Split(94)

I blink and shake my head, then pull my sweater on and move to him, but he holds a hand out to keep me back. “Don’t push me away.”

He turns from me, his muscles prominent and straining his shirt. I want to touch him, to run my hands up his back, to ease him, but I fear that’ll make him push harder.

“Okay, Lucas. I’ll go.” I snag my panties from the floor and tug them on, then rip my jeans up my legs.

He doesn’t move and his gaze stays trained to the floor.

I cross to him while buttoning my jeans and cup his jaw, grateful he doesn’t jerk from my touch. “Let me ask you this, Lucas. Besides earlier today, with me, in the last forty-eight hours, have you blacked out?”

Slowly, Lucas turns his eyes to me. Dread settles in my gut.

“Last night, after Dustin . . . on the way home I blacked out.” His expression isn’t panicked or even worried; it’s worse. Totally blank. Void of any emotion at all.

The air in my lungs goes still. “Where did you go?”

“I came to in the shower.” His eyes meet mine and although he doesn’t say anything, I can hear his thoughts scream, I did it!

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Go!” His eyelids flicker and he grips the side of his head. “Now! Get out of here!”

I jump and my boots stomp on the wood floor as I head out, hoping Lucas will call me back and beg me to stay. It isn’t until I’m in my truck staring at the river house’s front porch that reality sinks in. I’ve finally made some headway with Gage, but I’m back to square one with Lucas.

He’s pushing me away.





THIRTY-THREE



SHYANN


My fingers drum against the hospital coffee machine as it spits premade vanilla-flavored coffee at an achingly slow pace. Impatient, I scoop the small paper cup out before it’s done. “Ow, shit!” I wipe the scalding liquid on my jeans and head back to my seat, blowing to cool it before taking a sip.

After getting home last night, I fell into a restless sleep. My body ached in places that only served to remind me of Lucas. My heart clenches at what he must be thinking, that as amazing as he is, how tender he treated me when we made love, that he’d be capable on any level of the kind of violence that put Sam in the hospital. I tried to convince him but he’s been trained to think the worst of himself. I push back thoughts of Gage and his unpredictability. He may have killed his mother, but is he capable of hurting an innocent woman? He has more incentive to go after me, and although he’s had plenty of opportunities, I’m alive and well.

I drop down into a plastic chair, my mind swirling with doubt. I try again to push the thoughts far back into the recesses of my mind. I trust Lucas as much as I’ve ever trusted anyone, and Gage, no matter how threatening, is part of him. I’ll never buy into his own guilt.

My fingers drum against the armrest while I try to relax and sip my coffee. People filter in and out of the waiting room. Some are mournful while others embrace each other with hugs and happy tears.

The small television in the corner plays the Phoenix news and I watch for lack of anything better to do while I wait for the nurses to update me on Sam. Rather than follow the captions on the muted TV, I critique the anchor’s choice to wear red, the station’s use of a graphic to tell a story that a video would tell better, and the overly serious expression of one reporter while discussing gas prices. Commercials for toilet paper, laundry detergent, and a local Phoenix law firm that specializes in divorce, and then back to the news where a familiar image takes up the screen.

I sit up taller just as a person across the lobby says, “It’s Payson.”

Main Street lights up the screen, along with a woman in a bright yellow tailored dress and perfectly coiffed red hair that doesn’t move an inch in the wind.

The subtitles tick across the bottom.

“. . . local police believe the assailant is still on the loose but locals are gripped with fear and the question, could this be another hit from the Shadow?” A video plays, still images of the outside of Sam’s house, a drop of blood on her front steps highlighted by a crime scene number flag, and neighbors confirming that they didn’t see anything. “Police encourage anyone with information about this assault to come forward.” The story goes on to talk about the violent nature of the crime and compares it to the eight other assaults attributed to the Shadow. When the thirty-second time block is filled, they move on to talking about this year’s football season.

I slide back into my seat, shock only intensifying my worry. Poor Sam. My chest cramps violently at the memory of the last time the Shadow hit and a woman lost her life, leaving her daughter motherless. Is it possible this sadist made his way to Payson? A shiver slides up my spine, and I rub my arms to fight back the chill. If only Sam would wake up and tell police what she knows, they could finally put an end to this.

My knee jumps in a furious rhythm.

Wake up, Sam . . . Wake up. A warm hand hits my shoulder and my body jerks.

“Whoa, sorry.” Dustin comes around to take the seat beside me. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Not your fault.” I hold up my almost drained cup. “Too much caffeine and impatience.”

He grunts and it’s then I notice the deep circles under his eyes and his unshaven face.