Violet cleaned up her mess at the table and rinsed her bowl in the sink. She was listening for the sounds of his car when she felt the vibrations in her pocket. Again.
Now she was getting annoyed. She dried her hands on a towel and pulled the phone back out. It was the same thing: Unknown Caller.
“What?” she answered irritably.
On the other end, there was silence.
She sighed softly. “Hello?” she tried again, this time trying not to sound so sharp. She checked the phone to make sure the call was still connected. It was.
Nothing.
“Is anyone there?”
And then, something. What was it? A breath? A whisper? Violet heard something from the other end.
“Hello? Who is this?” she asked expectantly, hopefully.
She waited for a moment and then checked the phone. The call was gone, disconnected.
She chewed her lip as she stared at the screen on her cell phone, waiting for it to buzz again. She wondered who it could have been and reassessed her initial assumption that it had been a wrong number . . . who would call and then hang up when she answered three separate times? She could think of only one person.
She looked down at her backpack, lying on the floor by the kitchen table. Inside there was a pretty pink note with a disturbing message written in scrawling purple script.
She heard Jay’s car outside in the driveway just as the phone in her pocket vibrated once more. She hesitated, taking the phone out and staring at it. She thought about answering it, about telling whoever was on the other end to go screw themselves and to stop harassing her, but she doubted it would do any good. So she took another approach.
She picked up her backpack, and on her way to the front door scrolled down and hit Ignore on her phone.
If the person on the other end thought they were going to frighten Violet with stupid poems and hang-up calls, they were messing with the wrong girl. Even the dead-animal thing was right up her alley.
Far more terrifying people had come after Violet.
And failed.
The plans to go to the cabin came together surprisingly well. Mostly surprising because Violet’s parents had actually agreed to let her go.
She was still a little stunned, since it was, after all, a boy-girl sleepover. Which sounded like a little kids’ slumber party, but to the parents of teenagers usually conjured up images of illicit sex and illegal alcohol consumption.
Violet had expected her parents to have similar concerns. But apparently they trusted her.
Of course there were several strings attached. Violet’s parents insisted on meeting Mike’s father before the trip, since he was chaperoning. And they wanted to know the names, the parents’ names, and the phone numbers of everyone who would be going on the Saturday night sleepover. They also wanted the address of the cabin. And, of course, an ironclad guarantee from Jay that he would keep an eye on Violet.
That last promise had been easy enough to secure. It was funny how quickly Jay had taken on the role of Violet’s protector once they’d started dating. Actually before then, even.
Funnier still how much faith her parents put in him, considering the fact that Jay would officially be younger than Violet in less than a week.
Violet was about to turn seventeen, while Jay would still be sixteen for nearly two full months.
Jay liked that, the whole older-woman thing. He also liked to joke about the fact that Violet would soon be dating a younger man.
One night, when Violet’s parents had gone out, he teased her about it, whispering against her throat, “I should probably be dating girls my own age now that you’ll be over-the-hill.” Jay was stretched out on Violet’s bed as she curled against him.
Violet laughed, rising to the bait. “Fine,” she challenged, pulling away and leaning up on her elbow. “I’m sure there are plenty of men my own age who would be willing to finish what you’ve started.”
Jay stiffened, and Violet realized that she’d struck a nerve. “What is it?”
He shook his head, and Violet thought he might say, “Nothing,” so when he answered, his words caught her off guard. “Is there someone else, Vi?”
Violet frowned, baffled by the unfamiliar jealousy she saw on his face. She wondered what in the world he meant as she reached down and smoothed a strand of hair from his forehead. “What are you talking about, Jay?”
His eyes met hers. “I saw you with that guy at the movies, Vi. Who was he?”
Violet closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t want to tell him about the FBI, about Sara and Rafe or what she’d learned about Mike’s mother. She wondered briefly if he knew about Mike’s mom—if his friend had ever confided in him. But somehow she doubted it. Jay wasn’t like her; he didn’t keep secrets.
“It’s not like that,” she explained, hoping that would be enough.
Jay got up and went to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Every muscle in his body was rigid. “Like what, Vi? What’s going on? Something’s been bothering you lately. Why can’t you tell me?”
He was right. She owed it to him to at least try. “I don’t know how to explain, but I just feel like everything’s changed between us—”
“Of course it’s changed, Violet, what’d you expect?”
Violet tried to ignore the bitterness in his voice, telling herself she had no right to be hurt. “It used to be that I would never keep secrets from you. You were my best friend. But now that we’re dating, it’s just . . . different. I feel like I have to watch what I say, or you get all worried. Sometimes I just want you to be the old Jay again, so I can talk to you.” Violet crept behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his back.
It wasn’t exactly a confession but it was progress, she decided. And soon, very soon, she hoped she’d feel comfortable enough to open up completely.
She felt him relax, and his voice softened. “Is that what this is all about? You feel like you can’t talk to me anymore? We haven’t changed; we’re still the same people.”
