15. thirteen
thirteen
. . .
ASPEN
The moment I exited the police station, I pulled up short on the sidewalk out front and swore healthily.
I still didn’t have a car.
And the last thing I wanted to do was walk all over this town in search of the impound lot where Black Betty had ended up.
So, with my tail between my legs, I huffed and walked back inside.
“Did you forget something, Miss McKay?”
“I was hoping you could direct me toward the impound lot? I need to get my vehicle back.”
“Oh, sure!” she said, leaning forward and sliding the glass window that separated us open. “It’s on Aspen,” she chuckled, and it took me a moment to realize she was naming a street and not me. “If you follow this road out front down three blocks and take a right, it’s down that way on your left. Can’t miss it.”
“Great, thanks!”
I turned to leave, but she called after me, and when I faced her again, she brandished a piece of paper.
“You’re going to need this,” she said. “It’ll get your car out of there without having to pay the fees. ”
“You’re an angel,” I breathed.
Twenty minutes later, covered in sweat and in dire need of some pain pills, I stood in front of my car and the piece of paper flapping under the windshield wiper in the gentle breeze.
“Did you put that there?” I asked the lot worker who’d walked back here with me.
“No, ma’am. We parked it and left it alone.”
Then he tipped his hat and disappeared.
Each step closer to the vehicle weighed heavier and heavier until I stood close enough to reach up with shaky fingers and retrieve the paper.
Everything about this felt inexplicably wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on why, only that I knew I wouldn’t like what I found when I unfolded it.
Welcome to Dusk Valley, Aspen McKay. We hope you enjoyed your baptism by fire. A shame you survived, though. You should know I don’t like loose ends. Until we meet again, little cockroach.
A cold pulse of fear slithered down my spine, raising the hair on the back of my neck. I glanced around, looking for a perpetrator, but found no one.
I was alone, and who the hell knew how long this note had been waiting for me. Had they placed it there immediately after attacking me? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Not if they’d intended for me to die in that fire.
That could only mean someone had snuck into this lot and left it there, knowing it’d be waiting for me when I was released from the hospital and claimed my vehicle.
Was this their attempt at driving me out of town? Or was this them merely fanning the flames on my desire to catch them?
Definitely the latter. This person was clearly taunting me.
Well fuck. That.
I would not be toyed with. One day, hopefully sooner rather than later, I would look this fucker in the eye as I brought them to justice.
Getting behind the wheel of Black Betty, the seat which was perfectly molded to my ass a much needed comfort in a day from hell, I put her in drive and shot the attendant a wave as I sped out of the lot, feeling a bit more like myself as I headed toward my first stop: the scene of the crime.
There was no explanation for why I wanted to go there. I supposed morbid curiosity made me want to gaze upon the place that nearly claimed my life. To remind myself that I’d made it out.
The sight took my breath away.
What once had likely been a tall, sturdy structure was now nothing more than a blackened husk, the broken walls shooting up toward the sky like jagged teeth. I closed my eyes as I sat there, parked on the curb out front, willing the missing fragments of my memories to return to me.
My eyes popped open when nothing happened, and suddenly, I was so damn exhausted. Nothing sounded better than heading back to my motel and sleeping for the next twenty-four hours.
I supposed that was another thing I had to grudgingly thank my mom for, despite the fact that she’d been lobbying hard for me to move home. She had made it possible for me to have a room to return to after my release.
Unfortunately, the universe—and the shitty ass clerk—had other plans.
“Miss McKay!” the desk clerk—the owner—shouted at me when I exited my car in the parking lot. “A word please.”
Grumbling internally, I dragged my feet to the reception desk.
He’d called me by my real name, which didn’t bode well.
But my eyes skipped right over the man seated there and landed on a pile of personal belongings stacked in the corner .
My personal belongings.
“Why are my things out of my room?” I barked.
“I’m afraid we’re completely booked. Since you’ve been…gone,” he said, putting undue emphasis on the word; I hadn’t been gone , I’d been fucking taken against my will and nearly died, “we’ve had to empty out your room to accommodate paying customers.”
“I just spoke with you this morning!”
“Things have changed.”
My gaze narrowed, and a lightbulb illuminated in my brain.
The fucking sheriff.
Gritting my teeth, I attempted to quell the rage coursing through me.
“Can I at least go in and make sure you didn’t miss anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Sorry, there’s someone now renting that room.”
I cursed colorfully in his direction, glaring pointedly at the parking lot, empty save Black Betty and a piece of shit Nissan, which I assumed belonged to him.
