Page 46 of Rock and a Hard Place

“Peter, Roger has a copy of the police record to prove it.”

“What? You had her investigated?”

“Well, you were spending all your free time talking to her or going to see her. We’ve never met the girl. Even your brother thought the situation was a bit odd,” she confessed.

Peter looked at his brothers. Adam enjoyed the family drama, and Garrett sported a cocky look of superiority. “Since when do you listen to Garrett? He’s only doing this because he can’t stand to see me happy.”

He turned back to his mother. “You’re wrong about Libby’s mother.”

His parents exchanged a worried glance.

Peter needed them to understand and to know the truth about Libby. “Her mother’s dead. She died in a car accident a couple years ago. So, you see, she can’t have a police record. That’swhy Libby’s living in Rockville with her aunt. Libby isn’t even from Wisconsin.”

His mother looked at him with sympathy. “She’s told you some tall tales. She wanted you to like her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You’re not listening, either one of you! Libby’s entire family was in the car. Her little sister died that day, too. Libby’s got scars to prove it. After the funeral, her dad lost it, and she got dumped at her aunt’s. It’s not her fault if her aunt’s a criminal. My God!”

He threw his hands in the air, frustrated beyond belief. He looked to each family member, willing them to understand. The regret on his mother’s face told him she now understood.

“Roger got it wrong. Mom, you never should have let this happen.” Peter shook his head, walked over to his mother, and spoke quietly. “I need to talk to her. I need to fix this. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. I don’t even know how to get ahold of her without going to Rockville.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” his father interrupted, crossing his arms. “We’re headed home to San Antonio tonight for Thanksgiving tomorrow. Plus, the European tour is about to kick off, and we’re already behind schedule with promotion.”

His mom rubbed his back. “Don’t worry, we’ll get ahold of her. It’ll be all right. I know it seems terrible right now, but you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“No, I won’t feel better until I can talk to her and makesure she knows we’re okay.” Thank God Mom understood. He could always count on her in a crisis.

That night, Libby, wearing a baggy T-shirt, paced her bedroom, unable to sleep. She didn’t want to be at school, and now she didn’t want to be here, either. When she came home, Aunt Marge gave her the silent treatment, which was fine. A bag of meth sat on the kitchen counter like a huge elephant in the room. Libby supposed now that Aunt Marge’s business dealings were out in the open, she didn’t feel the need to hide anything anymore.

The evening inched by, a slow torture into night. More than anything, Libby wanted Peter. She didn’t care what Garrett said. In her eyes, Peter would always be perfect. She would love him for the rest of her life.

She broke down and tried to call him, in desperate hope that Garrett was wrong, but her phone had no connection. Garrett had cut the phone service and, as a result, cut Libby out of Peter’s life. It was truly over. This flashy phone was no more than an empty shell.

Her stomach growled with hunger, but she didn’t dare go downstairs in search of food. She didn’t trust herself around Aunt Marge. What she really wanted to do was light the barn on fire and watch her aunt flip out as she lost the only thing she cared about go up in smoke.Libby plopped back down on the bed, miserable, wishing she could sleep.

It was after 11:00 p.m., and her body wouldn’t give in. Some freakish adrenaline from losing Peter consumed her body. She stared at the shadows the moonlight cast across her room. She tried to block out all the painful memories. Her mom covered in shattered glass. Her sister hooked up to machines that couldn’t save her. Her big, strong father crumbling before her eyes. His car driving away. The memories morphed into equally painful thoughts of Peter; him, singing to her at Parfrey’s Glen, the way he held her in his arms, and his eyes gazing deep into hers.

Suddenly, a crash sounded downstairs. She jerked up in bed and heard another crash, then loud voices yelling. She sat paralyzed on her bed, unsure what to do. Downstairs, her aunt’s shrieks filled the house.

Someone was breaking into the house.

16

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and paralysis turned to action. Libby leapt off the bed, searching the room for a safe hiding place. The closet held almost nothing and wouldn’t conceal her; the furniture was sparse with nothing to hide behind. In unbearable panic, she ran to the bed and began to crawl under it, smacking her chin on the floor and scraping her shoulder against the ancient frame.

Her bedroom door burst open and two enormous men rushed in. Their bright flashlights caught her attempt at escape.

Her heart nearly exploded as she clawed to fit under the bed. They were on her in an instant. Rough hands dragged her back out, causing her nightshirt to slide up and reveal her bare legs and underwear.

“No!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping toalert someone, anyone to help. She dug her fingernails into the threadbare carpet, and kicked out at her attackers. Pure terror consumed her.

Libby fought them with a strength she never knew she possessed. A heavy boot slammed into her back, knocked the wind out of her, and pinned her to the floor. Her heart pounded huge, loud thunks. Tears streaked her face in defeat. As she struggled to breathe, the men flipped her over and blinded her with their bright flashlights.

“Jesus, Smith, she’s a kid,” one of the attackers said. “Like that makes a difference,” the other responded.

“Back off. Let her breathe,” the first voice said.

A set of hands moved away, but the other kept her locked in an iron grip. The lights left her face and moved expertly throughout the room.

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