Chapter 6
MAEVE
The hum of the Sunhaven Times lobby is on steroids this morning. There’s an air of excitement, like something is happening and I’m the last one to know.
Has there been another death? Surely not. It’s too soon. I need more time.
Maybe I shouldn’t even be here after this morning’s events. But it’s all I can do right now besides stare at my phone all day, waiting for Caleb to call. Work is all I have right now to keep my mind off Teddy.
Plus, I’m trying to ignore the nagging voice in my head that keeps telling me being pressed up against Caleb felt all kinds of right. Like I’d done it a thousand times before.
Sonny glances up from his station manning the reception desk, and smiles. “Morning . . . Maeve.” My name falls short, as does the smile on his face—I know I look like hell. “Everything okay?”
I try on a smile, but I know it won’t do anything but make me look sick. Fifteen minutes in the mirror didn’t fix my puffy eyes or pink nose, so what was the point?
“Fine, Sonny,” I say, avoiding his intense gaze by glancing around at the people darting in and out of the lobby. “What’s with all the commotion?”
Sonny leans forward, a conspiratorial grin spreading over his face as though he’s about to tell me the biggest secret of his entire life. “It’s Pinnacle,” he says, lowering his voice. “Big story, Holloway’s been in meetings since the crack of dawn. You’d think it was the second coming or something.”
I frown. “Pinnacle Corporation? The medical company?”
Sonny nods, his excitement palpable. “But you didn’t hear it from me,” he says with a wink.
The man really needs to get out more. A story about a corrupt medical research company shouldn’t be the highlight of his day.
But who am I to judge? My life is hanging by its fingernails to the edge of a cliff. My guess, the rocks are going to crumble soon enough.
Sonny is right about one thing, though. This is big.
Holloway wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to sink his teeth into a story like this. Pinnacle’s PR are obviously doing damage control over the rumours of shady dealings and unethical trials, so why would they care what the Sunhaven Times thinks? We’re a little fish in an ocean full of bigger, meaner fish. It makes no sense.
I blow out a breath and throw Sonny a tight smile. “Well, I better get to it before Holloway blows a gasket. Behave yourself.”
“Always do.” His smile widens and my false one nudges into a real one for a split second.
Who can resist a soft, cinnamon roll of a man? Pity he’s twenty years my senior.
I rush off towards the elevators and push the button several times as I glance at my phone screen once again.
My grip tightens. No messages. That’s good news, I suppose.
Besides, Caleb would tell me if Teddy was getting worse, right? Exhaling slowly, I bring up the number to the clinic. One phone call won’t hurt. I’ll just check on Teddy, make sure he’s fine. That’s the only reason I’d be calling.
Not because I can still hear Caleb’s voice. Low, steady, like an anchor in the storm of this morning.
Not because I can still feel the warmth of his body heat, the way his scent lingered on my skin longer than it should have.
No. It’s only about Teddy.
The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and I startle, pressing a hand to my chest. Sighing, I shove my phone into my bag and step inside the elevator. Looks like my phone call will have to wait.
For now, I’m going to put on a brave face and trust that Teddy is in the best capable hands.
The elevator ascends, and my stomach churns with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Holloway is going to want a run down on the Thornhaven murders, and I have nothing to give him.
Moving back there hasn’t helped. It’s given me more questions than answers.
Maybe the Pinnacle story is a blessing. Holloway will be tied up in the nonsense of it all and will hopefully forget I exist for a few hours. It’s possible I may leave the office today without a new arsehole.
The doors slide open again, revealing the clusterfuck that is my office floor. Bloody hell. The Pinnacle story really has stirred up a commotion.
Everyone is running around like chickens with their heads cut off, while I’d rather shove my own into a wet pile of sand and forget why I became a journalist.
Ignoring the glances from my co-workers, I weave through the maze of cubicles, my focus fixed on my desk. If I can slip into my chair unnoticed?—
“Maeve. My office. Now.”
My heart plummets into my stomach, and I inwardly groan.
Holloway stands at the end of the hallway, glaring at me. Well, there goes my plans for a quiet morning.
“Coming sir.” I follow Holloway to his office, my legs unsteady beneath me.
I should have called in sick.
We enter the room, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps.
Oh, look, another award. It’s not like his walls aren’t already adorned with framed accolades and certificates—Holloway’s attempt to appear more important than he really is.
He gestures to the black leather armchair across from his polished mahogany desk. I sink into its soft embrace, clutching my handbag on my lap, and wait for him to take a seat behind the desk where a stack of papers dwarf him. For such a short man, he sure commands attention.
“Maeve,” he says, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, “there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Great. Here we go.
Crossing my legs, I lean forward. “If it’s about the Thornhaven murders, I have leads?—”
Holloway waves his hand dismissively. “No, no. We’re taking you off that for now.”
