Run, Rose, Run(31)

“More like a sinkhole,” Maya had said.

Ethan was fifteen minutes into his set, strumming a slowed-down version of “Achy Breaky Heart,” when Billy placed a beer at his feet. Ethan finished the song and sipped gratefully, and then raised the glass in a toast to the entire room. The air conditioner was battling the heat of a hundred bodies, and the stage lights made everything hotter. “Thank you, kind stranger,” he said to the crowd. “I was getting thirsty up here.”

As he set down his drink, he shielded his eyes from the glare, trying to get a sense of who’d bought him the beer. That was when he spotted AnnieLee Keyes standing way in the back.

She’d actually come out to hear him play. And he was pretty sure she’d coaxed Billy into delivering the brew.

When Ethan straightened back up, he’d forgotten what he’d planned to sing next. He could feel her eyes on him now, and the hand on the neck of his guitar grew sweaty. Had he played “Good Hearted Woman” yet? What about “Smoky Mountain Rain”?

He strummed the opening chords to “Good Hearted Woman,” but he stopped before he got to the first verse. Adrenaline pulsed in his fingertips. He couldn’t understand why she made him feel this way, and he didn’t particularly enjoy it, either.

But if there was a silver lining to his present discomfort, it was this: his nerves couldn’t get worse. So why worry about playing covers?

“Screw it,” he said to the room. “I’ve got a few of my own songs to sing for you tonight.”

When he was done playing, the crowd clapped like crazy, and over the sound of their applause came a piercing wolf whistle. Ethan didn’t have to look to know who it was coming from. He waved to the room in thanks, turned off the mic, placed his guitar in its case, and then headed straight for AnnieLee Keyes.

But by the time Ethan got to the front of the bar, she was gone.





Chapter

29



AnnieLee was already halfway down the street by the time Ethan Blake stepped off the stage. She hadn’t even meant to run, but her legs had carried her like he was someone to be afraid of.

It was ridiculous—Ethan had never been anything but a gentleman to her. He was a great guitar player, too, and he had a rich tenor voice that could hit the high lonesome notes with ease. She felt bad she hadn’t stuck around to tell him so.

You’ll let him know the next time you see him, she told herself as she unlocked the door to her motel room. And you’ll apologize for being such a jumpy little freak.

She tossed her sweatshirt onto the ugly chenille bedspread and went into the bathroom to turn on the shower. The water came out in a tepid, rust-colored trickle. She undressed the rest of the way and stepped into the shower, unwrapping a thin rectangle of motel soap and lathering it up into lemon-scented bubbles.

“You spent too much time in low-down places,” she sang. “You up and forgot all your social graces.”

Then she laughed at herself because the rhyme ripped off Garth Brooks’s thirty-year-old hit. And anyway, wouldn’t Ethan Blake forgive her for her imperfect manners when her songs were playing from every car radio and earbud in the free world?

Oh, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut, if only. If only.

AnnieLee was working out better lyrics and shampooing her hair when the first blow came.

A fist she didn’t even see collided with her chest with a wet thud. The shock was greater than the pain at first. Her knees buckled and she ducked down into the tub, hiding behind the shower curtain. She couldn’t see her attacker, but she knew he couldn’t see her, either, so she slid-scrambled to the other end of the tub and rocketed out.

She felt someone grab at her as she ran, but she was slippery with soap and he couldn’t hold on. In another four steps she’d made it into the bedroom. She meant to grab her sweatshirt and run outside half naked—

But she couldn’t because there was someone else waiting for her.

He’d been sitting on the bed, but he stood up as she came running into the room, long hair streaming, soap in her eyes. She let out a shriek as the man behind her grabbed her hair to hold her head back, and the one who’d been waiting stepped forward and punched her in the stomach.

She wanted to scream but she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. She twisted sideways, then doubled over. The man let go of her hair, and she fell on all fours, gasping.

She stayed down, covering her head with her arms and trying to make herself as small as possible as the men rained blows down on her shivering body. Every strike made a flash of light flare behind her eyes, and her ears started ringing.

She tried inching toward the bed because she could see her backpack peeking out from underneath the dust ruffle, and she knew the gun was in one of its pockets. She was reaching out for the strap when a boot to her ribs knocked her back toward the bathroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a voice growled.

For a moment, she didn’t move. The pain was almost overwhelming. But then she dug her fingernails into the carpet and popped her hips up like she was taking off from the starting block, and she exploded toward the door. She was halfway to it when one of the men grabbed her around the waist, and she could feel his teeth as he bit her on the back like an animal. She cried out as the other man shouted, “Shut up! Shut the hell up!”

“It’s your own fault for running,” hissed the one who’d bit her, who still had her around the waist. “You know how this works.”