In the late morning I found my shoes waiting side-by-side, just to the left of the door. Case had placed them neatly, taking time to straighten the straps and line them just right, as though with extreme care. I scraped one hand through my hair and regarded them through the headache haze blooming across my vision. After Case drove away last night I had cried until I thought my head might explode, just managing to make it to the toilet in my tiny bathroom before puking up about a bottle’s worth of gin.
I woke hours later on the bathroom floor, my left cheek near the base of the sink, Peaches sitting on her haunches and studying me with her unreadable green eyes. I pretended she was worried about me, that at least someone was, before peeling off my bar clothes and crawling into the shower, where I scalded my hair and body for a good fifteen minutes. I emerged feeling slightly more human and brewed a pot of strong coffee (Al had let me take the coffee maker from the office home, insisting he could get us a new one there), which I drank slowly at my kitchen table, staring numbly out the window at the restless, stormy gray sky that perfectly suited my brutal mood.
I thought of things I had learned about Case since I’d lived here in Montana. I repeated his full name to myself, again and again.
Charles Shea Spicer.
My heart clenched up as I considered what I knew about him, of being left behind to care for his younger brother, their father a drunken wreck who’d thrown them around when his moods were especially black, and I sank even lower into my pit of self-loathing.
How could you treat him that way last night, as though you only want sex from him? How could you act like that, knowing everything he’s been through, knowing how he feels about you? You are a selfish bitch.
I closed my eyes and held the mug of coffee just beneath my nose, letting the steam bathe my face. My stomach lurched a little, but I wasn’t in danger of vomiting; I had vomited up everything I’d eaten since last weekend already.
Case. How can I tell you that I’m sorry?
How can I make this right?
I let the coffee mug sink to the table, and then tipped my face to my bent arms, what I wanted right now all tangled up with what I wanted my future to hold. My future goals, namely living in Chicago as a successful lawyer. What I had been working towards for the last seven and a half fucking years.
Case will never leave Jalesville.
He lives in a trailer.
He has a past.
I lifted my head and cupped my temples in both hands, studying the wood grain on the table just a few inches from my nose. I thought of watching him sing last night, all of the nights I had listened to his gorgeous voice, had studied his hands as they called forth music from his guitar, his fiddle, made them sing joyously or mournfully, depending on the mood of the song. I imagined Case singing a song for me at our wedding, the way Mathias sang for my sister. I let myself imagine having his babies, setting aside my career so that I could be a mother and a wife.
Oh God, I’m so scared.
I can’t think about these things. I have good, solid job prospects in Chicago, a start at a stellar career. I have to go back to that. To consider anything else is completely unthinkable.
But the alternative stared me in the face and I could not look away. To leave meant I would be without Case for the rest of my life. Tears burst from my eyes and I sobbed again, even as sharp pain made my head seem capable of splitting along the hairline. When my phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call, I felt stabbed in the heart, turning blindly towards the counter and catching it into my hands. Disappointment pressed a heavy hand against my lungs as I saw that it was Robbie.
I pressed the ‘decline’ icon, letting it go straight to voicemail. Almost before I had set the phone on the table there was a knock on the door and I leaped as though I had just stepped into a pile of embers. Peaches meowed and rubbed against my calves as I stared at the door with my heart zinging. What were the odds that Case would be there when I opened it?
Oh God…
I called faintly, “I’m coming!”
But the open door exposed Robbie, in khaki shorts and a green polo shirt, who lifted both palms and asked, “What in the hell?”
I stared blankly at him, annoyed and crushingly let down. Of course it wasn’t Case. What had I been thinking?
“I got to town last night,” he explained. “Thanks for fucking caring. I ended up hanging out with Al. Nice guy. I can see why you like him.” He looked a little more closely at me and asked lightly, “Rough night, Patricia?”