“What? Why? I’ve been working on that for months.” Not that you would know it from the number of dead leads that seem to be multiplying—literally.
“Because something bigger just landed in our laps.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Pinnacle Corporation. They’ve approached us directly, looking to commission an exclusive piece on their history and contributions to the medical field. They want someone with your journalistic skills to take it on.”
I scoff. “Me?” There are plenty of journalists here, ones much more capable, and willing to take on the Pinnacle story—a couple of breakout stories aren’t enough to gain this type of attention. “Why would they need the Sunhaven Times to write a puff piece? They’ve got an entire PR team for that.”
Holloway leans forward, storm-grey eyes pinning me in place. “It’s not just another story, Maeve. Pinnacle wants a ‘clean slate’ piece to bury those rumours before anyone digs too deep.” He pauses, studying my reaction. “This isn’t small-time. This is career changing.” His words are smooth, but there’s something behind them, something rehearsed.
My jaw tightens, a dull ache settling in my molars. The chair swallows me whole, the leather warm but suffocating.
A ‘clean slate?’ That sounds more like erasing something than fixing it. If Pinnacle is hiding something, why doesn’t Holloway want us to dig deeper, instead of writing a puff piece? If he wants to ‘make waves’ then exposing them makes the most sense.
Then again, I want nothing to do with any of it. My focus is on Thornhaven. So why should I care what he does with the story?
“I get that this is a big deal, sir, but what about the Thornhaven murders? Those are just as important. More so, if you ask me. People are dying. Someone needs to uncover the truth.”
Holloway rubs his temples, his face turning a shade of red. “Maeve, the police are handling that. And, if I’m being completely honest, you haven’t provided me with anything tangible. Maybe you need a break from it. Might do you good.”
“The police?” I huff out a laugh. “With all due respect, sir, they’ve got nothing, and you know it. I’ve been chasing this story for months. No-one knows it better than I do. The police are either being paid to sit on their lazy arses, or they’re just plain stupid.”
My boss studies me, jaw tightening. “That maybe so, but do you really think you can handle both? Pinnacle isn’t some small-town fluff piece, Maeve. This story could make your career, and the paper’s reputation. You can’t afford to mess this up. They’ve been an integral part of these small communities for decades, funding schools, hospitals, even orphanages back in the day. If there’s any truth to these rumours, it’s going to hit hard.”
“Orphanages?” The word barely makes it past my lips.
The walls of Holloway’s office shrink in on me, the air growing thin.
Crap, I can’t breathe.
Holloway keeps talking, but I barely hear him past the rushing in my ears. “. . . Pinnacle’s money kept them open,” he continues, oblivious to the heat spreading through my body. “Think of this story as giving back to your community.”
My nails dig into my palms. That’s what they called it, too—giving back. But I remember what it really meant. The locked doors. The bruises no-one questioned. The silence that swallowed kids whole.
If Holloway wants a story, then I’ll give him one. Just not the one he’s expecting.
No-one, not even my boss is going to take me off the Thornhaven case. And certainly not for a company with deep pockets, and a probable reason to hide the horrors that went on there.
“I can work on both,” I say, straightening as though that’ll make any ounce of difference.
Holloway scratches at his chin, rocking back and forth in his chair, the leather squeaking beneath him. “Alright, Maeve. You can keep the Thornhaven story. For now. But Pinnacle takes priority. This story is coming straight from the top. The CEO wants to reassure people Pinnacle is the good guy, and they’ve chosen us to tell the story. You don’t get a better source than that. If I see you dropping the ball, I’m pulling you off it. Understood?”
I nod. “Understood.”
Holloway pulls his focus from me to a folder on his desk. “Good,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Pinnacle’s leadership isn’t taking any chances. They want a thorough investigation, but make no mistake, they’re controlling the narrative. You’ll have access to their archives, their executives, everything.”
Everything.
The word hangs between us, heavy with implication.
Access to archives? Executives? No company opens its doors like that unless they’re hiding something. Or steering the story exactly where they want it to go.
This isn’t transparency. It’s control wrapped up in a pretty little package. And Holloway expects me to unwrap it with a smile.
It’s almost laughable.
He glances up again, eyebrow raised, as though I’m now a thorn in his side.
“Right. I’ll get to work.” I scramble to my feet, the weight of his gaze stalking me as I make my way to the door.
I step into the hallway and take a deep breath. The Thornhaven murders are more urgent, more personal, but my new assignment gnaws at me, digging into my psyche like razor blades over tender flesh.
I make my way to my desk for the second attempt this morning, my head down. It’s a welcome sight, a small island of familiarity in a sea of uncertainty. I sink into my chair and drop my bag onto the desk with a sigh.
Barely a minute passes when Terry materialises, planting himself on the edge of my desk like a cat staking its claim, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s like a male peacock during mating season, although he’s trying to impress the wrong female.
