Chapter 4
LAUREL
Once I was alone in the tiny bathroom, I thought overwhelm would finally find me, but I continued to feel numb. Unable to process anything. My hands moved without thought to strip off the ruined dress and then pull on my street clothes from the night prior.
The water from the faucet was cold and soothing on my irritated palms as I washed my hands. Something in my subconscious told me not to look in the mirror, but when I was foolish enough to ignore it, I wished to God I hadn’t.
It was the bruise ringing my neck that broke through the wall holding my emotions at bay.
If I hadn’t said no to Seth, if I’d complied and gotten in his trunk, the man in the parking garage would still be alive. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and angry, and spilled down my face. It began as a trickle and ramped up until they poured from me in wracking sobs.
A knock on the door couldn’t stop it, nor did the concern in the marshal’s voice. I tried to get hold of myself, wiping furiously at my cheeks, but the tears were a force I was powerless against. They blurred my reflection and made me shake so violently I could barely stand.
On some level, I knew the marshal was coming in, but he had the door open before I could stop him. Not that I’d be able to, anyway. I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop the debilitating tears.
He assessed the situation instantly, clinically. A decision was made and he stepped in, shutting the door so we were trapped together in the tight space. His voice was soft and uneven. “It’s all right.”
“Get . . . out!” Those short words were all I could muster between rasps. I did not cry in front of other people, and doing so in front of this stranger was horrifying.
“Take a deep breath. You’re going to be okay.”
I turned away and closed my eyes, shutting him out. He clearly wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what my body language screamed at him. But pretending he didn’t exist seemed to help.
“Please leave.” My voice was hoarse.
“You’re safe. It’s going to be okay,” he repeated.
The absurd statement annoyed me. “That guy he murdered in the parking garage? That was my fault. It’s not going to be okay.”
He made a face then wiped the expression away. “That man’s death is not on your hands. Not your fault.”
I wanted to believe him, and on the surface I knew he was right. I hadn’t pulled the trigger. But would the guilt, deserved or not, ever really fade?
It left me with no choice but to focus on the man in front of me.
He was in his late thirties. Tall, broad.
A wall of muscle with a few days of scruff.
My attention had been drawn to him from the moment he’d appeared outside the conference room, despite the uneasy feeling developing in my chest. There was something about him.
Something dark that whispered danger.
The sleeves of his white dress shirt were pushed up to the elbows, but perhaps that was done to downplay the wrinkles that covered every inch of the fabric.
It looked like it had been picked off the floor after being stomped over and thrown on in a rush.
No tie. I assumed he wasn’t a necktie kind of guy, anyway. This man had a less office-like look.
Hard. Gritty. More muscle and force than brains and logic.
If I were honest with myself, I’d admit he was incredibly attractive. I’d gone through enough guys of a similar kind for my sister to label my type as “bad boy.” By God, if Jason Dunn didn’t look the definition of a bad boy.
There was no wedding ring on his left hand.
“You need another moment?” he asked, raking his fingers through his short, dark hair.
“No, Deputy.”
He swallowed an uneasy breath. “It’s Jason.”
“No, Jason,” I amended. “I’m better now.”
The drive led us out of the city as the weekend traffic began to flow in. Derrick drove while Jason scrolled on his phone. Neither marshal said much to the other. Had they not worked together before? That sort of made sense. I was sure it wasn’t true, but Derrick looked younger than I was.
I thought I’d be too stressed to sleep during the hour-long drive, but my eyes grew heavy and fell closed.
Abruptly, something jolted me awake.
“Green Civic behind us.” Derrick’s voice was clipped. “Could be nothing.”
Jason peered at the side mirror. “For how long?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But he’s been with us since we got off of the Kennedy.”
“I’ll call it in. You got the plate?”
Derrick nodded. I tensed and fought the urge to turn and look at whoever was following us. But as soon as Jason brought his phone to his ear—
“He’s turning.” The younger deputy sounded sheepish. “I said it could be nothing.”
The safe house was, in fact, a house, and it was nestled in a wooded area on the edge of a forest preserve. The single-car garage was attached to a seventies ranch-style home with zero curb appeal. The cement front porch sloped badly toward the crack-riddled driveway.
“It’s not much to look at, but that’s kind of the point,” Jason said as he pulled the back car door open for me.
I followed the men onto the porch, through the front door, and found the decor matched the tone set outside. Furniture that had once been nice was chipped and stained, but appeared to still be in working order.
“This all right?” Jason’s indifferent tone said it didn’t matter either way. The living room was small. There was a galley-style kitchen in the back and a hallway that led to the two bedrooms and bathroom.
“It’s fine.” I could survive here for a few days.
“That one’s yours.” He pointed to the bedroom that was farthest from the street. When I moved toward it, he reached out to stop me but pulled back as if he thought better of it. “Derrick’s going on a food run. What do you want?”
“Just some sleep. I’m not hungry.”
“And if you were hungry? Burger and fries?” He gauged my reaction. “Salad?”
I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I was on total overwhelm, so I simply nodded. That seemed like the fastest way to be dismissed.
Once Derrick had everyone’s order, he went out the front door, and the moment it closed behind him, it meant I was once again alone with Jason.
Weird tension filled the room, and it grew worse with every breath I took.
The idea of two days together in this small house?
It made everything feel like it was upside-down.
I offered nothing as I left him and retreated to my room, desperate to escape his intense gaze.
The bedroom was dim and small, but it was safe, and I drew in a calming breath. It allowed me to collect my thoughts.
What was the marshal’s deal? If I opened the door, would he still be out there, wearing the same pissed-off expression he’d been moments before? I wasn’t sure what I’d done, but it seemed to have displeased him.
Like I care, I said silently.
There was the tiniest twinge that answered back and called me a liar.
I sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the mattress as my mind drifted elsewhere.
What was Albina doing now? She was probably at the studio, sewing in elastic and ribbon to a new pair of pointe shoes.
Her choreography was more intense, so she burned through hers even faster than I did, which were only lasting a few performances these days.
The heaviness of all that had happened pressed down and threatened to crush me as I curled up on the bed. My career had just begun, and now? Would it be over? We theater people were superstitious, and I’d forever be known as the girl who was onstage during the shooting.
Shit. Would I be tethered to this tragedy for the rest of my life?