Fleeting Moments(43)

“Am I going to see you tonight?”

He sighs. “Can’t. I’ve got to go out. I’ll try and see you tomorrow night, though.”

“Can I go and hang out with the guys then?”

He laughs. “No, baby.”

I huff. “I have no friends. Does that make me tragic?”

“Not at all, but you definitely need to get some.”

I cross my legs. “How do you suppose I do that?”

“I don’t know. Do you like exercise?”

“If you call the act of sticking my hand in and out of a bag of chips exercise, then yes.”

His laugh gets deeper, heartier, and I decide in that moment it’s my favorite sound in the world. “There has to be something you like, something you could find a group and join.”

“I like to read . . .”

“Don’t they have those book clubs down at the libraries?”

“They do.”

“Try one out; it’s a great place to start meeting people.”

My heart swells with hope and I smile. “I’ll go and talk to the library tomorrow. Thanks, Heath.”

“Anytime. Listen, I have to cut this short. Text me if you need, yeah?”

I smile. “Yeah.”

“Night, baby.”

“Night, handsome.”

I hang up, and my heart feels a little lighter. He has a way of doing that to me. He makes everything feel okay again.

***

I join a local book club the next night, and I bound out of the library feeling good. Really good. The first meeting is tomorrow evening and I can’t wait. I’m so desperate to meet people that I’m willing to try just about anything to start the road to changing my life. I walk down the sidewalk with a spring in my step and lightness in my heart, until I round the corner and see three men standing by my car.

I freeze.

There are moments in life that warn you of danger—this moment is one of them. I feel it from my toes to my head, a tingly, prickly sensation that alerts me that something is wrong. That these men aren’t good people. My inner alert system is screaming danger. I stop, taking them in. I recognize the older man as the one who prevented me from talking with Hayley in the mall.

My heart feels as though it stutters to a stop.

“What do you want?” I say, reaching into my purse and pulling out my phone.

“You won’t be needing that,” a man says, stepping forward.

I study him, and something about him is familiar—really, really familiar. He’s got light hair, but it almost seems as though it’s been colored. It’s in a braid down his back, and it accentuates his light blue eyes and chiseled features. He looks . . . well . . . holy. He also terrifies me. This man is danger; he’s creepy; he is not good at all. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. To an outsider, he would most likely look normal; to me, he represents fear.

He has a cross hanging around his neck. I want to rip it off.

“Do I know you?” I say, my voice far weaker than I’d like.

“No,” he says, his voice smooth. “And you won’t if you tell me what I need to know.”

“I don’t know what I could possibly tell you.”

He smiles, and it makes me want to turn and run.

He steps closer. I step back. He waves a hand, and the two men with him circle around me, cutting me off from my escape route. Fear clogs my throat, but I try not to let it show.

“Do you know Heath Walker?”

I don’t flinch, but it takes everything inside me not to. I didn’t know Heath’s last name until this very moment. I school my features. “I have no idea who that is.”

The man studies me. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” I say calmly. “I don’t know that name. I’ve never heard it before in my life.”

He narrows his eyes, studying me far too closely. “You caused a scene at the mall. Why?”

I can barely breathe my heart is pounding so hard. “Because I was at that stadium. I saw what you . . . you monsters did.”

His jaw tics. “The only monsters here are people living outside of God’s wishes.”

My gosh. He’s delusional. “You killed people!”

“I didn’t do anything. Now, I ask again—do you know a Heath Walker?”

“No,” I snap. “I’ve already told you that. I was only trying to show the rest of the world what a bunch of creeps you are in the mall. Whoever this Heath is, you need to keep him and yourselves away from me. I want nothing to do with you.”

This seems to work, because the man looks a little disappointed. He quickly covers it and steps forward, reaching out and cupping my face. I flinch and try to pull back, but his two men close in on me. “Such fire, such rage. I could help you.”

“By forcing me into a life I would never want? Like the rest of those girls?” I growl.

His eyes flash. “Such a troubled soul.”

“Get your hands off me,” I hiss.

He doesn’t. “I’d suggest you stop interfering with my program, with my people, with my life. If you don’t, you’ll find yourself in a rather . . . troubled situation.”

“Are you threatening me?” I snap.