“Hey there, Maevey. Big night last night?” He grins, leaning closer as though proximity will somehow make him more charming.
It doesn’t.
I pull away slightly, his overuse of cologne almost making me gag. He smells nothing like the calm, woodsy scent of Caleb.
Caleb. Why am I thinking of him right now?
Great. This is going to be a problem.
I don’t even bother looking up from my computer screen. “It’s Maeve,” I say, my fingers moving at a fast pace over the keyboard. “And what I did last night is none of your business.”
He chuckles, undeterred by my obvious lack of interest. “I see what’s happening. You woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. How about I loosen up those tight muscles of yours? That’ll make you feel better.” He wiggles his fingers over the space above my shoulders.
If he so much as touches me . . .
I’ll what? Who am I kidding? I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown. More than likely I’d end up on the floor sobbing, instead of doing what I really want to do—throw something at him.
A stapler, perhaps.
Instead, I pin him with a glare. “I’m busy, Terry. And I’m assuming you have work to do as well, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to be left alone.”
Terry holds his hands up in mock surrender, a grin still plastered across his ugly, smug face. “Easy there tiger.” He leans in even closer, his hot breath attacking my cheek. “I’ll see you later, maybe we can go for a drink this weekend.”
“Not interested, Terrance.” I keep my focus on my computer and log in, opening the file I was working on yesterday—the official list of employees from Thornhaven Orphanage.
Terry finally takes my hint and backs away. “One day you’ll say yes,” he calls over his shoulder as he saunters off, his confidence unshaken.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Terry’s persistence isn’t flattering, it’s exhausting. He’s either stupid or just doesn’t care that no matter how many times I reject him, he keeps coming back for more. Maybe he’s just a sucker for punishment.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to five, then get to work. Soon enough I’m going to be swamped with the Pinnacle story and the Thornhaven murders, and I need to gather as much information as I can before my plan drags me to hell with the rest of my life.
Hours pass, and my mind keeps drifting to Teddy. I picture him lying in that cold metal cage at Caleb’s clinic, confused and alone. Does he think I’ve abandoned him?
My chest aches.
This morning feels like a lifetime ago—Teddy’s laboured breathing, the frantic drive to the vet, the way my hands shook as I held his almost-lifeless body against my own.
But Caleb’s reassurance is what I’ll hold on to.
It’s all I have right now.
By the time 5 o’clock rolls around, I'm ready for bed, my eyes burning the longer I look at documents that make no sense. It’s like someone has picked through every piece of important information and plucked out all the parts that could point fingers.
I gather my things, but the sound of heels clicking against the polished floor grows louder. Lydia—my co-worker, and friend, I guess—appears by my desk, the grin on her cherry red lips splitting her gorgeous face.
I sigh. I’m not in the mood to learn about who her latest dick of the week is. Mark? Harry? Dante? They’re all the same to me.
“Word on the floor is you’re the new queen of Pinnacle,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Big shoes, big story. We’re going out tonight to celebrate.”
My grip tightens on the strap of my handbag, and I glance around. Is someone going to come save me?
“I don’t know,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’s been a long day already.”
Plus, I really need to wallow in my self pity.
Lydia shakes her head, threading an arm through mine. “Nope, no excuses young lady. It’s been months since we’ve had a drink together, and who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and pick up some random hottie to take home for the night.”
My face heats. Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve felt the firm hands of a man on my body, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to dive into bed with one I barely know.
Besides, my head is all over the place. Who wants to sleep with a walking zombie?
Would Caleb?
Nope. Too much.
Teddy’s poisoning. Holloway’s smug voice. The orphanage. Pinnacle’s money. Caleb’s unreadable expression.
Too many hands dragging me under. Too many ghosts whispering my name.
“Fine,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my face. “One drink.”
One drink to silence them.
Lydia’s grin widens. “That’s my girl.”
* * *
Lydia drags me through the haze of bodies blurring together as they sway to the pulsing beat of some pop song I barely recognise, her grip on my wrist like iron. Sweat and spilled liquor cling to the air, thick enough to taste.
When did Thursday night become the new Friday? I haven’t been living under a rock for that long. But who am I to judge how others bury their trauma? Surely, though, I’m not the only twenty-six-year-old who prefers the comfort of an old hand-sewn blanket and her dog?
My stomach recoils. My liver isn’t far off, either. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since I last drowned my sorrows.
Lydia slams her hand on the bar. “Two martinis,” she shouts at the bartender, flashing him one of her flawless smiles.
He smirks, and nods his head once, while I force my lips into what I hope passes for excitement, but my mind is miles away.
Today is one I’d rather forget.
Two drinks appear in front of us, and Lydia presses a cold glass into my hand.
“Drink up, girl. You landed the Pinnacle story. This is huge.” She takes a sip, assessing me over the lip of her glass.
I stare at the drink in my hand. Pinnacle potentially funded Thornhaven Orphanage. The significance of this information belongs purely to me.
