“Don’t fight me,” he whispers in my ear. “Don’t ever fight me.”
Gasping for air, I jerked up into a sitting position, dragging in deep gulps of untainted oxygen as I scanned the dark, unfamiliar room. My heart thundered in my chest so fast I felt sick. For a moment, I didn’t recognize where I was. It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was in my room, back in Berkeley County, above the Scarlet Wench.
“Just a nightmare,” I whispered, forcing myself to lie back down. “That’s all.”
Nightmares would be common; at least that was what the therapist said. Probably have them for the rest of my life as my subconscious still tried to work everything out. I had them at least three times a week, but it had been a super long time since I had dreamt of that night.
There was no way I was falling back asleep now, so I stared at the ceiling as hours passed and dawn crept in through the small window across from the bed. By then, the nightmare was just that.
Doubting I’d beat Mom and make it downstairs before her, I took a quick shower, mostly dried my hair, and then twisted it up in a topknot. Grabbing a loose black sweater, since January was far colder here than it typically was in Atlanta, I paired it with a pair of checkered leggings that weren’t the most flattering things on my thighs but were sure as hell comfy.
Covering my gaping yawn with my hand, I walked back into the bathroom and came to a complete stop. I frowned as I scanned the space. “Crap,” I muttered, realizing I’d left the makeup bag in my tote, which was in the backseat of the car.
Damn it.
Spinning around, I walked over to the bench in front of the bed. Under it were my flip-flops. I toed them on, knowing Mom would side-eye the choice of footwear, but it was a habit I couldn’t break, even when it snowed. I swiped my keys out of the purse and then grabbed the apartment key.
I headed out the back door instead of going out the front and using the staff staircase. I hunkered down when the cold morning air hit the still-damp strands of hair along the back of my neck. The flip-flops smacked the whole way down the stairs—stairs I would most likely bust my ass on at some point during the winter. As I crossed the veranda, I wiggled the house key onto the ring.
My breath puffed out misty clouds as I rounded the side of the inn and cut across the yard. The wet grass poked at my feet, icy cold. I hit the cobblestone roundabout and made a beeline for the car I’d parked outside the carriage house, grateful none of the guests were early risers. Thinking I would have just enough time to put something on my face before it would be time to help Mom do the continental breakfast, I stopped in front of my car.
My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
I blinked, because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but my eyesight was just fine. Stomach twisting and turning sour, I took a step toward the car. Glass crunched under my feet.
Glass that belonged on my car and not on the ground.
Every single window of my car had been shattered. Every one.
Chapter 3
“I can’t believe this has happened. We haven’t ever had a break-in or anything like that at all.” Anger flashed across my mother’s face, flushing her cheeks. “This is unbelievable.”
We stood in front of my car, side by side. I wanted to pull it into the carriage house so the guests wouldn’t see it, but she hadn’t been too keen on moving the car until the police showed up. Plus, there was glass all over the seats, all over everywhere, and I really didn’t want to spend the day picking glass out of the cheeks of my ass.
Mom had been against waiting, but I wanted to get breakfast ready so the guests didn’t have to wait and end up leaving crappy reviews on Yelp. The crappy reviews were probably going to happen anyway, because the couple with the redheaded toddler had already seen the damaged car and was now worried about their own property. Not that I could blame them for that, but it was weird that only my car had been damaged and none of the three much nicer vehicles.
Like the Lexus the parents owned.
Because seriously, if anyone was going to break into a car, why in the world would they pick the Honda Accord over the Lexus and the Cadillac?
The criminals in Berkeley County really needed to get their priorities straight.
“Mom . . .” I shook my head as I folded my arms across my chest, knowing we weren’t going to have to wait much longer. The police station was down the street. Like literally right down the same street. “I’m so sorry. The guests don’t need to see this and worry about their cars—”
“Why in the world are you apologizing?” She frowned as she placed her hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t your fault unless you got up in the middle of the night and did this to your own car. If so, then we do need to talk.”
Despite what happened, my lips twitched into a grin. “It wasn’t me,” I replied dryly. “But I really wished I’d thought to park it in the carriage house.”
“Why would you have thought that?” She folded an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t have a problem with theft and vandalism here. In other parts of the town, yes, but nothing like this has ever happened before.”
Of course, with my outstanding luck, the very first night back home, some douchebag would vandalize my car.
I stepped away from my mom as I reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had slipped free behind my ear. Part of me wanted to pick up one of the landscaping rocks and throw it at the car out of pure frustration. I had insurance, but this wasn’t on my list of things to deal with today.
It was a damn good thing I hadn’t picked up a rock and thrown it, because I caught sight of the white-and-blue cruiser coming up the driveway. Probably wouldn’t look good if the city police officer caught me lobbing a rock at the car.
