Page 137 of The Last Close Call

“I did.”

“What about her husband?”

“I don’t have his info. But I might be able to get it.” Rowan scrolled through her phone and found her latest call from Dara.

She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” Rowan told her. “I need your help.”

***

Joy’s heart lurched at the knock. She held her breath and waited. Thirty seconds later it came again, louder.

She didn’t move. She lay stone still, not even breathing as she strained to hear.

Nothing.

No more knocks or footsteps, only the distant rushing of water behind the cabin. Then... something. A faint rustling in the bushes. Or was she imagining it?

A soft thud on the back steps. Joy held her breath, heart pounding wildly as she heard the soft rasp of footsteps on the porch. Then the faint but unmistakable creak as the back door opened and he stepped inside.

“Joy?”

The low voice in the darkness was dizzyingly familiar.

“Are you asleep?”

She sat up in bed. “No.”

He crossed the living room to the sleeping area, and she took in his appearance. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair had thinned, and he looked older now, thicker through the middle. But he had the same tall, broad-shouldered build that could command an audience.

He stepped closer. “What are you playing at?” he growled.

“Playing at?”

“Who do you think you are showing up here and making a scene?”

His words sank in, and icy rage filled her. “Who do I think I am? I’m the girl whose life you ripped apart. Do you even remember?”

His scowl answered her question.

He stepped closer to the bed, and her heart rate kicked up. “Who did you talk to?”

“No one,” she said. “Yet.”

He slapped the switch on the wall, and the room lit up. Joy blinked at the brightness, and he glared down at her.

“What do you want?” he demanded. “Why are you here?”

“I came to tell you your secret is out, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

His face became red and mottled with useless fury. She recognized the look—she’d felt that way a thousand times herself, and she almost felt sympathy for him but—

“You bitch.” He lunged toward her. She screamed, but the sound was lost as his hands clamped around her throat.

She tried to pry off his fingers as his angry red face loomed over her and she fought for breath. The pain was intense as his hands squeezed out all air, all sound. She bucked, trying to get his weight off her as the hands clenched tighter and panic took over. She clawed at his hands, his eyes, his cheeks. She slapped at the bed as her vision tunneled and dimmed.

No, no, no!

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