I take a sip, the sharp bite of alcohol burning my throat. “It’s not like I had a choice,” I mumble, lifting a shoulder.
Lydia sighs. “Don’t be so pessimistic, Maeve. Most of us would kill for that story.” Her tone doesn’t match the smile on her face as she lifts her drink in toast. “To crushing it at work and living our best lives.” She clinks her glass against mine, the sound swallowed by the next song.
I almost snort at her words. Living my best life? All I’m crushing is my self-confidence. I’m living in a black hole, barely able to keep myself from drowning when the downpour of all my memories come flooding in. It’s enough that I make it out of bed most mornings.
The music swells with some remix, sending a wave of vibration through my body. Ever so slightly, a slow trickle of iciness crawls up my spine. Like the bitter touch of death.
It’s the feeling of being watched from the shadows of your room. You know something is there; you just can’t see it.
I glance around the haze, tightening my grip on my glass. The bar seems to hum louder, the lights growing harsher. If someone is, in indeed, watching me, I don’t want to alert them to the fact I can feel their eyes on me.
But as I continue to pretend as if I’m not assessing the place, I find nothing—or no-one—unusual. Still, the sensation lingers, clawing at the edges of my mind.
I really am a bundle of nerves today. Paranoid, even.
A guy in a wrinkled button-down stumbles into me, spilling his beer onto my white blouse. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” he slurs, grabbing a handful of napkins from the bar and clumsily dabbing at the wet spot on my shoulder.
I stiffen at the familiarity of the voice. It curls around my spine like an icy hand, electrifying my muscles.
Terry.
So that explains the feeling of being watched.
Lydia catches my reaction before I even turn my head, her lips twitching as if she already knows what, or who, has just ruined my night.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. I hope she has nightmares tonight.
“It's fine, really, Terry,” I mutter, shoving his hand away before it reaches the swell of my breasts.
Does he really think this is the best way to get my attention? His breath reeks of beer, and the way it mingles with his overpowering cologne, makes me recoil even further.
Terry slings an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, grinning at her with a hazed expression. Seriously, how much has this guy had to drink already?
Lydia, however, doesn’t seem as repulsed by him as me, even though the look she gives him is anything but friendly.
“Just admit it,” he says, leaning in close to her ear. “You want me.”
It would take just a slight nudge for him to fall on his face. If only. As much as I’d love to be the one to make that happen, I take another sip of my drink instead.
Lydia scrunches up her nose and shoves Terry away. He stumbles into someone but doesn’t quite kiss the ground.
Such a shame.
Lydia snorts out a laugh, and I stifle one of my own, pressing my lips together. The darkness will not keep me from enjoying this moment.
Terry straightens, a scowl on his face. “Bitch,” he mutters, pushing through the crowd and disappearing.
Lydia rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “You okay?” She leans in, frowning as she squeezes my hand.
“Me?” I raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure it’s you he drooled on. Why didn’t you tell me he was coming out tonight?”
“Why, so you could decline? Just ignore him. I do.” She snatches up more napkins and helps me soak up the drink on my shirt.
I shake my head, dabbing at the stain on my shoulder. “Easier said than done when he’s constantly leaning on my desk, hovering over me like a foul smell,” I say, frustration evident in my tone.
Lydia gives me a soft smile, and orders another two martinis, as if more alcohol is going to make everything about my current situation less . . . fucked up.
She chatters away, her words blending with the noise of the crowded bar. I nod absently, while her animated gestures and infectious laugh slowly penetrate the fog of my chaotic mind. Despite myself, the corners of my lips tug upward into a genuine smile.
“There’s my girl,” she says softly, her eyes dancing over my face. “I’ve missed that smile.”
The warmth in Lydia’s voice wraps around me like a comforting blanket. It really has been too long since we’ve hung out, and the noise of the bar fades to a dull hum in the background.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact I’m not alone. Whatever it is, it’s . . . nice.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy being around Lydia, just that I’ve never felt completely at ease with anyone. Except of course, Bethany . . . and dare I say it . . . Caleb.
Though I can’t explain that one. There’s just something about him.
Lydia glances at her watch, her eyes widening. “Shit,” she says, wincing. “I promised you one drink. It’s almost eleven.”
“What?” I tap my phone resting on the bar in front of me.
It is, indeed, almost 11 p.m. How could I let the night get away from me like that? I should be at home, digging into why someone is running around killing people.
Instead, I’m here, acting like my dog didn’t almost die this morning.
Lydia pouts, placing her hands on my shoulders. “Forgive me?”
“It’s fine,” I say, flicking my hand in the air. “I’ll forgive you, just this once.”
