It had been cool in the shadow of the boathouse, and he had a perfect view of the lake. He’d leaned against the rough-hewn logs and lit a cigarette, took only a few long, sharp drags before realizing that the smell of the smoke might drift out across the lake and alert her to his presence.
That was the trouble with these scenic, pristine places, he had grumbled to himself. A guy couldn’t have a smoke without worrying about giving himself away.
She had been halfway across the lake when he’d gotten to the boathouse, and he’d watched her drift farther and farther away. He’d wished she’d get on with it and just bring the damned boat back. They were wasting time. He had started to fret over having let the girl get away. By now, wouldn’t she have told someone that he was here? Would someone soon be on their way down to take her away from him?
I’d like to see someone try, he snorted, even as he had looked over his shoulder to see if someone might be headed down to the lake.
But the path had been clear all the way up to the lodge. And he had known he could take the girl later. After he’d taken care of Ethan. Ethan, who thought he was so smart, bringing her here. Thinking he could keep her safe from him.
He had shaken his head, barely able to understand their stupidity.
They just didn’t understand who they were dealing with.
Doing that woman in Connecticut had turned out to be a stroke of genius. Where before the FBI had scattered their search, they now had narrowed it considerably as they “closed in on him.”
Hearing that on last night’s news had made him laugh out loud.
And while all the ladies in Connecticut were padlocking their doors, and every law enforcement agency in southern New England launched a massive manhunt, he’d slipped right through their fingers and headed north.
Damn, I am good, he had told himself, wishing that Ray could have been there to appreciate the beauty of it.
The thought of Ray having been done in by some penny-ante goon in the prison infirmary never failed to infuriate him. He missed Ray, missed his letters, his counsel. No one in his life had ever understood him the way Ray had. There was nothing he hadn’t been able to tell Ray, and Ray had always understood.
Even about Momma.
And Dolores.
Both of them, taunting and humiliating him until he had snapped.
He squeezed his eyes shut to push them back into the far recesses of his mind. If he could squeeze them out, he would win and he would not have to hear them and the terrible things that came out of their mean mouths.
Not Momma, who had made her living on her back and who was not above selling her little boy if the price was right.
Come here, Billy. Mr. Byers has something for you …
And if he didn’t run real fast, he’d find out sure enough just what it was that Mr. Byers had.
Not Dolores, who had humiliated him, taken another man into his bed and laughed in his face, told everyone in West Newton what a failure he was as a man.
Maybe you oughta watch sometime, Billy. Maybe you oughta see how a real man does it.
Beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead then, and he wiped them away with the sleeve of his shirt and tried not to listen. Tried not to remember how their brown eyes had laughed at him.
He should have taken care of Dolores right then and there. He shouldn’t have run away like he had, shaking and bawling like the baby she’d said he was. By the time he’d gotten himself pulled together, she was gone. He’d been looking for her ever since. He knew she was out there, but she was so clever. She had so many disguises.
Just like Momma. Sometimes in a yellow wig, sometimes in a black one, Momma never seemed to hit the same corner wearing the same getup.
Gotta keep ’em guessing, Billy-boy. Gotta make ’em think there’s something new.
Who knew how many disguises Dolores might have?
But the eyes—her brown eyes—had always given her away.
He pushed it all away, back into those little holes inside where he kept them, kept their voices and their faces and the rage they inspired. Separate, of course, from those other voices. The ones that guided him and told him what to do.
He had heard the splash of oars as Leah rowed rapidly toward the shore as if she was being pursued. Crouching in the shadows, he had watched her row up to the dock. For a minute he had been afraid that she’d get out of the boat facing him, and then what would he do, the element of surprise being so vital here.
Turn around. Turn the boat around, damn it, he’d silently commanded.
And she had.
He had sighed, knowing it was a sign. A sign from Ray that he was there, watching him, giving him strength, letting him know that all would go as planned.
As soon as the boat turned, he’d started stealthily toward the dock, the canoe paddle he’d taken from the boathouse in his hands.
Wasn’t it perfect, the way she had played right into his hands? Hoisting herself onto the dock and leaning over with her back to him? It had been so easy. He had known that it would be. She had been promised to him.
And now she was his.