Chapter 2
LUKE
“Goddamn it, Scarlett.” I slammed the door to my truck and wiped the flakes of snow off my face. “What were you thinking?”
She crossed her arms in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. “I’m not going back to that house.”
“Did something happen? Did Nathan—”
“This isn’t about Nathan,” she snapped. “It’s about me. I’m sick of living in a prison.”
“It’s not a—”
“If you say it’s not a prison, I’m going to scream.”
I clamped my mouth shut and sucked in a deep breath. This woman was making me fucking crazy. So was her sister.
Was Scarlett really so cavalier with her own life? She’d been walking around the store like it was any other day. Did she not realize how much danger she was in?
The Arrowhead Warriors, a notorious and violent motorcycle gang in the state, might want her dead.
It wouldn’t take long for them to track Scarlett’s whereabouts to Clifton Forge.
There hadn’t been any sign of them yet, but it was inevitable.
A Friday afternoon jaunt to the grocery store was the epitome of reckless behavior. Did she have a death wish?
I opened my mouth to ask, but when I glanced over, Scarlett’s face was as solid as stone.
Any lecture would be pointless. She was locked behind her own mental fortress and if I actually wanted my warnings to penetrate those brick walls, now was not the time.
So I started the truck, reversed out of my parking space and drove to the safe house.
The tension in the cab was thicker than the gray clouds above. Scarlett sat statue still, her eyes trained on the road ahead, and the crease between her eyebrows deepened with every turn.
She knew exactly where I was taking her.
I knew she wasn’t going to stay.
For fuck’s sake. I was sick of this goddamn mess. For the past ten days, all I’d done was try to stop the bleeding, but with every wound I staunched, five more cuts opened up.
First, it had been the investigation into the hostage situation and suicide. Clifton Forge was a small town with an equally small police force. This case had required my complete attention, and the hours I’d put in at the station had been long. The mayor called five times daily to check in.
Meanwhile, the media had swarmed. The only reporter in the state who hadn’t called the station was the one in Clifton Forge—but that was only because her husband had been on the scene, and whatever information Bryce wanted she could get from the other people who’d been at Presley’s house that night.
Bryce had access to every facet of the truth, but ironically, her story had been written at the most facile level.
There’d been no speculation. No mention of Jeremiah’s affiliation with the Warriors.
It had read like just a domestic dispute, though that wasn’t entirely inaccurate.
Finally, ten days later, the endless phone calls were beginning to dwindle. I’d planned to spend this afternoon plowing through the mountain of backlogged work. Instead, Nathan had called to inform me Scarlett had made a break for it.
I didn’t have time to deal with a snarky woman who lacked enough regard for her own life to stay hidden.
The closer we got to the house, the more Scarlett stiffened in her seat. Her fists were balled on top of her knees and with every block, I expected her to open the door and leap out. Stubborn woman.
Where was her head? Where was mine? I’d hauled her out of the grocery store. Literally hauled. I’d manhandled her down the aisle and through the front door.
What the hell was wrong with me? Damn it, that was not the man I was. This entire situation had frayed my nerves and shred my patience.
I pulled up to the safe house, parking beside the truck in front of the garage.
This wasn’t even a safe house. It was mine, a personal rental property that I’d bought cheap last year and was planning on fixing up.
The red truck beside me was mine too. I used it to tow my raft and fishing boat in the summers.
The Clifton Forge Police Department didn’t have a demand—or budget—for a safe house and when I’d needed a place to stash Scarlett, this had been the logical choice.
Sure, it wasn’t much to look at. Yet. But this summer I planned to start remodeling and freshen it up before renting it out. For Scarlett, there weren’t many other options. This ugly but functional house was the best place for her.
Until we knew exactly what threat she faced from the Warriors, hiding was Scarlett’s best option. Maybe things would die down soon and she’d be free to leave. But it had only been ten days. Ten days that had felt like a minute.
My phone vibrated in my pocket as I shut off the truck. I pulled it out. Presley’s name hovered above a text. She’d been hounding me relentlessly for information on her sister’s whereabouts and I had no doubt she’d already heard about the grocery store incident.
You better know what you’re doing, Rosen.
I looked over at Scarlett, then typed out a quick reply. She’s safe.