Her lips widen into a grin. “You know I’m always down for a good time. But”—she points at me, her face growing serious—“let’s not leave it so long next time. I’ve missed you these last few months, you off investigating those Thornhaven murders. How’s it been, living in that place? Why you wanted to live there is beyond me. Every time I even drive through that town, it’s like I’m being swallowed by a black hole.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say with a shrug as we gather our things. “I prefer the quiet, I guess.”
Lydia isn’t wrong about Thornhaven being a black hole. It’s a graveyard of secrets—mine, Bethany’s, the orphanage’s.
And now, it seems, Pinnacle’s too.
She nods, pulling out her red lipstick and reapplying a thin layer to her lips. “Well, you can tell me all about it tomorrow if you’re in the office.” She smiles, her focus now not on me, but somewhere behind me. “Will you be right to get home? I have a date with Mr. Tattoos over there.”
I glance over my shoulder. There is indeed, a very attractive man, covered in tattoos eyeing Lydia as though he’s about to devour her. Good luck to the poor soul. She’ll be the one to devour him.
Laughing, I sling my handbag over my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I’ll catch an Uber. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Lydia wraps her arms around me, squeezing tight, her perfume lingering when she pulls away. With a wink, she darts off, leaving me to make my way outside by myself.
A chill dances over my sticky skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bar. And, just like that, the comfort of the evening dissipates.
Once again, I’m alone.
Teddy isn’t even at home to comfort me.
I shove one arm into the sleeve of my jacket, and pull out my phone while attempting the same with the other arm. Will Caleb still be at the clinic? Is it too late to call?
Probably. He’s likely fast asleep by now. Is he as beautiful sleeping as he is in his waking hours?
Honestly, that’s a stupid question. Of course he is.
The air around me shifts. My entire body stiffens. A tinge of cheap cologne mixed with stale alcohol wafts over me.
Footsteps.
The kind you don’t hear in a crowd, only in moments like this, when it’s just me, alone, outside a bar in the middle of the night.
I barely have time to turn before a hand clamps around my wrist, yanking me into the shadows of a nearby alley. I’m shoved against a brick wall, knocking the air from my lungs, the jagged edges digging into my spine, my jacket slipping into a shallow puddle at my feet.
Terry.
His breath is hot against my cheek, thick with soured whiskey and bile. His bloodshot eyes lock onto mine, his grip tightening. It’s then I see it—the thing that lurks in men like him, the part that whispers you can take what you want .
“Thought you could avoid me forever, huh?” he murmurs, his face inches from mine.
I struggle against his hold, my heart pounding in my chest. “Let go of me, Terry,” I say. “You’re hurting me.”
His laughter is harsh and humourless. “Not a chance, sweetheart. We’ve got some unfinished business to attend to.” With his free hand, he grabs at my waist, his fingers fumbling with the hem of my blouse. “You walk around the office in those skirts, acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”
Something inside me snaps.
Not again. Not this time.
I shove against his chest, twisting in his grip, but he’s stronger, heavier, the weight of his body pressing me harder against the bricks.
Bile burns my throat.
This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening.
I’ll count to five and when I open my eyes, I’ll realise this is all just a nightmare.
One.
Two.
Thr—
“Get your filthy fucking hands off her.”
The world shrinks. And so do I.
Terry releases me so fast, I nearly stumble forward.
The air surrounding us convulses and grows into something colder. Colder than the night sinking into my bones.
I know that voice.
Caleb.
Only . . . not Caleb.
Something about him feels off, like he’s not quite himself.
He just stands there, his focus on Terry the way I imagine a wolf watches a rabbit who wandered too far from its den.
His demeanour isn’t filled with rage. Rage would make sense. This? This is something else entirely.
Terry staggers, forcing a sloppy grin. “Hey man, we were just talking,” he slurs, tripping over his feet, eyes barely open.
“That’s no way to treat a woman,” Caleb says, his voice low, measured, menacing. “Apologise.”
Terry scoffs. “What?”
Caleb tilts his head, his expression eerily blank, like he’s dissecting Terry piece by piece. “Are you deaf as well as stupid?” He takes a step closer. Deliberate and unhurried, as though he has all the time in the world. “I said, apologise.”
Terry lets out a weak laugh, rolling his shoulders back as if that could make him look more casual. “Jesus, man. What’s your problem? We were just talking.”
He waits. Does he expect Caleb to just shrug it off? Because he doesn’t.
Not a single flinch. No muscle twitch. Not even a blink of an eye.
Terry shifts on his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Okay, okay. No need to get all fucking psycho. I—sorry, Maeve,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean any harm.”
He feels it now too, doesn’t he? The shift. The wrongness. It’s evident in his expression, in the way his eyes dart from me to Caleb and back again. He’s a trapped animal deciding which one of us is going to sink our teeth into him first.
A low growl rumbles from Caleb’s chest. “That was pathetic.” He takes another step closer to Terry. The way he moves is fluid, effortless, like he’s already decided how this ends. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
It’s a rhetorical question.
