Jane Doe(65)

“Steven . . . no. That’s not true.”

“Oh, it’s true.”

“But you wouldn’t have—”

He waves a hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just stay away from her. She’s evil.”

“But how . . . ? I mean . . .” I want details, damn it. “My God, when did this happen?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it! Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s not even eight—”

He kisses me then, pushing me down on the couch, and I realize he’s completely turned on. He’s between my legs and shoving down his jeans before I can say a word. As he pumps furiously into me, he keeps his eyes squeezed tightly closed, and I’m pretty sure he’s picturing Rhonda.

Holy crap. Holy crap.

This is just . . . Wow.

I gawk up at the ceiling as he mutters something about how much I want it, how much I need it. He calls me a slut. I try not to take offense because I’m pretty sure he’s talking to his stepmom.

This is just too delicious for words.

I won’t have to kill anyone after all.





CHAPTER 42

I’m positively giddy by the time we pull away from the cabin on Sunday afternoon. I’m still enthusiastically hunting my prey, but Steven is grumpy because he never did bag that deer.

Last night I wanted to ask him a million questions about his affair with his stepmom, but he passed out immediately after sex and snored the whole night away on the couch. A lucky stroke, it turns out, because I could never have been patient, left to my own devices. But patience is key here. Patience is everything. His binge drinking is really working out great for me.

This morning he was out the door with his rifle at 7:00 a.m., and we immediately loaded up the car when he returned in the late afternoon, just as the snow started to fall. It’s drifting gently through the trees as we bounce down the dirt road toward civilization. What a peaceful ending to this trip.

Steven wants a coffee, so we stop at the general store. I stay hidden in the car again, not that I care about being spotted at this point. Still, when he tells me to slide down, I halfheartedly slouch in my seat.

A car pulls in behind us as Steven rounds the corner and disappears. I have nothing to be on guard about now, so I pay no attention to the car door shutting behind me, but when the man walks past, I definitely take notice. I see a brown uniform and a face tipped down to look at me as he walks past.

He’s frowning, likely wondering why I look like I’m trying to hide from him. I make a big show of yawning as if I want to catch a nap; then I sit up straight and give a little wave. He tips his head in acknowledgment when I smile, but his sharp eyes study me for five more seconds before he moves along.

I see that the patch on his arm says SHERIFF, not DEPUTY. This sheriff isn’t exactly the kindly old man I’d pictured. He’s forty-five at most, and he glances at the license plate of the truck before he follows Steven’s path into the store.

Good God. I blow a long breath past my teeth. My arrogance might have been my downfall if I’d followed through on my plans to kill Steven. That man was not the country bumpkin I assumed I’d be dealing with. That was a man with a suspicious eye and a keen curiosity.

Steven reappears with a big Styrofoam cup of coffee. When he pulls out, I glance in the mirror to see the sheriff standing in the doorway, watching us leave.

Yeah. I would have been in trouble. I want revenge, but I do not want a life sentence. I feel like a damn lucky girl as we hit the highway. I’m not on my way to jail, and what I have planned now will be far more painful for Steven than death. It’s a win-win.

I manage to keep my mouth shut the whole way home, and, boy, it isn’t easy. Either Steven doesn’t remember telling me about Rhonda, or he’s just trying to avoid the subject, because he doesn’t bring it up either.

When we get near the city, I ask if I can come over to his place tonight. When he responds with a grumpy “No,” I’m genuinely disappointed. I want him drunk and spilling more details right now.

But this is for the best. I need to do a little planning.

I wave from the curb as he drives away; then I take the stairs two at a time and burst into my apartment, calling hello to my cat. She blinks sleepily at me from the couch as if she never noticed I was gone. Clearly she did fine without me. She lets me close enough for a few quick strokes of her soft fur, and then she scoots elegantly out of my reach and into the kitchen.

When I check the phone I left behind, I find three text messages from Luke and smile even harder at the sight of them. My cat didn’t miss me, but someone did.

Want to go to dinner? he texted yesterday afternoon.

Then: Checking to make sure you got my text.

And finally: Now I’m just being annoying. Call me tomorrow if you’re free?

I glance at the clock, but it’s already after 8:00. Oh, well.

Popping open my laptop, I first search for everything I can find on Rhonda Hepsworth. Thousands of results appear almost instantaneously, and a quick study shows me that everything on the first few pages is related to the church. I open images and scroll through a few of those, but I see no sign of her wanton secrets here.

She wears the same overdone smile in each one. Her hair is perfect and her necklines modest.

When did this happen with Steven? And how? I’m absolutely dying to know, but he already told me he’d be busy catching up on church business for a couple of days. “Maybe we’ll hang out next weekend,” he’d said gruffly.