Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10)(9)

Once, I never knew men like Jacob Ness existed. Once, I thought life was fair and being good meant I would always be safe and secure and loved. Then I went on spring break, had a little too much fun slamming back shots at a Florida bar with my college friends. And now this.

Jacob finds us a spot at the bar, gesturing for me to take the seat, then standing behind me. Protectively, some might think. Possessively. He orders two beers. One for him, one for me. A rare treat.

I pick up my beer, sip nervously.

Popcorn. Delivered in a red-and-white-checkered container. My whole body clenches but I don’t make a single move; I glance at Jacob, knowing the rules by now.

He nods. I grab the first few kernels. Warm and salty. I want to devour the entire tray, dump the contents in my mouth. I catch myself just in time. If I act out, if I draw attention … I force myself to slow down. Couple of kernels here. Couple of kernels there.

Crunch, crunch. Salty goodness. My eyes close …

And for a moment, I could be a little girl again, sitting in my mother’s kitchen, swinging my legs, waiting for the air popper to complete our after-school snack: “Darwin, what are we gonna do today …”

When I open my eyes again, a guy has appeared beside Jacob, and he’s staring straight at me.

Jacob nods at the man, almost … congenial. He doesn’t even protest when the man pulls up the neighboring barstool and orders a beer.

I grab another handful of popcorn. Have to pace myself. I’ve learned by now that eating too fast after forced deprivation leads to vomiting. Jacob will kill me if I get sick in public. But the man sitting next to us continues to stare at me.

And Jacob continues to let him.

Something bad is about to happen. I know it, even if I don’t understand it.

Sip of beer. But only a sip. I’m on guard now, desperately trying to pay attention.

“Girlfriend’s a skinny thing,” the man says.

Jacob shrugs. “Chicks these days. Think if they’re any bigger than a shadow, they’re fat.”

Single popcorn kernel. Pick up. Chew, chew, chew.

“Come here often?” the man asks.

“Sure. I’m a regular,” Jacob says, and both men laugh, though I don’t understand the joke.

“I’m on a business trip,” the man offers. “Sales. Good excuse, you know, to move around.”

“What the wife doesn’t know,” Jacob suggests.

“Yeah. Sure she doesn’t mind?” The guy nods toward me.

My next warning light goes off.

“Nah. My girl’s a good girl. She does what she’s told.” Jacob turns to me abruptly. “Ain’t that right, Molly?”

I look away. Don’t say a word.

I understand then. At least, have an inkling of the threat. Jacob had tried getting me to pick up random men in bars before; testing the level of my obedience. Each time, I’d managed to avoid the situation. Because I understood, somewhere deep inside of me, that while Jacob might make a game of forcing me on someone else, he’d still never take me back. And not because he’s big, bad Jacob Ness. But because he’s a man. And no man wants used goods.

The part I still don’t understand—before, the men had been strangers, maybe a cowboy caught eyeing me from across the room. Whereas this man, he’d come straight over. And the way Jacob is turned toward him, engaging with him … It’s almost like they’d been expecting each other.

What has Jacob done? What exactly has he promised this not-quite-stranger?

I shake out the last of the popcorn, then grab my beer. No more sipping. Chug, chug, chug. I’m desperate now. Thinking fast, but maybe not fast enough.

The man buys a second round for us. Jacob doesn’t protest, though he’s eyeing me suspiciously.

Nachos. A plate goes by, heaped high with melted cheese and sour cream. I follow it with huge eyes, never saying a word. The stranger man immediately orders us a platter. Jacob jabs my thigh. I gaze up at him innocently and swallow the last of my second beer.

Then we’re off to the races. Food. Drink. Jacob and the man talking in low voices about things I can’t hear and don’t care about. And maybe Jacob is suspicious, but he’s a fast-food addict himself and the nachos, followed shortly by sliders, then chicken wings—all at our newfound companion’s expense—are too good for him to pass up.

Except the new man doesn’t act that new. And Jacob, who never interacts with anyone, is talking, laughing, slapping the man on the back.

Eat. Drink. Faster, faster, faster. Not much time left. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen soon. The man is staring at me now, his eyes nearly as bright as Jacob’s.

The bartender flashes the lights. Closing time. Our new friend pulls out his wallet. Throws down a hundred as casually as a ten. Jacob’s smirk grows.

No more beer, nachos, wings, popcorn. My stomach hurts. My legs are wobbly. Jacob grabs my arm, dragging me forcibly off the barstool and toward the door, the man falling in step behind us.

Come on, come on, come on.

I can feel a pale sheen of sweat on my brow. I hesitate, trying to drag my heels even though I know better. Jacob digs his fingers into my bony arm, giving me a stare that promises further pain if I don’t knock it off. Right now.

Foxes. Gators. Florida beaches. So far from home. The way Jacob is the evilest person I’ve ever met. The way all men are the same.