I’m sure he knows the answer to it.
Terry’s entire body trembles as though a fever has just overtaken him. “Come on, man. Just let me leave. I’ll stay away from her, I swear it.”
Caleb hums, almost contemplative. “You know,” he says, ignoring Terry’s plea, his voice eerily calm, “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to break every bone in a man’s hand. One. By. One.”
A gasp leaves my mouth, and I quickly cover it with a hand as Terry’s face drains of colour.
I should be terrified, should be running in the opposite direction.
Instead, I stay, watching on in deep detached fascination. Because something else is unfurling beneath my ribs like the petals of a blooming flower.
Deeper than fear.
Worse.
I’m drawn to him.
My feet move all on their own accord, my ability to control my body escaping with my common sense.
This man just threatened to break another’s bones, and I’m moving closer, my heart pounding. But it’s not because of Terry. It’s all Caleb.
It’s something else. Admiration.
Not for the violence itself, but for the way he stands, the way he commands the very air around us. Like he could strip a man to the bone with one single glance. Like he would burn this world down for the right reason.
Maybe even for me.
I should stop him. Tell him Terry’s not worth it, that I’m okay, that I just want to go home. But my mouth doesn’t open.
My fingers twitch at my sides. Not yet.
Part of me—a dark, twisted part—wants to know how far he’ll go.
Wants to see it.
Terry whimpers, his breath stuttering. “Jesus Christ.” He pins me with a glare, his eyes pleading. “Maeve. Do something.”
My stomach knots, and I swallow hard.
What would happen if I said nothing? What would Caleb do?
I rub at my wrist where Terry’s fingers have left welted, red marks.
If Caleb asked me to, I’d hold Terry down.
“Maeve!” Terry’s plea slams into me like a freight train.
I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me?
My insides vibrate. Terry can go to hell after what he just tried to do. But I can’t let Caleb get into trouble for me.
“Caleb,” I say, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. “This isn’t you. Let’s just go.”
His pulse is steady. Too steady.
His focus snaps to me, recognition flickering in his eyes. It’s as though he’s only just realising I’m standing here. But then it’s gone, replaced by that same cold, calculating stare.
“Maeve, Maeve, Maeve,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous purr as he runs his knuckles down my cheek. “You have no idea who I am.” He smirks. “But you will, soon enough.”
My breath catches in my throat. What does that even mean?
The man before me looks like Caleb, sounds like Caleb, but there’s an undercurrent of menace I’ve never associated with him until now. It’s as if a stranger is wearing Caleb’s skin, moving with his body, speaking with his voice.
“Please,” I say, linking my fingers with his. He zeros in on our connection, frowning as if the feel of someone else’s hand in his is foreign. “Take me home.”
He says nothing, his gaze boring into mine. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, weighing his options.
Finally, he gives me a curt nod, and turns to Terry. “I’ll be seeing you.”
Terry swallows, nodding furiously, but Caleb doesn’t look away. Doesn’t move.
Seconds pass.
Then just like flipping a switch, he grips my hand tighter and tugs me into the night.
I glance over my shoulder.
Terry hasn’t moved either.
* * *
Caleb’s sleek black car sits in the abandoned parking lot across the street from the bar, waiting beneath a flickering streetlight. Each time the light winks out, the vehicle seems to vanish, swallowed by the inky darkness of the night, only to reappear like a predator waiting in the shadows.
Caleb unlocks the doors with a quiet beep. The sound makes me flinch, and I rub at my wrist, the phantom pressure of Terry’s grip still lingering.
I slip into the passenger seat, the leather cool against the back of my thighs. The door clicks shut beside me, and I wait for Caleb to slide in next to me, my left leg bouncing.
The air inside the car is still, almost too still for what I just witnessed. Even the scent is familiar—clean leather and something decidedly Caleb.
But beneath it lingers something sharper, colder. It reaches into my lungs, and squeezes the air out, making it a little harder to breathe.
Still, if I could wrap myself in it, I would. It reminds me of safety, of a time when Bethany was still alive. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Caleb. We share a past we’re yet to fully uncover.
The driver’s side door opens, and he slides into the seat, no wasted movement, no hesitation. His control is in his posture, in the way he adjusts the mirror without glancing at me.
The silence stretches.
Is he going to say something? Anything? Or are we going to sit here and pretend he didn’t just threaten to break a man’s bones?
I fidget with my hands in my lap, picking at the tender skin around my thumbnail. The sting grounds me.
“Did you follow me here?” My voice comes out quieter than I intended, barely audible above the blood rushing in my ears.
I get no response. Where’s the man I pressed myself against this morning? The one I haven’t stopped thinking about.
This version barely glances my way as he starts the engine, and the car roars to life. The dashboard lights up, casting a faint blue glow across his face, accentuating the hard set of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes.
Is he seriously going to ignore me?
“Caleb?”