Undeterred by my outburst, the rat’s smile was greasy as he said, “Would you like some help loading your things in your vehicle?”
Instead of a verbal response, I shot him the middle finger and moved around behind the counter, collecting all of my bags and carrying them to Black Betty in one trip.
My skin crawled to think that man had been through my stuff, had his fingers all over my personal effects and files.
Angrily, I threw myself behind the wheel, fuming in the quiet of the car. I was so pissed off, I didn’t even feel the pain in my side anymore. My tires squealed as I peeled out of the lot.
What a fucking prick . Both the owner of this roach motel and the goddamn sheriff .
After I’d spilled my guts about how I obtained my wounds, he had some fucking nerve telling the little rat to kick me out.
I had half a mind to murder him, but that’d only provide a legitimately excuse for my arrest.
Okay, Aspen. Think. This isn’t the end of the world. You’ve been in worse situations before.
With a sigh that I hoped would expel all the furious energy brewing beneath my skin—spoiler: it didn’t—I pulled into the first parking lot I found, withdrew my phone, and clicked into the Airbnb app.
Ten minutes later, I had a new place booked, and I smiled smugly as I headed toward the adorable little cottage on the edge of town. The directions took me back by the impound lot, and I realized how truly small this town was.
I’d never lived somewhere with such a tiny population, where you could drive end to end of the city limits in under ten minutes. After nearly a month in Dusk Valley and the shit I’d endured, staying in this one longer than I had to wasn’t likely.
I was halfway to the new rental when my phone dinged with an email.
Reservation Cancelled
“What the fuck…”
Steering Black Betty to the shoulder, I put her in park and read the email.
We regret to inform you that the host has cancelled this booking…
I didn’t bother looking at the rest, merely sent it flying toward my trash folder and booked another one.
After three more attempts with the same result, I finally gave up.
It seemed the sheriff had covered his bases.
Unbidden, hot, angry tears spilled from my eyes, and though I tried to wipe them away and pull myself together, they morphed from the silent kind to body-wracking sobs in an instant .
God, I was so fucking tired.
I’d had a good life once. A beautiful apartment looking out on Chicago’s Mag Mile and Lake Michigan beyond, a job I loved, amazing friends, and parents who respected me.
The version of me from five years ago wouldn’t recognize the woman I’d become. Somehow, I thought that was for the best. That version of Aspen McKay would be horrified to learn I now called home a five hundred-square-foot apartment over my office, though I basically lived out of my twenty-year-old vehicle. That I rarely wore makeup, nothing in my wardrobe contained a designer label, and I hadn’t gotten a manicure in years.
I let it all out. The hurt, the anger, the sheer exhaustion. I refused to be run out of this town so easily, but I’d be damned if the way these people shunned me didn’t sting an awful lot, like salt in an open wound.
A rap on my window snapped my eyes open, and I startled enough to smoke my head off the roof. After cranking the window down a hair, I said, “Can I help you?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
The woman was likely in her mid-fifties, strawberry blonde hair chopped above her shoulders, an AirPod resting in one ear and an excited dog pulling on the leash in her left hand. A sizable square-cut diamond glittered on her finger. She looked like the portrait of a quintessential suburban housewife.
“I’m okay,” I assured her. “Just having a rough couple of days.”
“If you’re sure…” she trailed off, eyeing me suspiciously.
For the first time since I’d parked here, I took in my surroundings, realizing I’d stopped in front of a cute craftsman home in the middle of a quiet neighborhood. Along the street, curtains on front windows twitched as the residents checked me out.
“I’m sure,” I promised. “I was just leaving.”
The woman merely nodded and took off at a brisk jog in the direction opposite of which I faced, though I didn’t miss her glancing over her shoulder periodically until I pulled away from the curb and turned a corner.
A few more random turns had me back on the main drag, and I slammed to a stop in front of the cafe, an idea forming in my mind. A visit to a certain firefighter was exactly what I needed to distract me from the hellscape my life had become.
The bell above the door tinkled soothingly as I pushed inside, an intoxicating blend of sugar, coffee, and freshly baked bread wrapping me in a warm hug.
“Welcome to The Spout,” the younger girl working the register said. “What can I get for you?”
“I’m looking for a cake.”
Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the fire station, and everything in me seemed to settle when I laid eyes on Crew.
He was out on the apron, clipboard in hand as a few of the other guys moved around the truck and called out things to him. None of it made any sense, though I had to guess they were taking inventory of their tools and supplies. Instead of approaching, I took a moment to lean up against the side of Black Betty and watch him work.
