Page 35 of Roses Are Dead
“At your side?”
Maybe some things could be solved Jackson’s way? I resisted the urge to picture her naked form again. But I could at least be honest, right? “If you want to. I wouldn’t turn it down.” I raked my eyes down her body.
She hesitated. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. However?—”
“Oh, here we go…”
I smiled my not nice grin. “Carl’s going to try to cause trouble.”
“Duh. Do ducks quack?”
Ignoring her sarcasm, I plowed on. “The more people who see us together, and see you willingly with me, the better.”
Her mouth hung open slightly. “Do you want me to paw at you in public?”
Put that way, no. “I want you to make it look like this is your idea to stay here.” Her mutinous face wasn’t showing conviction. “Because when Carl starts pulling his bullshit, who’s going to pay?”
Her shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Carl might not take a direct approach if he suspects something.” She walked over and knelt at my feet.
I took a step back, stunned.
She held both hands out, palms up. “On my word, by the life in my blood, and with the spirits of hearth and home as witness, I vow to be convincingly willing in public.”
That was sincere enough for me. “Accepted.” My stomach growled. The fragrance of baked bread still clung to her skin, and I could smell it. “Are you hungry?”
This fake relationship would start as normal as it could. I’d make her dinner. Tomorrow? Maybe take her shopping?
I shuddered. That wasn’t my style. Everyone knew it wasn’t. I’d have to figure something out, fast. Because Jackson was right. Carl would be watching.
9
Roishin
Whatever it takes. I made a vow to the Goddess on that for Beth’s sake. But staring at Bear’s altar reminded me that while I might not always like the sacrifices asked of me, they were part of a greater design.
Why else would Carl hand me over to a man like this? If he wanted to torture me, giving me to the tow truck driver would have been a better move. Bear might be grumpy, irritable, rough, dangerous… okay, not ideal, but he also had a thread of honor running through him that he hid from the world. Carl missed that.
I’d missed that because Bear had acted his part so well.
Until I noticed his home. The things he surrounded himself with were far from the character he portrayed to the world. On the altar, he’d spread sacred plants. Angelica, chamomile, clover, and yarrow, as well as a scattering of acorns and dried rose petals. Gifts to the Gods to bring harmony and peace into his space.
Outside his home, his backyard butted up against a forested section. I explored that after he left in the morning. A trail snaked through it, growing less visible the farther I followed it. When the asphalt turned into gravel, and that turned into dirt, I found a secluded park. I watched the small river for a while. Then I searched the area and the path.
Bear had used this trail for running almost as soon as he was awake. It must be a regular thing. The evidence of a prior run was imprinted in the dried dirt. I traced the zig-zagged tread of his shoes.
“That’s where the mud came from.” Bear had expensive running shoes and treated them poorly.
I followed the trail of footprints. He stopped at this point in his run, crouched at that point. The heavy imprint of the front of his shoes told me that. I crouched, too, searching to see what he might have been looking at.
Gooseberries.
Why did that seem familiar? I scanned the tableau. A post stuck out of the water. It was the remnants of a pier.
“Oh, shit.”
I picked my way through the thorny bushes blocking the water and walked along the riverbank.