“I hope the officer is cute,” Mom said.
I whipped around, brows raised as I stared at her.
“What?” She smoothed her hand over her wavy hair as she grinned. “I do love a man in a uniform.”
“Mom.” My eyes widened.
“And if I remember correctly, you also had a thing for the boys in blue,” she continued as she tugged the sides of her cardigan together, and my eyeballs about fell out of my head. Oh my God, did Mom seriously just go there? She rose on the tips of her toes, eyeing the cruiser as it coasted to a stop behind my car. “So maybe you’ll have a thing for this one.”
I was going to die.
“I can only hope. I’d love to see you happily married before I’m six feet under,” she went on.
Heat crept into my cheeks as I gaped at her. Was she now drinking in the mornings?
“Oh.” Disappointment rang out in Mom’s voice. “He’s very attractive, but a little young. Well, I guess you could always date younger. I mean, that’s in style, isn’t it? He—”
“Mom,” I whispered, eyes narrowing.
A look of innocence crossed her face, and I took a deep breath, turned around, and saw the police officer. My jaw unhinged once again.
Surprise flickered over the cop’s face on his approach. His steps slowed as my heart lurched in my chest. The cop . . . he looked so much like the boy from econ class—the guy who my mom had referenced only a few seconds before.
It couldn’t be him, but . . .
The resemblance was uncanny.
Same light brown hair buzzed close to the skull on the sides of the head and styled into a trimmed fade. Broad shoulders—door-busting shoulders. Even with the dark blue uniform and vest, I knew there was a defined chest hidden underneath. Same exact build, down to the tapered waist and muscular thighs.
The similarity went beyond the body. Those eyes—oh my God—those pale blue eyes were a blast from the past and the square jaw was only a little gentler.
He looked so much like Cole Landis.
I took a step back as my heart kicked around in my chest. I almost couldn’t do it—couldn’t look at him, because all I saw was Cole.
But it wasn’t him. This cop was too young, and Cole had been two years older than me w
hen we met at the tail end of my freshman year. He had to be thirty-two now, and this guy was barely pushing twenty-five.
The police officer glanced at the car as he walked past it. “Mrs. Keeton?”
“That would be me.” Mom stepped forward, smiling as she let go of her cardigan. “I was the one who called this morning, but the car belongs to my daughter, Sasha.”
Confirmation replaced the look on the officer’s handsome face. “Sasha Keeton?”
I stiffened as if invisible strings grabbed my spine. I now understood the surprised expression he wore. Even though this cop had to have been in high school when everything had gone down, everyone in this town who was breathing back then knew who I was.
Because I was the one, the only one, who’d escaped.
Panic blossomed in the pit of my belly, rising through me so swiftly acid churned in my stomach. Newspaper headlines flashed before me. The Bride Who Lived. The One Who Brought Down the Groom.
I shouldn’t have come back here.
Instinct kicked in, and instead of spinning around and hiding in my room like I wanted to, I took a deep breath like my therapist had instructed many, many times before. Pushing the panic down, I lifted my chin. I was not going to run. I had nothing to hide. Not when I’d spent the last ten years hiding and losing all this time with my mom.
I could do this.
Second by second, the panic eased off, relaxing the vise circling my neck until I was able to speak. “Guess you know who I am, but you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know who you are.”
The officer opened his mouth and then closed it. A moment passed. “I’m Officer Derek Bradshaw,” he said, turning his chin to the right. “And I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you didn’t do this to your car.”
Some of the tension seeped out of my shoulders as I shook my head. “Nah. I sort of liked the windows in my car.”
“Understandable.” He twisted sideways as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notebook.
The door to the inn opened. Mr. Adams stepped out onto the porch, one half of the elderly couple. “Mrs. Keeton? I’m sorry to interrupt, but the TV in our room isn’t working. We tried calling the front desk, but there was no answer.”
“I’ll be right there,” Mom yelled and then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of this.” She paused, winking at Officer Bradshaw. I closed my eyes briefly and started counting again. “Even though I’m sure the TV just isn’t plugged in,” my mom added in a hushed voice.
Officer Bradshaw chuckled, and again, I was hit with a weird sense of familiarity. He laughed like Cole. A deep, sexy chuckle. “That’s okay.”
I felt like I needed to thank God for the interruption. I waved my mom off as I focused on the officer.
He was bent at the waist, looking inside the car. “Did you notice anything stolen, Miss Keeton?” He turned his head toward me. “It is miss, right?”
I nodded. “Not married.”
“Interesting,” he murmured.