I rolled my eyes, restraining the urge to just shut the door. I said, “Welcome to Jalesville.” And then, knowing I needed to go get the Honda, I asked pathetically, “Will you drive me to where I left my car last night?”
“Of course,” he said, smiling just a little at my tone. “You’re adorable when you’re pitiful, you know that?”
“Give me a sec,” I said, opening the door all the way and ignoring his teasing. Robbie helped himself to a cup of coffee and took a seat at my table as I disappeared into the bathroom. There I studied myself critically in the small mirror, taking into account the purple-blue smudges beneath my red-rimmed eyes. Rough night, indeed. I brushed my hair with a little more force than required, smoothed on my favorite raspberry-tinted lip gloss and then called it good enough. I had just clicked out the bathroom light when someone knocked on my door for the second time in ten minutes.
It’s him.
This time I knew with absolute certainty and my heart smashed against my ribs as though having jumped from the top of a building, just in time to hear Robbie get up to do the honors for me. There was a moment of crackling-tense silence and I rounded the corner into the kitchen to hear Case’s deep voice say, “I don’t fucking believe this.”
“Excuse me?” Robbie asked, sounding truly mystified, but I raced around him, barefoot, in pursuit of Case, who was already back down the steps and shoving out the front doors in the entryway. My hair streamed behind me as I chased him outside, where the low gray sky had begun spitting rain.
“Case!” I screamed, breathless, running onto the gravel without thinking, and a sharp edge cut into the tender center of my right foot. I made an inadvertent sound of pain, stumbling a little, and at this he turned around, however unwittingly. Even with the distance between us I could feel the angry heat from his eyes. I was not about to let him go thinking what he did: that Robbie had spent the night here with me.
I hurried to him and then faltered to a halt a few feet away; his truck was parked in almost the same spot as last night, though he had killed the engine this time. Rain struck the ground with intermittent drops, spattering over my threadbare gray t-shirt and sending the scent of dust into the humid air. Echoing his expression, thunder growled just above our heads with the threat of something far more dangerous to follow.
“Wait,” I implored, out of breath, staring greedily at him. He was hatless, his red-gold hair bright even in the dimness of the gloomy day. His eyes drove into mine, darkly intense and furious; his shoulders were taut with tension.
Before I could say another word he asked venomously, “Did you wait until I was out of the parking lot last night before you called him? Who the fuck is that, anyway?”
“It’s not like that,” I said desperately, wanting so badly to move close enough to touch him. I thought of how he’d kissed me last night and could hardly breathe with wanting more of the same. More, and then only more of him.
“Then how is it?” he asked, jerking both hands through his hair. “I guess it’s good to know the truth. Fuck, I was coming here to apologize.”
“He just got here from Chicago!” I said, angry tears glittering in my eyes, obscuring my vision along with the sharp little rain drops that seemed to hurl out of the sky. I hurried to explain, “He’s here to housesit for Ron. I went to school with him.”
“Then why is he here?” he demanded.
“I told you, he just got to town!” I yelled at him, furious and teary-eyed, all at once. “He’s taking me to get my stupid car!”
“I told you I would take you to get it today!” Case raged back, taking one step closer to me, almost as though against his will.
“How was I supposed to know that you were going to come back? You left without one word! Without even saying good-bye!” My heart was pumping furious blood through my veins and I could feel heat flushing across my entire face. My hands were such tight fists that my fingernails scraped my palms.
“You slammed the door in my face!” he yelled. He had me there.
I wanted to scream, You rejected me!
But I was too proud. Instead I shouted back, “You left!”
He lowered his voice to say cruelly, “So you needed to get laid so bad you didn’t care who it was, is that right?”
I slapped his left cheek hard enough that it hurt my palm and he caught my wrist in a deathly grip, clearly reading in my eyes that I intended to strike again. He brought me right up against his chest and then the heat in my veins flamed instantly to desire. I tugged fiercely at my wrist, held prisoner in his unforgiving fingers. His other arm secured me around the waist and he looked as tortured as I felt.
