Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(99)

My mom starts chuckling. I’m not sure if she believes me. “I really like her.” She pauses. “You’re serious about this one, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Yeah, Mom. She’s it.”

This is the start of the rest of my life.

The trance in the background tells me that Boone is at The Cellar.

“Have you talked to Alex lately?”

I hesitate. “No.” Boone doesn’t know we’re talking. He sure as hell doesn’t know about the pregnancy or my plans to pick her up tomorrow night and take her to Sisters for good.

“Are you lying?” There’s an edge to his tone that I don’t like.

“No. Why?” I snap.

I hear his rushed breathing, like he’s walking fast. Suddenly, the music is gone and I can hear him clearly, though he’s talking low. “Look, I don’t know what the f**k is going on. Viktor was supposed to be here tonight to meet up with some guy, but he told Rust that he had to deal with a problem at home and it was going to take all night. Apparently this was an important meeting. It’s not like Viktor to miss this kind of stuff.”

My heart has just gone from normal to spastic in a span of two seconds.

“And then Albert was talking—”

“Who the f**k is Albert?”

“The big blond guy who’s always with Viktor. Anyway, Albert just got a phone call from Viktor. He was talking in Russian and you know my Russian’s not great, but it sounded like he was trying to calm Viktor down. And then he started giving him directions to this old logging trail he knows about, in the interior, off Highway Twenty. He was saying it’s a far drive but it’ll be safe. He said nobody goes there this time of year.” Boone pauses. “Albert told Viktor that he’d drive out in the morning and clean up. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but . . . something in my gut doesn’t feel right.”

I’m ready to throw up the late-night pizza pocket I just inhaled. “Did he say where this logging trail was?”

“He did, but it was hard to follow along. Something about some burned-out woods and a totem pole?”

I know exactly where that is.

I’m in my car in under thirty seconds, racing for Black Butte, hitting redial over and over on my phone. But it just goes to her voice mail.

THIRTY-SIX

Water

now

I stare at the swirl of steam that rises from the cup of tea next to me, with no intention of drinking it. “You didn’t know?”

Ginny settles herself into her creaky rocking chair with a sigh. “No, Water. I had absolutely no clue.” It’s the tenth time she’s said those exact words. Because it’s the tenth time I’ve asked. She stretches her quilt over her lap and picks up her needle. “Do you think I would have had any part in it, had I known? Do you know me to be a liar?”

“No,” I whisper, hugging my knees to my chest as my eyes roll over the cramped den inside Ginny’s house. If I had to guess, I’d say that the myriad of pictures, the figurines on the shelves, the western-print curtains—everything in this room—have remained exactly where Ginny’s parents first placed them.

But I also know Gabe to be a hard-nosed, black-and-white, follow-the-law-to-the-letter kind of man. The kind of man who threw his own son in jail. And Meredith . . .

“Why would they do this?”

Ginny’s needle stops weaving through the fabric. “What exactly did Meredith say, again?”

“That they were protecting me. And Jesse.”

Ginny’s head shakes. “That damn boy. He just can’t keep himself out of trouble.”

A fist pounds against the door, making me jolt.

Ginny merely peers over her glasses at the front door.

A moment later, Gabe’s voice booms. “Ginny? Open the door! I need to speak with Water.”

Water.

That name now sounds almost as ridiculous as Jane Doe.

“What would you like me to do?” she asks.

“I can’t,” I whisper, resting my face on my knees. “Not right now.” For months, all I waited for was even a shred of my past. Now I have the chance to know everything and I’m not sure that I’m ready for it.

She rubs her jaw in that stubborn Ginny way and then, setting her sewing down on the table next to her, she edges out of her seat, stepping over a lazy Felix, to shuffle toward the door. “She doesn’t want to speak to you right now.”

“I’ll explain everything.”

“You should have done that months ago, ya hear?”

A lighter thump hits the door. “Alex, please.” That’s not Gabe. That’s Jesse, pleading with me, stealing a few of my heartbeats as I imagine his head pressed up against the door.

It’s followed quickly by, “Ginny . . . open this door or I’ll break it down.”

She snorts. “Good luck with that! You’ll just cripple yourself, old man.” When Ginny had the bars put up on all her first-floor windows, she also had a large two-by-four barricade installed on the inside of her doors. No one’s breaking into this house unless they have a ladder to get to her second floor. “Now get the hell off of my porch before I call the police and give the town something to talk about.”

“I am the goddamn police, Ginny!” he barks back, his patience and normally calm demeanor finally lost.