Crew had a natural charisma about him, and emanated that kind of big dick energy that alerted anyone around that he was the top dog, the alpha male, in any given situation. His men followed him without question, and I couldn’t blame them. Crew was physically imposing, of course. Tall, broad-shouldered, muscles for days. But he had an easy smile that disappeared quickly when things turned serious. Those sky blue eyes were able to cut through the bluster and bullshit. And to be fire captain so young? Obviously, he was great at his job. There was a magnetism to him, impossible to ignore.
My inconspicuousness disappeared when one of those men spotted me.
“Well, well, well,” he said, grinning and socking Crew on the shoulder. “Look who was finally sprung from the joint.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t in prison.”
Crew smirked as he approached me. “Hospitals aren’t much better.”
“Food is probably better in prison,” I admitted.
His expression morphed into a wide grin, and I couldn’t help but match it.
“What’re you doing here?” he asked, instantly dousing my good mood.
Shrugging, I dragged my toe through the dirt, eyes darting everywhere but at his. Suddenly, I couldn’t look him straight on for fear he’d see all my weaknesses and anxieties written across my face in stark, black letters.
“I was bored.”
Crew chuckled. “I can fix that.”
Roughly, I cleared my throat and turned away, lest he see the blood heating my cheeks with the seductive promise in his words. I yanked open the passenger door of Black Betty and withdrew the cake.
“Actually, I wanted to bring you this.”
Crew accepted it, one of his dark blond brows curving in amusement.
“‘Happy birthday, Timmy’?”
I winced. “Sorry. It was the only one they had on short notice.”
“You mean to tell me you stole some little boy’s birthday cake for me? I can’t accept this, Aspen. That’s just…mean.”
“No!” I shouted, backpedaling, though his little smirk told me he was messing with me. “No, it’s not like that. Apparently, there was a mix-up with the theme and his parents ordered a new one. They were going to throw this one away at the end of the day, so really, I was doing them a favor.”
“Lawless,” a deep voice said from behind him, and I glanced over Crew’s shoulder to see Chief Madden had joined his men outside. “It’s all good.”
Crew turned back to me with a grin, now aware of something that had gone right over my head. The guys chuckled as well, and I crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for someone to clue me in.
“Timmy is Chief Madden’s son,” Crew explained, taking pity on me at last. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the station. “How about we go inside and enjoy a slice?”
“Sure,” I said, happy to have something to do with myself that didn’t include wallowing and eager to spend more time around Crew. I knew coming here would be a good idea. This man had, after all, saved my life. It made sense I’d feel safe and calm in his presence.
Plus, nothing bad could happen to me at a fire station.
We headed inside and gathered around the long table that took up half the space in the common room. Plates and silverware were passed around, the cake was cut, and we all dug in our slices in celebration of Timmy Madden.
“So when did you get out of the hospital?” Crew asked quietly, leaning his head closer to mine. With his attention wholly focused on me, I felt like the only person in the room—hell, the world .
“This morning,” I said around a mouthful. “Then I went to the sheriff’s department and spoke with your brother. Got my car back, got kicked out of my hotel…”
I added that last part as nonchalantly as I could despite knowing he wouldn’t let it go that easily. But maybe, deep down—or not so deep down; I was effectively homeless at the moment—I was hoping he’d find a way to help me .
“Your brother wants me to leave town—” I continued.
“You’re planning on staying?” he asked hopefully, cutting me off.
“I was …until the sheriff blacklisted me at every hotel, motel, and short-term rental in the county.”
Fuck, what was I going to tell Mrs. Lee?
Sorry, ma’am. I couldn’t find your daughter’s killer—the man who targeted me too—because the sheriff ran me out of town.
Crew placed his hands flat on the table and began to push to his feet, but I wrapped one of mine around his wrist and yanked him back down.
“I’ll kill him,” Crew seethed. “Who gave him the right?”
“To be fair, he is a cop, and I suppose in a fucked up, misguided way, he’s trying to look out for me.”
Crew scoffed. “You can look out for yourself.”
My heart expanded in my chest with some unnameable emotion.
How long had I been waiting for someone to say that to me? To remind me of that fact? To look at me and see someone who didn’t need to be babied and sheltered from the world?
“You’re right. And that starts with finding somewhere to stay. Maybe you can talk to Lane about lifting the ban? Convince him I’ll be okay?”
Crew’s murderous expression quickly shifted into one of mischief. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”
At this point, I was willing to accept all the help I could get, so I folded my fingers over my palm in an out with it gesture.
“You can stay with me.”