“Let me go,” I choked out, even though it was the last thing I wanted, as rain spattered our heads and tears splashed down towards my chin. My left hand was trapped between us and my gaze jolted between his eyes and his lips.
“Damn you,” he said then, through nearly-clenched teeth, releasing me as abruptly as he’d caught me close.
I shoved his powerful chest with both hands, furious and unfulfilled, needing something from him that I couldn’t even begin to explain. He held his ground and his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing.
“Fuck you,” I said then, my voice shaking, and turned away only to see Robbie standing on the sidewalk observing everything with an expression of complete stun. Behind me I heard Case slam into his truck; I spun back around as he drove out of the parking lot in a spray of gravel and screamed after him, “See if I care!”
Robbie jogged to my side and asked, “Are we in a reality show or something? What is going on?”
I pressed both hands to my belly, still intently watching Case’s truck as he barreled down the road, hearing the roar of his engine as though it was insulting me as well. When I could no longer see his vehicle, I managed to draw enough of a breath to respond. I said, “He thinks we…you and I, that is…spent the night together.”
Robbie chuckled and said, “I wish that was true. Jesus Christ, Tish, your dad would kill me.”
I angled a fraction of my fury at him and he held up both hands at once.
“Let’s get out of this rain! Come on,” he said. “You need to get back to Chicago, baby girl. This shitty little po-dunk town is messing with your mind.”
“I like it here,” I said and Robbie snorted derisively.
“Now I know I really need to get you out of here,” he said, catching my elbow into his hand and dragging me after him. Back inside my apartment he seated me at the table, flipped on the kitchen light and poured a fresh cup of coffee. I swept my damp hair over one shoulder and sipped cautiously.
Robbie sat opposite me, folded his hands and then asked in his best attorney-at-law tone, “Now, please inform counsel why in the fuck you just struck a resident of this town, less than five minutes ago.”
“Is ‘fuck’ a legal term?” I asked, curling my right hand around the warmth of the mug.
“In this case, possibly so,” he said, lowering his eyebrows wickedly at me. He went on, “Ms. Gordon, I assure you that we will examine all possible angles and…positions here.”
“Oh my God, I don’t need this right now,” I said, tears blurring my vision yet again.
“Have you been seeing him? Fraternizing with the locals? Patricia,” he scolded, teasingly slapping the back of my free hand. He went on, only half-kidding, I knew, “I don’t even know if they’re fully housebroken.”
“Don’t say that,” I flared at him, and my anger mildly shocked him, I could tell, though he didn’t let it show.
He sat back and shook his head, saying, “Oh Christ. Don’t go falling for some local guy. You have way more sense than that. I hope.”
“Get out,” I said through clenched teeth, and then pointed at the door in case there was even a kernel of doubt in his mind about what I meant. I added, “I am not in the mood for you right now.”
Robbie gave me a long-suffering look and insisted with zero sympathy, “Chicago. You’ve had too big a dose of reality here in…where in the hell are we, anyway?”
I was about to chuck my coffee at him and he saw this in my eyes, as he instantly retreated. At the door he said, “What about your car? And how am I supposed to entertain myself this week? Shit, don’t forget about Al’s birthday party next weekend. He invited me, but fuck if I’m going to it alone.”
“I’ll go get my car later. And I haven’t forgotten the party,” I told him, rubbing the base of one palm against my aching forehead. “God, just get out.”
Robbie was laughing as he shut the door behind him.
My foot hurt as I stood to dump out the rest of my coffee and I bent down, hooking my ankle against the opposite knee to examine the damage. A piece of gravel was wedged into the flesh just above my heel; angry adrenaline must have kept me from feeling it until just now. I hobbled over to the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat to dig out the tiny rock, more tears falling at this simple task, further infuriating me.
How dare Case act that way?
How dare he imply that Robbie and I are sleeping together?