My brows flew up. Interesting? There was nothing remotely interesting about that. I crept closer to the car. “I honestly haven’t checked. I found it this way this morning—oh!” Remembering why I’d come out in the morning, I walked around the back of the car. “I left a tote in the car last night and I’d come out this morning to get it. That’s when I noticed the windows broken out.” Bending over, I peered in the car. Surprise shot through me. “It’s in there! My bag. Right on the backseat. There’s no missing that.”
“Yeah, you can’t miss it. Even in the dark, I’m sure the fuchsia would stand out,” he commented dryly as he peered over my shoulder.
I started to reach for the car, but stopped. “Can I open the door?”
He nodded. “I’m going to be honest, for something like this, we probably won’t be dusting for prints unless something major was stolen out of the car.”
I wasn’t insulted by the honesty. It was just a car and no one was injured. Opening the door, I reached in and carefully grabbed the straps of the tote. Glass pinged off the seat as I lifted the bag and stepped back from the car.
As Officer Bradshaw walked around the front of the car and along the other side, I opened the tote, hoping no one had stolen my makeup. If I had to make a trip to Ulta to replenish my stock, I’d be leaving with at least two hundred more dollars’ worth of makeup than what was stolen.
Biting down on my lower lip, I pried the tote open. “What the . . . ?”
“Yes?” Officer Bradshaw straightened and looked at me over the roof of the car.
“My MacBook is in here! With my makeup. I left both of them in the car.” Stunned, I touched the laptop just to make sure it was in there. Then I touched the makeup bag.
Officer Bradshaw headed my way. “Anything else that was left in the car?”
Shaking my head, I stared in the bag. “I forgot I’d even left that in here,” I murmured, lowering the tote. I turned to him. “Why would someone break into my car but not steal a laptop? The makeup bag I understand, but the laptop?”
“That is fairly uncommon.” He scribbled in his little notebook as static crackled from his radio. “But that’s usually a sign that the vehicle wasn’t broken into.”
I lifted a hand and gestured at the car. “Uh . . . ?”
“If there is damage but nothing stolen, especially valuable goods, then it’s usually a case of vandalism.” His pale blue eyes met mine. “You just arrived yesterday, right?”
A wiggly feeling returned to my stomach. “Yes.”
“And you’ve been gone about ten years?”
The stiffness started to seep back into me. “Yeah. Just about.”
“Did anyone know you were returning to town?” he asked, his gaze holding mine as a woman’s voice spoke from his shoulder radio. “Besides your mother.”
Brows pinching, I slowly shook my head as my mouth worked. “I . . . just my friend Miranda—um, Miranda Locke. I don’t think she told anyone.” I nibbled on my lip as I held the tote close to my chest. “My mom would’ve told the staff.”
He nodded as he scribbled into the notebook and then he flipped it closed, shoving it into his front pocket. The pen followed. “Is it possible that someone would want to damage your car?”
My lips parted. “Like on purpose?” That sounded stupid. Of course he meant on purpose. “I mean, as in someone who came out here and did this because of me?”
“It’s possible.” He held up his finger as a code was called out from his radio and then he pressed a button on the radio. “This is Unit 59. I’ll be 10–8 from the Scarlet Wench in a few minutes.” His gaze pierced mine. “There’s no polite way of saying this, but you have a history in this town.”
Anger flushed my system like a swarm of angry fire ants. “A history that wasn’t my fault.”
“Of course,” he quickly added. “I didn’t mean it like that, and I apologize if it came across as that. What I meant is that you’re . . . well known and for reasons that might make some people uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” I repeated as my head cocked to the side. Thank God my mom was not outside to hear this conversation. “Other than me, I have no idea why it would make other people uncomfortable.”
“I get what you’re saying and I don’t think you have a reason to feel uncomfortable, because like you said, what happened wasn’t your fault.” Officer Bradshaw got some brownie points for that statement. “I honestly don’t think it has anything to do with what occurred back then, but it is something we have to take into consideration. Just to keep in the back of the head kind of thing, okay?”
I wasn’t sure how to feel about that as I scoped out the yard. Yesterday I’d felt like someone had been watching me. I’d chalked it up to my imagination and mostly forgotten about it, but what if someone had been out here watching? What if someone was pissed enough that I was back in town that they’d vandalized my car?
No. That didn’t even make sense. Nothing tha
t had happened a decade ago had been my fault. Or any of the victims’ faults, so why would someone have a problem with me coming back home?
“Most likely this was just a case of random vandalism,” he said. “Probably some kids bored with nothing better to do with their time and everything else is coincidental.”
I nodded absently.
“But if you have any more problems or think of anything related to this, please call us and ask for me,” he said. “I’m going to file a vandalism report, so make sure you let your insurance know. Okay?”
“All right. Thank you.”