Chapter 8
EIGHT
BUTCH
Becca has always surprised me. Normally I don’t like that kind of shit. Being surprised means I didn’t see something coming. And if I didn’t see something coming, I’m probably gonna end up dead.
But with her it’s different. I look forward to the surprise. Anticipate it. Relish in the shock.
And then brace for the next time.
But this surprise… It’s got me thinking about all the shit I keep swearing I won’t act on until we find her sister. About the connection we still obviously share.
My steps are a little quicker than they probably should be as we leave the store.
I throw all our food into the back seat more haphazardly than I typically would.
And I drive a little faster than normal as we wind our way through the darkened, unmarked roads leading to the hunting cabin only a handful of people know about.
When we arrive, I lock Becca in the truck so I can do a sweep, ensuring no one—primarily Alaskan Security—has discovered this place. I don’t know how they could, but I won’t risk it. Not when Becca’s safety is on the line.
The inside of the simple, single story structure is a little dusty, and musty as hell, but technically that’s a good thing.
It means no one else has been in here but me since I last came six months ago.
There are no footsteps marring the thin layer of particles across the knobby wood floor, and the practically invisible line of breakable string across each doorway is still intact.
Working undercover, there was always a risk I would be made.
It could’ve put me in a very dangerous situation.
So, when the only father figure I ever really had passed away just after my eighteenth birthday, leaving me this property, I’m glad I was dumb enough to not understand the proper process for putting it in my name.
And if Alaskan Security can connect me to the father of a kid who died twenty years ago, then maybe I should give them a chance anyway.
After opening up the gas line and switching on the generator at the back of the house, I circle the exterior, making extra sure everything is secure. When I find no sign anything human has come close to this place, I collect Becca and the groceries, taking her and the food inside.
Her eyes move around the place from behind her glasses as she takes it in. Assessing. Calculating. Analyzing.
And I swear, watching her do what she does best gets me just as hard as her request to make out.
I’ve never met anyone like her. Someone who pays just as close attention as I do. Someone who’s always trying to figure out what’s coming next. Someone who doesn’t take the world—or the people in at—at face value.
“How do you know about this place?” She peeks into the single bedroom, taking in the sheet-draped queen size bed before moving on to the bathroom beside it.
“I inherited it when an old friend’s dad died.” I check the fridge, making sure it’s on and running before beginning to add our cold items.
“Why didn’t your friend inherit it?” Becca moves to the small dining table situated at the center of the open kitchen, sliding the bag—my bag—she carried out of the safe house onto the surface.
“Because he’s dead.” It’s been long enough that discussing Dustin’s death doesn’t sting like it used to. He was the first person close to me to die, and it was so unexpected. I was so young. It took a long time to wrap my head around what happened.
And the pain I carried because of it.
“How did he die?” Becca unzips the bag, pulling out a couple of the tampon boxes I brought her earlier.
“We both played a lot of sports in junior high. He had an undiagnosed heart condition and went down in the middle of a football game. I watched it happen, but there was nothing I could do.” In hindsight, there were clues Dustin had something going on.
The occasional shortness of breath. Weird incidents of dizziness and nausea.
But we were kids and everything could have been explained away by physical exertion.
Everything except the weird feeling he told me he sometimes got between his ribs.
I didn’t think anything of it then, but it was all I thought of for a lot of years.
Maybe if I’d paid more attention, I could’ve said something to his dad.
Maybe they could have found out what was wrong before it killed him.
But I didn’t. I assumed it was nothing and blew it off.
I don’t do that shit anymore.
“That’s unfortunate.” Becca doesn’t react dramatically to my sob story, and it makes it easier to tell. Knowing I don’t have to deal with someone else’s emotions while facing mine is a whole lot easier to swallow.
“It was.” I finish up with the groceries and go to work wiping down the counters, getting rid of the powdery film of dust covering their surface. “I don’t think his dad ever got over it. I tried to spend a lot of time with him so he didn’t feel alone, but it wasn’t the same.”
