Page 51 of River Wild

But the message was clear. The man was coming for Bailey. He was through waiting. Bailey had been right. He wasn’t finished with her.

After calling the state crime lab, he bagged the evidence to be picked up at his office tomorrow. He locked it in his patrol SUV and went inside the house to find Bailey heating up last night’s dinner and cooking pasta in his largest pot.

“You looked inside it,” he said.

“I didn’t touch it. I used a pen to open the towel a little. It’s her blood, isn’t it?”

“We won’t know until the crime lab runs DNA on it, but probably.” He stepped closer to her, remembering her in his arms, remembering the kiss. He’d thought the smell of marinara sauce would make him nauseous, but he heard his stomach growl. In a way, it felt good. He and Bailey were still alive, still hungry, still determined not to give up.

He pulled her close from behind. She leaned into him as she continued to stir the sauce. He wanted to believe that everything had now changed between them, that from now on she would trust him, that this had brought them closer.

But he didn’t delude himself—even after a couple of passionate kisses. With Bailey, he suspected he didn’t know even the half of it.

BAILEYHADBEENso determined to tell Stuart everything—before she’d spotted the gray SUV, confronted Norma and found whathe’dleft her in her car.

She had every reason to stall as they sat at his small table in the kitchen, eating the spaghetti she’d made, like they’d done this dozen of times before. It was warm and cozy and felt so normal that she wanted to forget everything but this moment since after she told him, they might never do this again.

“This is really good,” he said, sounding so surprised that she had to laugh. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

She grinned and shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She’d meant it as a joke, but realized after the words came out of her that it wasn’t funny, because it was true. She stood up and got them each another beer before sitting down again.

As she opened hers, she said, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It’s my mother’s recipe. Elaine’s mom kept it for me after my mother died. I’ve never made it before, but I’ve always wanted to try it.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you talk about your mother,” he said as he put down his fork and looked at her.

She could tell that he was waiting. His look said that he knew she would tell him when she was ready, as if he’d learned that prodding her would only make her dig her heels in. She realized she was wrong about one thing. He knew her—even if he didn’t know all her secrets.

“Did you know that I always dreamed of being a writer?” she blurted out.

“I knew you loved to read, so I’m not surprised. Didn’t you major in English at college?”

She nodded. “English with a minor in criminology.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Criminology? I guess I could see that, given what had happened before you left for college. So, you haven’t given up on being a writer?”

Bailey rose, avoiding his gaze as she began to pick up the dirty dishes. Before Willow was killed, she could have come up with a lot of reasons for keeping everything to herself. But she couldn’t anymore—especially from Stuart.

“I started gathering information after I got back from college,” she said, her back to him.

“Information?” he asked, already sounding suspicious.

“I’ve written a book,” she said as she rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. “It’s almost finished.”

“What kind of book?”

“At first it was just an excuse to get closer to the ranchers here in the Powder River Basin,” she said, avoiding the question. “I was sure one of them knew the truth.” She kept her back turned to him.

She heard his sharp intake of breath before he said, “You were looking for the man who’d attacked you by talking to the women in their lives.”

Bailey didn’t care what other people thought, even her family. But Stuart was different. She didn’t want to see his reaction, which was why she had tried for so long to keep it a secret. She especially didn’t want to see his disappointment in her.

But as her editor had pointed out, she couldn’t keep it a secret much longer. The book would be published soon.

“You’d be surprised how many people wanted to tell me their stories,” she rushed on, unable to look at him. “Or even better, stories about their neighbors. I wrote it all down, thinking there was a thread that would lead me tohim. But instead, I realized that I had a book.” She took a breath and let it out before she said, “It’s a tell-all book about the people of the Powder River Basin.”

The silence that followed felt thick as mud. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she turned to look at him. To her surprise, she saw no judgment in his gaze. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t a criticism.

“The night outside the bar, when someone tried to mug you...”

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