Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)(11)

I look over the pistol. Hmm, it appears to be an Old West collector’s revolver.

“You got this from Kyle Tanner?” I ask, suspicious.

“Yep, that’s what he sold me.”

Will glances away, and I wonder: Is this really the right gun? I can’t imagine drug-addled Tanner dealing in nineteenth-century weaponry. But then again, he may have stolen it from somewhere before he sold it to Will.

Whatever the case, something feels off.

Nonetheless, I say to Will, “Okay. Well, thanks for turning it over to me.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything crazy with it, anyway,” Will declares. “I bought it to keep with me for when I was with Cassie. Figured if Paul showed up, and I brandished that”—he nods to the gun—“it might scare him away for good.”

“Will,” I breathe out. “You can’t threaten people with guns.”

“I hardly think of him as a person,” Will scoffs.

“Look, Will,” I say, sighing. “Yes, Paul is an *, but you can’t threaten him with a deadly weapon. You’ll end up getting yourself into more trouble than he is in.”

“The police are still looking for him,” Will says, “so I hardly doubt that.”

Paul violated the restraining order against him when he stopped Cassie on the side of the road last week and almost molested her. Thank God for the passing car that made him stop. The police have been searching for Paul ever since, but to no avail. Paul’s ability to sneak around doing this shit is what makes Will crazy.

“Still,” I tell my brother, “just let the police handle things.”

“I’m going to, Chase.” Will says. “I promise.”

Yeah, I think, we’ll see about that.



After Will goes up to bed, I sit in the family room alone for a while. It’s just me and my thoughts, which leaves me feeling restless.

I could—and should—head upstairs and go to bed. Warm Kay is waiting up there for me. I can lose myself in her like I did before dinner.

And I will, but not yet.

I wander around the house for a bit, checking out things on the first floor. Every room is spacious and meticulously decorated. I stroll through the living room, which doesn’t look like it’s used all that often. Then I’m on to the downstairs bedrooms, including Mom and Greg’s room. Next, I walk through Greg’s study and then amble through a small library. When I’m back in the dining room, I turn this way and that, until I ultimately decide to wind my way to the kitchen. There I come upon a laundry room/mudroom combo in the far corner. The door to the garage is in there. Curious as to what kind of cars Mom and Greg are driving these days, I step into the mudroom and swing open the door leading to the massive garage area.

“Wow,” I mouth as my gaze sweeps over four spots, all occupied with very nice vehicles. There’s a Mercedes, a Porsche, a Range Rover, and a sweet Dodge Challenger, cherry red with white stripes. I assume that car is for Will for when he turns sixteen next year. He hasn’t mentioned the car, though, and you think he would. Still, if I know my mother—and I sure as hell do—this is just like her. If there’s one thing Abby excels at, it is keeping secrets. She probably bamboozled Will into thinking the Challenger is Greg’s car. But I know how she plots and plans and surprising Will with a car on his sixteenth birthday is just her style. It’s so typical of Mom to think a pricy gift might make up for all her years of neglect.

“Think again,” I snort as I step into the multi-vehicle garage.

I notice there’s a fifth parking spot, but it appears empty. Until I walk over to it.

Just as I’m passing the red Challenger I catch sight of something I never thought I’d ever see again, something I assumed was long gone.

I stare long and hard at my father’s old 1960 Indian Matchless motorcycle, muttering, “Shit, no way.”

Mom told me everything was gone. Hell, we sold off ninety-nine percent of our belongings when we went bankrupt. I remember those dark days all too well. So where has Dad’s old motorcycle been all this time? And what’s my mother doing with it parked in Greg’s garage?

Much like baby brother, it seems Mom is keeping secrets, too.





Kay



I wait and I wait in the upstairs bedroom, but Chase doesn’t come to bed. Eventually, I nod off, but only for a short while. I can’t sleep in this unknown house, this too-quiet home. I’m used to the farmhouse back in Harmony Creek, and my apartment above Chase’s garage. There, in both places, when the windows are open you can hear the sounds of the outdoors, teeming with life. Crickets chirping, frogs singing down at the creek, and the occasional call of a nighthawk. But here in this closed-up, gated community, all I hear is the low hum of whole-house air conditioning.

Not exactly soothing for a country girl at heart.

When I can’t take another minute of artificially generated sound, I get out of bed. I took off all my clothes before lying down, in anticipation of some quality time with Chase, so I now take a minute to dig out a short, silky robe from my still-packed suitcase.

Once I find the robe and am covered, I knot the pale-pink sash around my waist.

Then, I start down the stairs.

The first level of the house is illuminated with here and there nightlights. The only room with a big light on appears to be the kitchen. Chase is not in there, but I hear noise coming from what I assume is a garage area.