But what else would he think, showing up to find Robbie already here?
It felt so good to be close to him, even in anger. Oh God, oh God…
To punish myself I scrubbed soap on my wound, which stung like hell, and then centered a band-aid over the cut. I decided that a nap would be in order before I walked the miles back into town to retrieve my car. When I thought about it, I didn’t even know exactly where my keys were. Peaches seemed to agree about the nap, wrapping into a warm ball against my stomach as I stretched out on my unmade bed and closed my eyes against the brooding, weeping sky out the window.
Hours had passed when I woke, I could tell, as the quality of the light in my room was distinctly different. The storm was gone, leaving a clean, freshly-laundered feel to the air. Mellow sunlight fell across the carpet, indicating late afternoon, and I sat up with a sigh, knowing I needed to eat something, get my ass moving. I fought the urge to simply lie back down and sleep until morning.
In the kitchen I had the sense that something was just slightly off, heart pounding hard, and cast my eyes around the space twice before I realized there was a set of keys just inside the door, as though someone had slipped them beneath. They were my apartment and car keys on their metal key ring, I realized, stooping to collect them.
Case, I thought at once, flinging open the door. Of course the hallway was empty, but still I jogged directly to the parking lot and sure enough, there was my car waiting for me outside, in the lot in the spot marked ‘Gordon.’ Case must have had my keys from last night; probably he was upset enough this morning that he’d forgotten to give them back to me. And here was evidence of his concern for me, more proof that he constantly took care of me, time and again, no matter how little I probably deserved it, how little he received in return.
I rubbed my hands over my upper arms, hugging myself hard. I thought of kissing him last night, of being held close to his chest this morning. I bent forward, aching as I considered how I had slapped his face. There was no excuse for that, no matter how angry I had been. All of that anger seemed misplaced now, having drained away, leaving behind only the urgent desire to find him and tell him I was sorry. Beg his forgiveness, before begging him for other things.
It’s Saturday, I thought, clamping down on my desperate thoughts. Where would he be right now? Does he play tonight? Is he home?
Did I dare drive out to Ridge Road? I closed my eyes and had to laugh a little at my own insanity, imagining myself showing up at the trailer, knocking on the door, apologizing and then proceeding to explain that I was searching for a hoop earring that I had inadvertently lost while kneeling illicitly on his bed. Touching his things without his knowledge yet again. Really, Case deserved to slap me, not that he would ever do such a thing. I roughed up my hair, ran my hands over my face, and then attempted to center myself, breathing deeply of the evening air.
I really do love it here, I thought, studying the sky above Stone Creek, stretching endlessly to the horizon where the mountains waited, patient and protective, as they had always been. Again these notions swept me away with surprise. I’ve been here before now, somehow, sometime. I know it. The certainty of this tugged at my very soul. As my eyes roved over the magenta-edged clouds gathering above the peaks (surely it would rain hard again before morning), I considered suddenly that I had a clue, even a small one, a place to begin researching, and despite everything, I felt a tremble of excitement.
Back inside I fed Peaches, ate a couple of handfuls of dry cereal while leaning against the counter and staring into space, put my hair into a ponytail and carried my laptop, notebook and a pencil out to the porch. There I smoked two cigarettes (justifying this because it calmed my nerves, at least a little) and then opened my laptop. Into the search bar I typed the words Thomas Yancy.
Nothing promising at first; there was a list of White Page information, advertisements for applications to find anyone, anywhere. I scrolled through all of the junk, my eyes alert for a hint of something I could focus my energy upon, a puzzle piece, even a fraction of an answer. And then I saw a Civil War ancestry page that had turned up that name. Thunder growled in the distance and I shivered, my eyes lifting to the horizon, where an anvil cloud was massing. I looked back at my computer screen and clicked on the link.