She slipped her hands beneath the front of his shirt, slowly running her fingertips over his chest and back down to his waist. He turned in her arms and smiled, but his grin was filled with mocking suspicion. “Are you trying to distract me, Violet Ambrose?”
“I guess you’re smarter than you look,” she teased as he pushed her backward so that they both fell on her bed.
“And you are not as funny as you think you are.” His mouth hovered over hers, his arms tightening, crushing her against him. Violet giggled and tried to squirm free, but Jay wouldn’t let her. He kissed her throat, his lips teasing her until it wasn’t his grip that made it hard for Violet to breathe.
“Oh, and Violet,” he whispered against her ear, his breath tickling her cheek, “I’m still your best friend. Don’t ever forget it.” His words were fervent and touching.
Violet tried to think of a response that made sense, something appropriate, but all she could manage was: “Please. Don’t stop.”
She didn’t mind begging if it meant getting her way.
Apparently that was enough to satisfy Jay, and he kissed her possessively. Thoroughly. Deeply.
He eased her back until she was lying against the pillows, and she waited for him to stop, to tell her that they’d gone far enough for tonight. But she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to keep going. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her, to explore her. Her body ached for it. She reached for him, clinging so tightly that her fingers hurt. Everything inside of her hurt.
Jay settled over her, covering her with his body, reacting to her. Violet wrapped her legs around him, pulling his hips closer, telling him with her every movement that she wanted him, that she wanted this. Now.
“Are you sure?” Jay asked into the warm breath between them, barely lifting his mouth from hers.
She nodded, but when she tried to speak, her voice trembled. She hoped he didn’t read it wrong. “Of course I am.” She was nervous and ter
rified and thrilled all at the same time.
He smiled against her mouth, still kissing her, and she melted into him, unable to stop her heart from thundering.
He reached around for his wallet. “I have a condom.” His voice was rough.
Violet smiled. She’d been waiting for this moment for far too long not to be prepared, but she was happy to hear that he’d been considering it seriously also. “Me too,” she told him, reaching into her nightstand drawer and pulling out a handful of them. “I knew you’d give in.”
He groaned, his lips moving to her neck as he tugged at his shirt and pulled it over his head.
Violet thought he was beautiful. He was right for her; he always had been.
And as he slowly slid her shirt up, his fingertips stroking her bare skin and making goose bumps prickle in the wake of his touch, she wondered why it had taken them so long to get to this place.
Nothing had changed in that moment when Violet and Jay had finally decided to have sex. Nothing—and everything.
Violet was amazed by what they’d done. Amazed that they’d shared themselves with each other, like that. It was wonderful, and beautiful, and not anything that Violet had expected it to be.
The pain had been more intense than she could have imagined, and she’d done her best not to cry out. But, of course, Jay had noticed as her body tensed, and then she shuddered. Tears dampened her lashes, yet she’d refused to let them fall.
Jay had insisted that they stop, but Violet wouldn’t let him. Instead they’d waited, with Jay holding her, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her face, until the pain subsided, becoming something . . . less.
Later, when she was lying in his arms, she shuddered again.
Jay hugged her tight. “What’s wrong? You’re not sorry, are you?” The tenderness of his words made her heart twist.
“Of course not. How could I be sorry for that?”
He kissed her eyes, gently. “Then why are you shivering? I didn’t mean to hurt you, Vi.”
She shook her head, clumsily bumping his chin. “I don’t know why.” She ran her fingertips over his arm, memorizing the feel of his coarse hairs, his skin, the muscles beneath it all. “It’s just . . . it’s a lot. You know?”
Jay smiled. It was a satisfied smile. “Yeah.” He leaned back and pulled her to him, tucking her against his shoulder. “It was a lot. A really good lot.”
She wanted to shove him, to banter, to play, but she was too exhausted.
When Jay finally got up to leave, Violet leaned up on her elbow and watched as he buttoned his jeans. She wished they could stay like that—together—for longer. Forever.
She already missed the feel of him beside her, and the scent of him around her. She sat up to give him back the T-shirt she was wearing.
His lazy smile was far too beautiful to be real. “Keep it,” he insisted. “I like it better on you anyway.” The way he stared at her made her stomach flip. It was a look brimming with tenderness. They were a part of something more now; they belonged to each other.
He tugged his hoodie over his bare chest, and then he leaned down to kiss her one last time, his lips lingering.
His thumb traced the line of her cheek. “I love you, Violet Marie. I’ll always love you.”
And then he left.
And, once again, Violet slept deeply, soundly, wrapped in Jay’s shirt.
He was the perfect remedy to all her worries.
Jay had to work the next day, but he called frequently. Checking in to make sure Violet was feeling all right, that she hadn’t changed her mind about their decision, and that she missed him. Violet called him just to hear the sound of his voice. And to make unfairly suggestive comments, taunting him across the phone lines.
Violet loved this new game. Jay would groan uncomfortably from the other end, but he never cut her off.
Violet continued to ignore all of the calls that weren’t from Jay. Not just the ones from the anonymous caller but also those from Sara Priest.
