Page 136 of A Smile Full of Lies
He shook his head once.
“No. This?” He gestured to the cabin, “This is me keeping my distance until I can take what I want from you without worrying about me potentially ripping open your stitches on accident. And to make doubly sure that I’m not overwhelmed by temptation, I’ll be out of town on a business trip for two and a half of the three weeks you’ll be here.”
My lips parted, breath catching.
“But—”
“No buts. You scared me, Ros,” he said, voice a deep, velveteen growl. “I don’t get scared. I get even.”
I opened my mouth to speak, to try to beg for mercy, but no sound came out.
Fuck. Me. I’m so far up shit creek without a paddle at this point, it’s not even funny.
He stepped in close, his mouth nearly touching mine.
“And when I get you back? I’m going to make you pay for every fucking second I thought I’d lost you.”
I trembled.
“I understand why you’re angry, but I thought that maybe the fact that I did it because I care would count for something.”
“I’m not mad that you protected me,” he said. “I’m mad that you risked your goddamn life to do it.”
I reached for him, but he caught my wrist gently, kissed the inside of it, then let it go.
“Write the truth,” he said, stepping back. “And when you’re done? You’d better be ready baby, because you’re going to pay for the hell you put me through.”
My breath stuttered.
His lips curled into something that looked much more like a threat than a promise.
Then he turned, walked back to the truck, and drove away, leaving me on the porch with shaking knees and a heart that already ached for the reckoning still to come between us.
The screen door creaked loud enough to make me wince as I stepped inside.
The air smelled like cedar and old books, with a faint trace of something darker… Knox’s cologne, maybe. That warm, citrusy, woodsy scent he carried like armor. I didn’t know how long it would linger here after he left. But I hoped it wouldn’t fade.
The inside was simple, with an open-concept kitchen and living space, stone fireplace, and a small desk by the window overlooking the river. The back bedroom had a king-size bed with dark gray sheets, and a stack of paperbacks on the nightstand. Most of them were crime novels and thrillers.
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised.
I dropped my bag by the dresser and trudged back to the front room. The sun caught the water through the trees, throwing golden light across the hardwood floor. I pressed my hand against the glass, trying to ground myself. Trying to breathe.
Three weeks.
Twenty-one days alone with nothing but my guilt and the blank pages waiting to be filled with the true story of the Stonewood Slaughter.
I opened my laptop and pulled the charger from my bag, set it up on the desk, and plugged everything in.
I procrastinated for a while by going and looking at the local news – the Stonewood Times website – because so far, I hadn’t seen anything about what had happened to me, about Thayer’s death, and I kept expecting to see that – how the hell they’d kept it all quiet so long I really couldn’t imagine. Maybe I should ask Alyssa Allen.
But today, there was something. Not front page, not big and sensational, but still something.
November 16
Police News: On November 2ndthere was a serious incident in a gated apartment complex in the riverside area. One person died, and another was seriously injured. Police investigations into the incident are continuing. Details will be reported here once they have been released.
Somehow, seeing that made it feel real, in a whole new way. For a moment, I just sat and shivered, remembering. Then I shook my head. I wondered what Thayer’s family were saying about his disappearance, and just when the police might release his bodyfor any kind of funeral. It could be weeks, what with autopsies and the investigations to close the case on Knox’s family. I was certain they weren’t going to let anything much slip out until that was wrapped up.