The information was sparse. Thomas F. Yancy, served in the Fifty-First Pennsylvania until 1865, mustered out in April of that year. No picture available. I tapped my fingers against my lips, considering what Derrick had said at the Coyote’s Den, about Thomas Yancy being shot in the back. He had been adamant and though he’d also been extremely drunk, he seemed to know exactly what he had been talking about.
Coward, Derrick had said. Fucker has it coming now.
Who do you mean? I wondered intently. Who shot Thomas Yancy? Why does it matter now, over a hundred years later?
The air chilled with a breeze, the pine trees all around the parking lot rustling as though trying desperately to tell me something. On the third floor, a mom called for her kids. On impulse, I typed Spicer into the Civil War page search bar. My fingertips tingled just typing Case’s last name. The third hit on the page read ‘Returns from U.S. Military Posts, 1865’ and showed the name ‘Henry Spicer.’ Heart clubbing, I backed out of the page and retyped this new name into the general search engine.
Less than a minute later I was sweating, my breath shallow, as I stared at the image of a black and white family picture. The caption read, H. Spicer Family, 1872.
Oh my God. This is Case’s family.
I was sure of this as I stared with wide eyes at the old photograph, absolutely devouring it. Henry and his wife, presumably, were seated at the center, surrounded by their family. Not one smiling face in the bunch, though I understood this was due to the length of time required for exposure; slow-operating cameras of the day. My eyes tracked over the faces of their numerous children, suddenly zeroing in on one in particular, a boy of perhaps eighteen, standing tall in the back row.
My chest hurt with a repressed breath and I was touching the screen, caressing his face, before I even knew my fingers had moved. Insane as it was, I realized he looked familiar. I knew him. I dragged my eyes from him to read the names listed in the caption, scrawled as though with an old-fashioned quill pen, moving frantically until I found the one that belonged to him – Cole. Cole Spicer, 1872. Eyes staring directly into mine from the old photograph, handsome and perhaps even a little defiant, shoulders thrown back.
Jesus Christ.
I looked back at the gathering storm in the here and now, trying to center myself. Attempting to regain reason.
Tish, you’re a lawyer. There is no logic to this. You don’t know this man, you have never known this man. There is no way that this is Case in another life —
I minimized the window and opened a second, typing Cole’s name into the engine next. The same image I had just been studying appeared, but as I clicked desperately on suggestion after suggestion, I found nothing more. Nothing useful, no birth or death dates, no further evidence of his existence.
I had to call Case. I had to see him. I needed this so much that I stood up and carried the laptop with me into the apartment. I found my phone and began to dial his number before stopping myself and holding the phone to my forehead.
You can’t call him.
I understood this, though it did nothing to lessen my desire. I forced myself to replace the phone on the counter and then went back outside. I did not, however, possess enough willpower to stop searching the Internet. I tried every combination I could concoct. I learned the names of all of Henry Spicer’s children. I surmised that this was the ancestor who had carried the violin to the war and then subsequently westward, the beautiful violin that Case still played to this very day.
I tried Thomas Yancy in conjunction with Henry Spicer, but came up empty-handed. I did discover that Thomas Yancy, who had once fought for the Union in the Fifty-First Pennsylvania, had two sons, the younger of the two with the bizarre name of Dredd. There was nothing to suggest that Thomas Yancy had been cheated out of land or murdered, or that he was somehow connected to Derrick. At last I searched Yancy Corps, clicking on the History link on their homepage. It was neat and tidy, briefly mentioning the founding of the company in Chicago in 1893; the original founder was listed as Fallon Yancy. The eldest of Thomas Yancy’s sons. No mention of the father or the younger brother.
So there is a connection.
I covered my face and pressed hard. Instead of finding any real answers, I had only unearthed a thousand new questions. Thunder absolutely exploded then, startling me; the sky was pewter-gray even though there should have been a good two hours of daylight left. Lightning sizzled and I smelled the rain seconds before it began pelting the earth. Stubbornly I remained where I was and pulled up the photograph of the Henry Spicer family one more time.
