Split(101)

Headlights come into view and Buddy’s body is unmoving, a fierce growl rumbling in his throat. I approach him cautiously, risking a touch, but he’s never let me this close before. I squat and pet his head, hoping to calm him down. He spares me a quick glance and turns back to the oncoming headlights that are too low to the ground to be a pickup truck.

Disappointment settles in my chest as a sedan pulls up and parks. I stand, wishing I’d put a shirt on, as a man folds out of the driver’s side. Buddy repositions so that he’s standing at my left, his dirty fur pressed against my knee, and I scratch behind his ears.

The man walks toward me and lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Hey, there, sorry to bother you.”

“You lost?”

He steps closer and Buddy leans into me, for support or out of fear, I’m not sure.

“No, not lost, but I was hoping you could help me.” He offers his hand and it’s then I notice this guy doesn’t look like he belongs in Payson. He’s driving a city car, wearing city clothes—shirt with a collar and shorts with pleats; he’s even wearing some kind of slip-on shoe that looks like it belongs in an office, not out here in the dirt.

I shake his hand and his eyes fall on Buddy. “He friendly?”

“Don’t know. He’s never met an outsider before.” It’s not a lie, and the slight flare of fear I see in the man’s expression brings me a tiny bit of satisfaction.

He narrows his eyes, studying me. “Lucas, right?”

A burst of adrenaline speeds my pulse. How does this guy know me?

“You are . . .?”

He chuckles. “Sorry, how rude. I show up at your house and don’t even introduce myself. I’m a friend of Shyann’s. We went to college together.”

The heat of possession floods my veins at hearing her name from a man I don’t know. “Got a name?”

“Trevor Peterson.”

Trevor . . . her ex-coworker kinda ex-boyfriend.

“If you’re looking for Shy, she’s not here.”

He turns to look up the road toward Nash’s house and nods. “Yeah, I know. Spent some time with her and Nash earlier.”

My pulse races and I ball my fists.

“I was hoping you’d give me a chance to talk to you about Shyann.”

I shake my head, my body answering before my mouth can form the words. “Don’t have anything to say to you about Shy. I don’t even know you.”

“Huh . . .” He rubs his chin. “Funny, ’cause she swore you’d be happy to help us out with a little research.”

Us?

“What kind of research?”

He nods toward the house. “Mind if we go inside and talk?”

“No one’s going to hear you out here, Mr. Peterson. We’re miles from the nearest house.”

Irritation colors his expression, but I ignore it. I can’t figure out why but this guy gives me the creeps.

He swings his arm to the porch. “Mind if we have a seat?”

He doesn’t wait for me to answer but shuffles through the dust and pine needles to the steps, where he drops to sit. I lean against the railing and Buddy goes back to staring blindly back into the trees.

“Here’s the thing, Lucas . . . there’s a woman in the hospital right now fighting for her life after being brutally beaten.”

Sam. My pulse pounds a little faster and I’m grateful this guy can’t see my unease.

“I know about the attack. The entire town does.”

He frowns. “Of course. Did you also know there’s a man on the loose who’s been beating women? Eight women to be exact.”

Shy had mentioned that, so I nod.

He flashes a patronizing smile. “Shyann and I are covering the story here in Payson.”

“You and Shy are . . . working together?” She never mentioned that to me, and whenever the guy’s name came up, she never spoke about him fondly. All she said was he still thought he could tell her what to do.

“We are. She’s a driven woman and she wants this job in Los Angeles—”

“Los Angeles?” She told me Oregon. Never mentioned LA.

“Yeah, this story would put her on the map.” He swats a bug on his arm, then flicks its carcass away. “That’s where you come in. Tell me what you know about Sam.”

My jaw locks down tight.

“Oh come on, you knew I’d do my research.”

“I don’t know her. I mean, I don’t know her very well.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard. I heard you two had a few very public displays of . . . affection. Then a very public fight at the bar she works at.” His face pinches in thought. “I even heard you went for her throat.”

Who told him that? Shyann wouldn’t. She’d never sell me out . . . unless. Does she know Gage slept with someone else? Would anger drive her to expose me?

“I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Aah . . .” He shakes a finger at me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Pushing himself to the railing, he leans toward me. “I heard you beat up her boyfriend. You’ve got a jealous streak, huh?”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You don’t have to say anything. The evidence speaks for itself. All I have to do is connect the dots.” He moseys along down the porch, grinning. “Guy like you . . .”