“It must have been at least a little bit the same because he left you this place.” Becca keeps pulling stuff out of the bag, adding a change of clothes along with toothpaste and a toothbrush to her growing pile. “And it must’ve been a little the same for you too.”
I stop what I’m doing, turning to look at her. “I’ve never really thought of it that way.”
Becca’s dark brows pinch together. “Really?”
“Really.” I consider smiling at the expression on her face. “Are you judging me for it?”
One side of her mouth lifts. “Kinda.”
“Listen.” I step toward her, drawn in by her honesty. “We can’t all be as brilliant and insightful as you are.”
Becca’s head tips back as she stares up at me. “You think I’m brilliant and insightful?”
“Among other things.” I curve both hands around her hips, gripping a much skinnier frame than I expect. I’m eager to get my hands—and mouth—on her, but Becca needs to eat. Probably for the next week straight.
Using my grip, I shift her so she’s in front of me, directing her to the sofa. After tugging away the sheet that’s protected it in my absence, I settle her onto the overstuffed cushions. “You relax for a little bit while I make us something to eat.”
It’s well past dinner time and edging into bedtime, but I complained enough about Owen and Luca not taking care of her, and I don’t want to end up putting myself in the same category.
I throw together a couple quick sandwiches, grab the chips she selected along with two bottles of water, and join her on the sofa.
I settle close beside her, handing over her plate before sliding mine and the drinks onto the coffee table. “It’s nothing impressive, but I don’t want to make too much of a mess if we decide we're leaving in the morning.”
Becca picks up half the turkey and cheese, biting off a corner. “Do you think we should leave in the morning?”
I know we said we would sleep on it before we discussed our next moves, but without Internet service or a television signal, there’s not a whole lot else to do while we eat.
“I think we shouldn’t plan on being away from Memphis any longer than we have to be, but we need to go back prepared.
If we jump before we're ready, we might make mistakes.” I watch as she swallows her food, a strange satisfaction settling into my gut at being able to take care of her.
“And I don’t want to make mistakes when your sister’s life is on the line. ”
“Me either.” Becca takes another bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly as she watches me. “Do you think they might kill her?”
I gulp down my mouthful of bread and meat, the wad lodging in my throat.
I was never the cop they sent in to talk to victims’ families.
I’m not one to sugarcoat shit or deliver news delicately.
Things are what they are. What happens is what happens.
No matter how sweetly you try to say it, the truth is the truth.
“If keeping her alive is a bigger problem than dealing with her dead, yes.”
If my words upset Becca, she doesn’t show it. She just nods, absorbing the information I’ve given her. After a few more bites of food, she asks me another difficult question. “If she was already dead, would you have heard about it?”
I wish I could say yes. Wish I could tell her I know without a shadow of a doubt her sister is still alive. But I can’t, and I won’t lie. I won’t hedge. I won’t hide what I think. I think that’s what Becca wants anyway. Honesty. Even if it’s ugly.
Same as me.
I shake my head. “No. I probably wouldn’t have.”
Again, Becca simply nods, filing the information away.
Normally, I would leave it alone. Let the conversation end here. I don’t want to give her false hope. But I do need her to know this isn’t a lost cause.
“But I promise you, if she’s alive, we will find her.”
Again, Becca’s brows pinch as she looks at me like she doesn’t understand. “I know.” Her head tips to one side. “That’s why I’m with you. You’re the one most capable of helping me find her.”
I don’t normally give a shit what other people think of me, but Becca’s faith has me sitting a little straighter. It also has me feeling light in a way I don’t normally feel. Like joking around even though I don’t joke. “And here I thought you were with me because you wanted to make out.”
“I didn’t know you would make out with me when I climbed out the window.
” Becca takes another bite of her sandwich, seeming completely unbothered by the change of topic.
She’s not shy about discussing what would make most women blush, and I love it.
“If I did, I probably would have tried to do it sooner.”