***
Hours later I was sleeping on the couch when a noise crept into my dream and my eyelids fluttered open. Though the thunder had passed, a soaking rain was still falling heavily outside, numbing my ears to any other sounds. But I knew I had heard something else and sat up fast, flinging the afghan from my hips, my heart tripping over itself in sudden fear. Fear, I understood, that would immobilize me if I let it; I thought, Get up, don’t be so helpless.
I stood and rushed to the door, flinging it open, not quite able to contain a shriek as Peaches, who’d inexplicably been in the hallway, darted past my ankles and leaped onto the kitchen table.
“You scared me!” I half-yelled at her, even though it was unfair. The green digital display on the stove read 5:41 am, though the lingering storm still created a sense of deepest night. Squaring my shoulders, I jogged down the hall and then the steps to the entryway, scanning the parking lot, uncertain just what I expected to find. Case, sleeping in his truck, guarding me in the night hours? I rolled my eyes at myself; a part of me had prayed to find exactly that.
Instead I saw only the wet parking lot, dim in the damp gray light of a rainy July morning.
***
Keeping myself occupied during the day wasn’t a problem, at least not at the law office, where more people than ever were stopping by during business hours to inquire about their legal rights regarding their land dealings with Capital Overland. In addition, Al was busy with his usual case load, working between the court house and the office while I held down the fort. We had convinced almost a dozen families to reconsider the sale of their property, and though I had not seen him since the night at the Coyote’s Den, I felt as though I could sense Derrick Yancy’s anger directed my way like a weapon pointed at my head.
Clark made a point of stopping into the law office on Thursday to remind me to come to dinner tomorrow night. As much as I hated to lie to him, I made up an excuse, telling him I simply had too much work to do. Clark didn’t exactly buy this, I could tell, but to his credit he let it slide. He said, “Will you at least be at Al’s birthday? The boys and I can come to pick you up, if you’d like.”
“I will,” I promised him. “But I already told Robbie Benson that I would go with him.”
Clark’s eyebrows furrowed a little and I rushed to explain, “He’s my old friend from school, remember, who’s housesitting for Ron?” Not that I’d seen much of Robbie this week – he’d been too busy lounging in Ron’s palatial cabin with a booze supply and the satellite dish, the worthless little shit. I was not feeling particularly charitable at the moment.
“That’s right,” Clark said. He studied me with his kind eyes before asking quietly, “Tish, are you all right?”
I nodded as vigorously as I could manage. Clark left just as Al came back from the court house, the noonday sun bright as a signal beacon on the street outside. Al greeted Clark and then focused on me. He said excitedly, “I heard word just now that Derrick Yancy is considering pulling up stakes around here!”
“Not just a vicious rumor?” I countered, too wary to get caught up, though Al seemed genuinely enthusiastic.
“Time will tell,” he said. “But this is good news! Only thing better would be you telling me that you’ve agreed to stay in Jalesville.”
“I don’t even know if I passed the goddamn bar exam,” I told Al, hedging.
“You passed or I’ll eat my hat,” he teased me, not about to let me rain on his parade, hanging the hat in question on the coat rack. “You know, after I took the exam I spent two weeks on a fishing trip. Shit, and here you are working yourself half to death for me. You can take tomorrow off, if you want.”
“Too much to do,” I countered.
He grinned at me and said, “At least take off early today.” He studied me a moment longer and I could sense he wanted to ask me about something.
“What?” I demanded.
“It’s not my business…” Al deliberately trailed off, a lawyer tactic I recognized, designed to snag a reluctant answer. I narrowed my eyes at him and he laughed, knowing he could not trap me in this fashion. He asked forthrightly, “Is it my imagination, or is there a little something between you and young Mr. Spicer?”