He pulls out of the parking lot without a word, the tyres crunching over broken glass as we merge onto the silent, empty road.
I shake my head, and sink into the leather, keeping my focus out the passenger window. The darkness outside presses against the car, as if we’re driving directly into that black hole Lydia mentioned earlier.
A hole where no light can escape.
I steal glances at Caleb as he drives, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white in the dim light. Tension radiates off him in waves, filling the car with an almost tangible heaviness.
My fingers itch to reach out, to touch his arm, but the wall of silence between us feels impenetrable.
Besides, words would probably escape me. I’m barely keeping it together right now as it is, let alone having to face-off with whoever this version of Caleb is.
Mood swings are one thing. This . . . this is something else entirely.
Can people get personality transplants?
The familiar landmarks of Thornhaven come into view outside. A rusted playground. The neon sign of the 24-hour diner. The old water tower looming in the distance.
Each one is a reminder of how everything can look different, feel different, in a single night.
I always thought this town was haunted, but I’m beginning to realise that the ghosts of our past will forever haunt us no matter where we go.
Goddamn it. I can’t bear the silence any longer.
I clear my throat, the sound loud in the confined space of the car. “How’s Teddy?” I say, my voice swallowed by the rumble of the engine.
The mention of my dog feels like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to snap this strange tension coiling between us.
Caleb’s eyes flicker to me for a split second before returning to the road. “He’s fine,” he says, his tone clipped and devoid of emotion.
“Fine?” I throw my hands up. “That’s all you’re going to give me? What the hell is your problem?”
His jaw tightens. “Right now? You are my problem.”
“Stop the car, Caleb.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” He barely looks my way, his voice calm. Too calm.
Why does he keep doing that?
“Fine.” I yank on the door handle. The door doesn’t budge. “Caleb. Let. Me. Out. Now.”
If he thinks I’m going to spend one more second inside this suffocating car with him, he’s mistaken. He may have saved me from Terry, but that doesn’t mean I have to endure another fifteen minutes being strangled by his contempt.
A low growl leaves his chest, and the car skids to a stop in the middle of the deserted road, the headlights slicing through the pitch black, illuminating the emptiness ahead.
My chest heaves with each laboured breath, and I continue to yank at the door handle. “Why won’t this open?” I slam my hand against the window, again and again, tears now streaming down my face.
“Maeve.” Caleb’s voice is softer now, yet no less forceful, like an anchor to my growing anxiety.
Still, I can’t look at him right now, so I slam my fist against the window again.
“Maeve!” A hand wraps around the back of my neck, fingers digging in, not enough to hurt, but enough to claim.
I should shove him away. Or scream. But I do neither.
Instead, I lean in. Just a fraction, but enough for his lips to curl in that knowing way.
“Are you going to behave?” he says, raising his eyebrows in question, his grip around my neck tightening slightly.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He continues to watch me as though I’m an injured animal attempting to escape.
My guess is I wouldn’t get very far even if I did.
Finally, Caleb releases his grip and brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “Now that’s a good girl.” Hand back on the steering wheel, he shoves the car into gear and presses down on the accelerator. The Charger lurches forward, the tyres spinning against the bitumen. “Now,” he says, shoving a hand through his dark hair. “What’s his name?”
My head whips in his direction, and I frown. “Who?”
Am I a mind reader now?
“Maeve don’t play coy with me. You know who I’m talking about. The man from the bar. The one who laid his filthy hands on you.”
I shake my head and return my focus out the window. “He’s no-one. Just an arsehole.”
“Maeve.” His voice drops, like he’s luring his prey in before the kill. “If I have to stop this car again, you won’t like what happens afterwards.”
My pulse spikes, my heart galloping against my ribs.
Not in fear.
Something else.
That darkness inside me, that deeper part of my being I’ve tried to ignore flutters its broken wings, stretching out like it’s just waking from a long slumber.
“Answer him,” it whispers. “Give him what he wants.”
And the worst part? I want to.
“Terry,” I say, the name barely escaping my lips.
Caleb’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”
I bite down hard on my bottom lip, drawing blood.
Am I afraid of this man? No.
Should I be? Yes.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline. Maybe it’s something worse. I don’t know which way is up at the moment.
Because the way Caleb is, the way he drowns out everything else, it’s not just comforting. It’s necessary.
Without him next to me right now, I’d unravel completely.
Deep down, I know there is something more at play here. Caleb looks like Caleb, but he’s not acting like Caleb. At least not the one I’ve come to know.
So why doesn’t that bother me? To anyone else, he’d seem unhinged, psychopathic. To me, he’s the man who saved my dog. The man who stopped an arsehole from attacking me.
Who am I to question his dark side?
Finally, we turn onto my street. The familiar sight of my house, with its peeling paint and overgrown lawn, comes into view. Caleb pulls into the driveway and up to the front of the house, leaving the engine idling quietly.