I’d promised to keep Scarlett safe.
I was a man of my word.
“Come on.” I climbed out of the truck and rounded the hood, opening Scarlett’s door.
She didn’t budge.
Why was she so difficult? Why? Didn’t she realize I was on her side?
The snow had nearly stopped falling, so I stood in the cold, waiting.
Scarlett had to go into that house on her own. I’d done enough hauling her around today, and if she wanted to sit here all night, then fine. I’d wait.
The street was quiet. The neighbors on this block had been a godsend, watching over the house in my stead. This place had sat empty for two years before I’d bought it, and though I hadn’t started renovations, everyone nearby was glad that it would soon be getting some much-needed care.
The man who lived next door shoveled the sidewalk in the winter, though his own was covered, so I suspected he was out of town. I’d come over later and clear them both. In the summer, I paid the teenager who lived across the street twenty bucks a week to mow the lawn.
Someday, this would make the perfect starter home for a young couple. Or if I could convince my dad to move here after he retired, I’d happily give this place to him.
But first, it needed paint and new flooring. Electrical updates. Plumbing updates. The bathrooms and kitchen would be overhauled. Normally, the prospect of a project gave me energy. Today, I was just too damn tired to think about the work I had in store.
Scarlett’s teeth began to chatter. She’d walked to the grocery store in the snow and her clothes were damp. Her hair too.
But I didn’t move or speak. I simply waited.
Minutes passed. Nathan stood at the front window. His shift replacement would arrive at five with dinner for Scarlett. I didn’t have the rotation on me but I was pretty sure Chuck was up next.
Scarlett had had fried chicken in her basket at the store.
I’d recognized the container, having grabbed the deli special a hundred times myself over the years.
I dug out my phone and texted Chuck, telling him to stop by the store, get a fried chicken meal, some of those Hawaiian rolls and a chocolate milk.
When he replied with a thumbs up, I shoved my phone away and looked to Scarlett.
Her bravado was fading. The fight had drained from her eyes and her shoulders were slumped forward. And her teeth just kept on chattering, no matter how tight she clenched her jaw.
“Scarlett.” I held out a hand.
She looked at my palm and the sadness in her blue eyes made my heart twist. Fuck. She looked miserable. She looked weary to the core.
“Come inside,” I urged. “Let’s talk.”
Scarlett nodded but refused my hand. She hopped out of the truck herself, her feet landing hard on the snow. She wrapped her arms around her waist and trudged to the front door, her body shrinking before my eyes.
Her spirit hadn’t just faded. She’d drained it dry.
I followed her to the door, giving her plenty of space while matching her glacial pace.
Nathan whipped the door open the moment her foot hit the single porch step. “Chief—”
I held up a hand, then waved for him to get out of Scarlett’s way. When we were all inside, I closed the door behind me. “Scarlett, why don’t you go change into dry clothes.”
She nodded and shuffled down the hallway toward the only bedroom with an actual bed.
“I’m sorry,” Nathan blurted. “She said she wanted some fresh air and I didn’t think that was a big deal.”
I sighed. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow at the station.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow.” I jerked my chin at the door. “There should be a shovel in the garage. Would you mind hitting the sidewalk?”
“No, sir,” he said, then disappeared outside.
Nathan would be reprimanded verbally for not watching Scarlett more closely, but I wasn’t going to blow the kid up.
He was new and hadn’t realized she was a flight risk.
Hell, I hadn’t either. When I’d gotten a text from Bryce saying she’d recognized Scarlett at the grocery store’s deli counter, I’d about fallen out of my chair.
I’d thought Scarlett understood the severity of the situation, but clearly, I’d been wrong.
Maybe I should have pushed her harder that night. Instead of letting her ignore my questions as she’d sat in my office, huddled beneath a blanket, staring at my face, maybe I should have demanded some answers. But demanding anything from a woman in shock had seemed unnecessarily cruel.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone ten days without checking in here myself.
I paced the living room, dragging a hand through my short hair.
Everyone expected me to have the answers.
To know how to handle situations like this.
I’d been a cop for a long time, but even this was new.
I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but I’d been fumbling for days, relying on instinct, not experience.
Because if I overanalyzed my decisions, I’d second-guess them all.
So I’d focused on the facts.