My heart responded heatedly to this question and my gaze flashed out the window, as though expecting to see Case’s maroon truck pull up to the curb. What I wouldn’t give for that. I hadn’t seen Case since Saturday morning in the parking lot of Stone Creek, and the puncture wounds in my heart throbbed painfully, reminding me clearly of their presence. I didn’t even have to speak for Al to say gently, “I thought so.”
I bowed to Al’s insistence that I leave early; he made me promise that I would take a walk, get some fresh air. He didn’t mention Case again, but I drove the wrong way on Main, just so that I could put my eyes on Spicer Music. The OPEN sign invited me but I was far, far too chicken. Instead I rolled by as slowly as I dared, studying his modest little music shop, desperate to see him inside. Instead I saw only the sun refracting blindingly from the glass.
So what is between you and Case? What exactly?
Something more than I could even explain, that was all I knew for certain. Something from over a century ago and something ten times stronger now, an echo of a time before, the memory of what had once existed between us and was now dying to be acknowledged again. I closed my eyes and pictured Cole Spicer’s black and white face, Cole Spicer who was long dead now; nothing could change that. Could it truly be plausible that his soul existed within Case?
Was I certifiable for even considering the possibility?
I was thinking so deeply about this that at first it didn’t register that someone had parked in my reserved spot at Stone Creek. I felt a flash of annoyance that turned to a beat of pure apprehension in the next second, as I recognized Derrick Yancy’s black GMC.
What the hell?
Again with the power play, taking my rightful place and forcing me to park to the side instead. He was clearly waiting for me; how long had he been here? Had he followed me from the law office? I hadn’t gone straight home, instead lingering near Case’s shop, which would have given Derrick time to get to Stone Creek ahead of me, if he had indeed observed me leave work. He didn’t even climb out of his 4x4 as I approached; instead he watched me, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.
You spineless little bastard, I thought as I neared him, keeping my chin held just a hair higher than usual. Bring it on, buddy. I’ve been waiting for this. For only a second did I waver, wanting Case to be with me right now more than ever. But then I reminded myself that I was far from spineless. That I could hold my own.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. Derrick was seated just above me in his big SUV, and I had the distinct impression he liked that I had to literally look up to him, as though he was some sort of royalty, always slightly higher than those around him. The sun was hot on my head as I refused to look away; all I could see was my own angry reflection in his sunglasses. I could feel the chill of the air conditioning blasting from the cab of his vehicle.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said in a perfectly-modulated voice.
“Then start talking,” I said, my words clipped and just a hair over-enunciated.
“Not here,” he said. I peered behind him, into the recesses of the SUV; it was empty of anyone but him.
“If you think I’m about to go anywhere with you, you’ve severely underestimated my intelligence,” I told him. My hands were planted on my hips.
“I don’t underestimate you at all, rest assured of that,” he said then, lifting his sunglasses from his face. His eyes made my stomach cramp – there was so much anger in them, a vicious loathing that I knew he couldn’t justify even if he’d tried. I understood, as I hated him perhaps unreasonably too. He said, low and heated, “You are fucking up my business here. I won’t have that, do you understand? You’ve done your little duty for Turnbull and now it’s time to go home.”
“I’ll go home when I’m ready,” I said, glaring at him as though attempting to pick answers from his brain. “There’s still plenty of work here.” On inspiration, I leaned even closer to him, despite all instincts screaming at me to stay back, and said intently, “And I won’t be scared away from here. No matter what you do.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously, though his voice was very calm as he said quietly, “Accidents happen, counselor. Whether we like it or not. Sometimes, they happen to people we care about.”
Again he’d succeeded in catching me horribly off guard. My knees turned instantly to gelatin and it took all the willpower I possessed to keep my composure. Derrick smiled then, fully understanding just how much he had rattled me, slipping his sunglasses back into place. He said lightly, speaking my name the way he would deliver an insult, “Go home, Patricia, where you belong. Do you understand me?”
He had driven smoothly away before I could manage to muster the strength to walk inside.