“Here we are,” he says, his voice low and smooth like velvet. He turns to face me, his eyes shining in the silver-blue light of the moon. “Home sweet home.”
I nod, my hand already on the door handle. Will he let me out this time? My fingers wrap around the metal, and I tug. The door swings open with a creak, bringing with it a cool breeze, and the scent of decay.
But I don’t move.
Not yet.
My chest is aching, as though I’ve been holding my breath for way too long. I’m eager to escape, but Caleb’s presence is doing something to my insides.
“Maeve.” Caleb grasps my wrist with surprising gentleness. A chill crawls down my spine, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. “You forgot something.”
I turn back slowly, my eyes meeting his. “What is it, Caleb?”
My body is failing me, my muscles growing weaker the longer I sit here with this confusing man.
He reaches into the backseat, never breaking eye contact. Then he hands me my forgotten jacket. “Can’t have you catching a chill,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
It doesn’t reach his eyes.
I snatch the jacket with trembling fingers, muttering a quiet thanks.
“One more thing.” His smile fades, the space between us growing heavy. “Don’t forget to lock your windows and doors tonight. You never know what kind of . . . unsavoury characters might be lurking in the shadows. This town has always been a place where the past clings to you like smoke.” His voice grows distant, almost regretful. “But you already know all about that, don’t you Maeve Lockhart?”
His words are colder than the night air.
My eyes widen. He knows about me? How?
“Good night, Caleb.” I stumble out of the car, gravel crunching under my boots.
The night is unnaturally still, the silence broken only by the soft purr of the car’s engine and the rapid pounding of my heart. Leaves skitter across the driveway, and that same sense of being watched rushes over me once again. This time, though, I’m aware of the suspect.
Was Caleb at the bar the entire night, watching me from the shadows?
“You know he was. And you know you love it.”
God. Shut up.
Blowing out a breath, I hurry up the path to my front door, fumbling with my keys. When I find the right one, I shove it into the lock and it clicks open, the door swinging inwards.
I stumble inside, slamming the door shut behind me. The rumble of Caleb’s car fades as it’s swallowed whole by the darkness, the red taillights disappearing. I press my forehead against the door, my breathing shallow as I clutch my handbag and jacket to my chest.
The longer I stand here in the darkness of my entryway, the more the weight of today presses down on me.
My fingers tremble as I feel around on the wall for the light switch. There it is. With a flick, warm light floods the room, chasing away the shadows.
I blink rapidly, my eyesight adjusting to the sudden brightness. My reflection in the hallway mirror catches my attention. My cheeks are flushed, my hair a mess.
The woman staring back at me isn’t one I recognise. She’s changed somehow. Her eyes are darker, more menacing, a shadow of what they once were. But I’m not surprised.
Today has been a clusterfuck of emotions, and I don’t know which one to unpack first.
I hang up my jacket on the coat rack, Caleb’s touch still lingering on my skin, burning its way into my subconscious so I’ll never forget what it feels like. I rub the spot where his fingers closed around my wrist.
Terrified, is what I should be. Especially after what I witnessed tonight. Instead, there’s a spark igniting in my chest, warmth flooding my veins like a drug.
I’m now just learning what it feels like to be alive.
And I’m not ready to let that go.
Right now, though, I need sleep.
I make my way into my bedroom, and collapse onto the edge of my bed, kicking off my shoes. They hit the floorboards with a soft thud.
I run a hand through my tangled hair, exhaling sharply. Usually, Teddy would be curled up beside me. But that’s not what’s wrong. Something else isn’t right. A whisper of cold air brushes against my clammy skin.
I freeze.
Crap. The window. It’s still open from this morning.
Caleb warned me just now. Is this . . . what he meant?
I stumble from my bed and race over, wrenching the window shut and locking it. My breath fogs against the glass, the darkness scraping against it from the other side, urging me to let it back in.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. Something still isn’t right.
The cold is inside now.
It has been all along.
I glance at my nightstand. What is that?
A stark white square of paper, neatly folded, sitting there, like a misplaced puzzle piece, taunts me.
When the hell did that get there? Better yet, who put it there?
My breath catches as I reach for it. Fingers trembling, I carefully unfold the note as though its contents might launch from the page. Everything inside me is telling me to run. Everything but that little voice.
“Don’t be scared,” it whispers. “Read the words, Maeve. You know you want to.”
And why does it sound exactly like Bethany?
I grip the small piece of paper with both hands, the sides crumpling under the pressure.
Be careful, my little shadow. If you get too close to the fire, you may just burn.
The words blur as my vision darkens.
This is from my notebook in the kitchen. I drop it onto my bed, my skin tingling like I’ve touched a live wire. My pulse hammers as I whip my head around, checking every dark corner.
There’s no question someone has been here.
Watching. Waiting.
But what’s even more unsettling . . .
They want me to know it.