Page 73 of Unnatural
But here he was now, after less than an hour away from her, and he was drowning in it as sure as if he’d submerged himself in the frigid lake stretching in front of him.
She’d asked him if he’d ever thought about kissing her in all the years they’d been parted.Yes, he’d told her.It was the last time I felt truly alive.But he hadn’t known the half of it. He hadn’t realized that those few stolen moments with her so many years ago barely scratched the surface of what it felt like tofeel alive. She was the one who’d provided the experience, then and now, but this time it was intensified beyond any words Sam had to describe it. Ifthiswas life—laughing with her, looking at her, being inside her body as she stared down at him with pleasure-filled eyes, hearing her speak, seeing her lips tip with happiness that he’d given—then he fully understood why people clung to it, fought for it, and feared its end. For the first time in Sam’s life, he understood what it felt like tobelong. To want and receive.
And it was wonderful. And terrifying.
She’d been right about pleasure being different when someone else gave it to you. He’d treated pleasure like food. Essential and enjoyable, as long as you didn’t overindulge. But Samwantedto overindulge with her. And the ideas of how to do that didn’t disturb him like the videos they’d watched at the hospital.
But Sam didn’t want to think about the hospital or anything else. If he sat here all day, staring out at the lake, all he was going todowas think. Torture himself. He couldn’t bear it.
So he went into the house and prepared himself for what he’d decided needed to be done.
Fifteen minutes later, Sam was pulling onto the road again in the old red truck, the license plate splashed with mud since he figured Adam had reported it stolen. Then again, maybe the old man was still waiting for Sam to return it, having faith that he’d just gotten hung up somewhere and would be back anytime. Sam sighed as he watched the landscape streak by.
He followed the signs that pointed the way to New York City, veering toward the town where the apple orchards stretched. He felt a moment of apprehension when he pulled onto the one-lane road that led to the old man’s farm. He would be there and gone before anyone could call any authorities, however. And even if someone attempted to detain him, well…he was well prepared for that too, though it wasn’t his wish to fight anyone. He simply wanted to return what wasn’t his.
But when he drove through the gates of the farm, his blood cooled in his veins, making his body feel rigid. There was a For Sale sign near the front gate, and the place looked abandoned. Shock and alarm descended. This was the last thing Sam had expected. It hadn’t even been a month since he’d been here.What happened?
There was one other vehicle in the open space near the house where seasonal workers used to park, and Sam pulled in next to it and then turned off the engine. He stepped down, the closing of the door echoing in the silent space.No sounds of machines. No animal noises. No music or laughter coming from the white house nearby. Sam moved slowly and cautiously toward the car, and when he peered inside, he saw a briefcase and what looked like real estate flyers.
Had something happened to the old man? Why else would he sell his farm? Something was very off.
Do you see me as a lucky man?
Adam loved this place.
Sam steeled his spine, experiencing the same eerie sense ofwrongnesshe’d felt in Macau.
His head pivoted as he walked slowly to the barn and entered the small room where he’d slept. His skin prickled with the sense that someone had been here looking for him, someone who knew very well who he was. His duffel bag was still there, though it’d been moved, and the zipper was halfway open. And when he did a quick search of his belongings, he found that nothing was missing, furthering his suspicion that the person who’d rifled through his things, did so more for identification than theft.
Sam knelt near the cot where he’d slept and pried up the floorboard and removed the weapon he’d hidden there.
That was when he saw the shoe print in the dust on the floor. Much larger than the average man’s. One very close to Sam’s own size but with a different tread. His stomach clenched as he stood and secured the gun in the waistband at the back of his pants. Yes then, one ofthemhad been here. How had he fooled himself into thinking they wouldn’t catch up with him eventually?
He heard the man’s footsteps just as he’d stepped from the dim interior of the barn out into the light of day.One seventy-five at most judging from the sound of his feet, five tenfrom the shadow on the ground.Sam sized the man up before he’d even come into view, relieved it wasn’t one ofthem. Whoever it was, Sam could take a man of that size easily, but still, he pressed his body against the side of the barn, hoping a physical altercation wouldn’t be necessary.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Sam’s breath released slowly, shoulders lowering as he moved away from the barn.
“Holy shit!” the man said, coming up short when Sam appeared. His gaze flickered over Sam, and he took a slight step back. “Hi. I thought I heard a vehicle.” He held his hand out. “I’m Joe. I’m the agent for this property.” He glanced down at the camera hanging around his neck. “I’m just taking a few pictures.”
Sam lifted his duffel bag. “I used to work here. I came back for this. Why is the farm for sale?”
Joe shook his head and gave a small grimace. “Sorry to have to tell you, but the owner of the farm was murdered.” He shook his head as a buzz took up under Sam’s skin, the word echoing:murdered, murdered, murdered.“Awful thing. Tied up and then shot point-blank. Apparently, he employed a lot of riffraff so—” The man’s eyes widened as he obviously remembered that Sam had just identified himself as the hired riffraff. “But anyway, the police suspect one of them but don’t have any leads. The deceased owner’s family is local but weren’t interested in running a farm, so it’s up for sale at a real bargain. Just moved the animals out yesterday to their new homes, but the equipment is all still here. Don’t suppose you’re in the market for an apple farm, are you?” Joe attempted a grin, but it quickly faded when Sam simply stared, mouth pressed into a firm line, the monster inside him rumbling and rising and rattling his chains.
Someone had killed Adam. Tied him up and assassinated him.
Someone with a size fourteen or fifteen boot who Sam suspected had been looking for him.
“When did this happen?” he asked, forcing his voice through his lips.
Joe scratched the side of his neck. “Oh, the same day as that school shooting in New York City. I don’t remember the date, but I remember thinking, damn, it was a violent day. What in the hell is wrong in the world?”
Sam held the howl back with increasing effort. It wouldn’t do for Sam to scare Joe so that he reported him. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he forced himself to say. “He was a decent man.” And it was because of Sam that he was dead. He pointed in the direction where he’d parked the truck. “The truck belonged to Adam. I got held up returning it, but there it is.”
Sam turned away as Joe said, “Oh. Okay. I’ll tell his family. Er, have a good day!” he called.
Sam walked off the farm in the direction of those woods where he’d spent weeks living off the land and then first come upon the old blind man.