Her eagerness at exploring our connection physically is just as appealing as her analytical and honest nature. And her serious, thoughtful personality. And her bravery.
Fuck. I like her. And I don’t like anyone.
Except Al, but that’s about it. Even my sister and I butt heads and argue. Usually over my bad attitude and blunt approach to shit.
“I would’ve come to get you sooner.”
I know what happens to people who are in high stress situations.
How they can seek out opportunities to distract themselves from the heaviness hanging over them.
And maybe that’s all Becca is doing right now.
Using me for a distraction. I’m not opposed to being used, but I have to admit, I might be interested in figuring out how to make her want to use me more than once.
I stand from the couch, way more eager than I want to admit about sharing a bed with Becca.
“The water should be decently warm by now if you want to take a shower.” I carry our plates into the kitchen, and set them in the sink.
“I’ve got the basics in there. Shampoo. Conditioner.
Soap.” I’m sure it’s not what she normally uses, but it’ll get the job done for one night.
“There are clean towels in the cabinet.” Again, they’re not freshly laundered or high quality, but they’ll work for now.
If I’d known one day I would be bringing a woman here, I might have stocked the place differently.
If we end up staying here longer than I’m anticipating, I can go get her anything she needs.
But I don’t foresee that happening. I don’t expect us to leave first thing in the morning—I need to check out a few things before I decide where we're going to end up—but I know Becca is going to want to get back to Memphis where we can keep our ears to the ground.
Becca collects a few items from the pile she made on the table, carrying them with her as she disappears into the bathroom.
The shower switches on a second later, and I go to the bedroom, uncovering the mattress and headboard before pulling a set of sheets from the closet.
When I was here last, I stacked them with dryer sheets between each item, so they smell decently nice as I shake them out and stretch each one into place.
Sheets and pillowcases on and in place, I pull out a couple of blankets, adding them on top.
By the time Becca comes out of the bathroom, looking clean and slightly more relaxed, the bed is made, the dishes are done, and I’m champing at the bit to find out if we’re as in sync in the bedroom as we are everywhere else.
Becca sets her folded clothes on the small dresser before coming to stand directly in front of me, her dark eyes locked onto mine. “Do you want to start, or should I?”
“I guess that depends on how you intend to start.” I angle a brow at her. “Because if your way is more interesting than mine, then ladies first.”
A flicker of uncertainty flashes across her face.
It’s a strange thing to see from someone so decisive and confident.
“I haven’t really thought about it.” She rubs her lips together, eyes squinting a little she thinks.
“I guess I would start by asking you to take your shirt off so I can see what you look like.”
Fair enough. But… “What if you don’t like what you see?”
Becca shrugs. “I don’t think that’s relevant. I don’t think I’m sexually attracted to you because of how you look.”
So that might have stung a little. “Okay.” Maybe her bluntness is more capable than I thought of catching me off guard. “Why do you think you’re attracted to me?”
“I don’t know, actually. I’ve never been attracted to anyone before.” She reaches out, one finger hovering in front of my stomach. “Can I touch you?”
“Sure.” I’m a little distracted by what she just said, so I don’t notice the light whisper of her finger against my shirt. “Did you say you’ve never been attracted to anyone before?”
“Yes.” Her wandering finger slides against my body, tracing a path up the middle of my chest. “Well, technically I was also attracted to you ten years ago, if you want to count that.”
I mean, I do, but…
“So you’ve been having sex with people you aren’t attracted to?”
Becca shakes her head “No.”
I grab her hand just as her finger flicks over my nipple. “I think I’m missing something, B. You said you’ve never been attracted to anyone, but you haven’t been having sex with people you’re not attracted to.”
“That’s right.” She lifts her eyes to my face as she tries to tug her finger from my grip, making an annoyed noise when I don’t let go.
It’s not that I don’t want to. I think my muscles are just locked in place while my mind starts running in circles, screaming like it’s on fire.
Because I think Becca might be telling me she’s a virgin.