Page 91 of Unlawful Seduction

Sampson woofed and at least I could laugh. I’d searched long and hard for Jax after he’d disappeared in hopes of finding him. He hadn’t appeared in any of the local shelters and there’d been no sighting of him. Now I knew why.

In that time, I’d been called to a kill shelter located in another state, the folks certain they had my dog. Sampson had been a surrender, his backstory a horrible one. He’d been on the euthanasia list, redlined for that afternoon. I’d almost screamed at the people, adopting him on the spot. For all the terrible things the boy had been through, he’d been nothing but the sweetest, most loving and protective dog I’d ever met.

With the exception of Jax.

I started the engine and immediately reached for my phone.

Marjorie answered on the second ring. “Hey, girlfriend. Haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

We’d talked that morning. She loved teasing me. “I need a favor.”

“O-kay. You don’t sound good. What’s going on?”

“I need wine. Lots of wine. And an extra pair of eyes with Brady. Can you come over?”

“Whoa, girl. What is going on?”

“I… don’t exactly know.” I pulled out, immediately checking my rearview mirror for any sign of him. I hadn’t paid any attentionto which direction his truck had gone. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to know.

I hadn’t been back on the mountain since the incident. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to relive the couple of days that had honestly seemed more like a beautiful yet strange lifetime. I’d been happy staying in his cabin and I’d often asked myself how that was even possible.

“You’re scaring me. You sound like you saw a ghost.”

My laugh was bitter. “Something like that. Can you bring wine?”

“I’ll bring a feast. It sounds like you need it.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Jenny asked. Somehow, she’d been dragged from a potential love interest to come and see what the nutty girl needed.

I’d waited until Brady was happily napping and I had a tall glass of wine in front of me to admit what had happened earlier. I glanced down at the crossbow. I’d locked the gun away in a safe the day Brady had been born. Somehow, I needed the crossbow by my side as a reminder that I wasn’t crazy.

At least not completely.

The repetition of memories had continued. Less than one week had turned into four long years. Over fourteen hundred and sixty days of experiencing at least a few moments a day of a miserable ache.

“I wish I was.” And in truth, at that point I did. Seeing him in person again wasn’t on my calendar. After all, we had a son.Together. His son. Oh, God. I dropped my head into my hand, the fingers of my other firmly planted around the wineglass. I was still sick inside, the lump in my stomach growing by the minute.

“Does he know Brady is his… son?” Marjorie asked as if Beckett’s DNA was bad.

“They have the exact same eyes, but neither one of us really said anything.” I hated to admit I’d been such a chicken shit, but what should I have said to the man?Where the hell have you been?

Why did you make me think you were dead?

How could you just leave without letting me know you were okay?

I was angry and heartbroken, anxious and excited at the same time.

There was utter silence and it forced me to peek at them. They were both in the same level of shock I’d been in all day. I’d gotten home, fed the little man lunch, had hooked him up with a movie, and paced the floor. When he’d gone down for a nap, I’d headed to the barn, bringing the crossbow inside. I don’t know why it had felt so important. Maybe because it had been a grounding maneuver. After that, I’d processed everything that had occurred that night, including when he’d sent me off to walk home.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a tiny part of me had felt as if the horrific wreck had been a ploy, but after so much time had passed, I’d leaned more toward that he’d decided that night was a good night to die.

I’d heard the explosions and had raced back to the scene, horrified at what I’d found. I’d also noticed a strange carfollowing me for almost a week before disappearing. I’d never seen them again. My gut had told me they were ensuring that Beckett was really dead. Well, he was. His body was charred, lying in the morgue. What little ashes there’d been I’d scattered in the river.

There was no one I could call. I didn’t know the man. He’d arranged for payment in case of his untimely death, but the funeral director had gotten my name. There was someone working with him, but he had remained determined to keep his identity private.

I’d tried to find the guy, but every avenue I’d turned I’d faced a dead end.

“What are you going to do?” Jenny asked.

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