Sara had left another voice mail for Violet, and even though she was no longer calling from the FBI field offices, Violet felt no less threatened by the subject matter. She just wasn’t ready to deal with that part of her life, especially while she was still getting used to this new twist in her relationship with Jay.
But by afternoon, Violet was lonely and bored. She sat in her bedroom, trying to concentrate on her homework, as memories of their night together continued to distract her. She could practically feel Jay’s skin against hers, his lips glancing over her body in previously undiscovered locations. Even thinking about it made her feel flushed and dizzy.
She couldn’t stop herself from stealing a look out her bedroom window. The wind was blowing, harder than before, and the tall trees around her house rocked, thrashed about by the strong gusts.
Violet loved the wind.
She tried to stay focused on her reading assignment, but the noises outside her window beckoned her. She closed the book, setting it aside. She couldn’t just sit inside on such a great afternoon.
In no time, she had changed and was making her way along the same path she’d run hundreds of times before. She skipped her iPod in favor of the sounds of the wind rushing past her, whipping strands of her own hair against her face, gathering leaves and debris and rustling them along the ground.
For the first time in weeks, Violet allowed her mind to empty as she ran with complete abandon. The air that blew around her was brisk; she could smell the chill, and she inhaled it deeply. But as long as she kept moving, she stayed warm. Only the exposed skin of her cheeks tingled from the icy drafts.
Overhead, branches creaked in protest as they were bent too far by sudden gusts. Violet looked up and watched the treetops rocking wildly above her. The gales were getting stronger as the sun moved lower against the sky.
She continued to run, appreciating the power of the mounting storm.
Somewhere nearby, a branch snapped, and Violet slowed, realizing just how hard the wind was blowing. The sky grew dusky as twilight descended, casting a shadowy hue across the forest as the trees above her shivered and waved.
She was no longer certain she was safe beneath the canopy of evergreens. They were no match against the sheer force of the escalating wind. She knew where she was, and she knew that the fastest way out of the woods was to move off trail and to head toward the road.
She stepped through the brush, moving as quickly as she could. She passed rotting stumps and climbed across fallen trees. She wasn’t far, and as long as there was still light, she could find her way easily.
The hem of her running pants snagged on a gnarled branch that tangled through the undergrowth, and Violet tugged her leg. The wind continued to pound her, whipping her face as she leaned into it now, keeping her head low.
As she bent to free her pant leg, she saw something flicker. Strange that she noticed it at all, and she turned her head toward it, squinting. After a moment, the same white light seemed to come out of nowhere. A blink.
Whatever it was, it had Violet’s attention and she moved in that direction, away from the main road. She could see where it was coming from, flashing from between the trees, and as darkness fell, it became clearer, easier to locate. But as she neared it, she questioned what it was she thought she’d seen.
Ahead of her, Violet approached the back of a house. She walked slowly, watchfully, until she was practically standing in a backyard.
Night seemed to drop in suddenly, leaching all of the remaining light until she felt as if she were inside a void, looking out. The house was bleak and weary-looking, even from behind, and she realized, after just a moment of studying it, that she’d seen this house before.
Inside the lights were off but, behind the glass, from between the curtains of a single window, the flickering continued, sending broken fragments of light into the blackness that encircled Violet. She blinked, recognizing what the sputtering light reminded her of, and she wondered if there was a television on somewhere
inside the house.
The wind blistered her back, blasting her and tangling its icy fingers through her hair. Another branch, this one practically right above Violet, cracked loudly. She jolted, feeling suddenly dizzy, but her eyes never left the window.
And then Violet realized why it couldn’t be the light from a TV that she was witnessing. She scanned the property, looking beyond it to the street on the other side.
There was blackness for as far as she could see. No streetlights, no signals in the distance. Nothing.
The electricity was out. The windstorm had taken out all the power to the area.
And inside the house the white flash burst again.
Violet knew what it was. She recognized it from the night she’d woken in her house. In the dark it was almost unmistakable. It was the imprint that matched the dead cat.
Whoever had killed the animal was in there.
She stumbled backward, trying to create some distance as she made her way toward the road . . . and away from Mike’s house.
By the time Violet got home, she’d had time to think. More than enough time.
She’d been cautious along the darkened streets, where the wind wasn’t filtered, where she wasn’t protected by the layers of trees and brush, and some of the gusts had nearly knocked her off her feet. Small trees and branches littered the roadways like an obstacle course, and they’d continued to fall as she picked her way among them toward her house.
The power was out all the way home, and the blackness was oppressive. Just one more obstacle forcing her to pay extra care to every step she took.
Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d just seen. The lone bursts of light amid a canvas of shadows, flickering from that one window and reminding Violet that someone had been stalking her. Leaving her messages . . . and worse.
And now she knew who that person was.
She’d known immediately, without question, that it wasn’t Mike. She’d seen him too many times since the cat had been left for her; she would have recognized the imprint on him easily. And she would never forget the feminine handwriting on the note, the pink paper and the scented pen.