pocket and pulled out the other half of the five. “Take this. You’ve done more than enough. I’ll get that cupboard moved—”
A snort, sounding more like his usual self. “By yourself? I don’t need your mon—” He stopped short. “I’ll help you with the cupboard. I’m heading there anyway, obviously. Might as well.”
I don’t have anything better to do. He didn’t say that, but she heard it in his tone. He’d told her to be honest, but that seemed to apply only to her. He’d said he was almost eighteen, which meant there wasn’t much chance he was a runaway. By that age, he could get a job and find a place to live, and no one would bother him. He said his father was a lawyer, which meant he wasn’t poor, despite his rough clothing. Well educated. Well spoken.
The dirt from earlier had been accidental—the result of sleeping in an abandoned house and not having a mirror handy, and as soon as it was pointed out to him, he’d rectified it with his kit of hygiene supplies. Not a vagrant or a runaway then. Finished his last year of high school and hit the road for a summer?
She could ask him if she was right…and she knew the response she’d get. None. She’d have to wait for more clues to this particular puzzle.
It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the house. They got right to work. Jackson grunted that he wasn’t hungry and didn’t need lunch. She knew he was lying after he spent ten minutes trying to pry off one nail, cursing it in three languages for its stubborn refusal to yield.
“It would help if you did more than supervise,” he snapped when Tess defended the poor cabinet.
At the time, she was sweating and straining to pull the cabinet far enough from the wall to allow him to wedge in the pry bar.
“I’m putting all my weight into it,” she panted.
“All ninety-five pounds?” he said.
“A hundred and five.”
A snort of disbelief, and a shake of his head, as if her size was clearly a personal failing, one designed solely to annoy him.
“You’re hungry,” she said. “It’s making you more irritable than usual.”
“Than usual? I’m not irritable.”
“He says, snapping and glowering.”
A scowl her way. “I’m not hungry.”
“Liar.”
He opened his mouth to retort, but the rumble of his stomach stopped him. He tossed down the pry bar, and it clanked to the floor, making her jump. As he stalked off, she followed, saying, “I know you’re curious about what’s in there—”
“No, I just want to get this job done so I don’t have to share my lodgings again tonight.”
“You didn’t share them last night.”
“I woke up to find a girl in my room. Bad enough.”
“Most guys wouldn’t think that was so awful.”
She said it lightly, teasing him, trying to draw out a smile, but he only glowered at her and then moved faster.
“I was joking,” she called after him.
“Good.”
“You are curious,” she said. When he looked back sharply, her cheeks heated. “About the basement, I mean.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Liar.”
Another scowl, and he picked up his pace. She smiled and hurried after him.
Jackson wolfed down his sandwich. Then he ate half of hers. He’d only take it after she insisted she wasn’t very hungry—somewhat true—and that she could eat the bakery goods they’d bought in town—completely true. It was a relatively small sacrifice that bought her some goodwill. She even got a “Merci” out of it.
Moreover, when they headed back to work and she continued speaking in French, he didn’t insist they switch to English. He did pause, and she could see him considering whether coaching her language skills added another layer of inconvenience to a conversation that seemed inconvenient to him even in English. But he seemed to decide that having eaten half of her lunch, he was beholden to her and should make some small sacrifice of his own. It wasn’t long, however, before she was the one regretting the idea.
“Bon sang! Ça fait mal!” he said when she accidentally let go of the cabinet, squashed her fingers and said, “Damn it! That hurt!”
“Not funny.”
“Ce n’est pas drôle,” he translated, then caught her look and said in English, “I’m not mocking you. If you want to speak French, you need to stick to it. Even if your fingers get crushed.”
“It’s heavy,” she said.
“C’est lourd. And don’t give me that look. If you’re going to do something, fais-le correctement.” Do it right. “Now, do you want to learn French?”
“Oui.”
“Très bien.” A pause, and then he jerked his chin toward her fingers. “Est-ce que ça va?” Are you okay?
“Oui.”