Chapter 19
SCARLETT
My handwriting was sloppy.
It had been months since I’d had to write anything longer than a grocery list, and the pen felt awkward and heavy in my grip. The slash that crossed the double ts in my name was crooked.
A tear dripped down my cheek as I ran my hand across the paper on the counter. My gaze was locked on the last three words above my name.
I meant them. To the depths of my soul, I meant them. They looked insignificant on a cheap page lined with pale blue stripes, but I hoped that as Luke read them, he’d feel their power. That he’d know he was the best thing in my life.
Telling Luke that I loved him in a letter wasn’t ideal. It certainly wasn’t how I’d planned to share my heart. But if he were here, if I had to look him in the eye, I’d cave. I’d crack and lose my nerve.
And I had to do this today. I had to make this right.
When he’d left earlier, there’d been so much regret etched into his handsome face. Asking him to overlook another cop’s murder was asking too much. No matter how he lied or pretended, Luke wouldn’t be able to live with this decision.
He was too good of a man. So good that he’d do it for me just because I’d asked. Because maybe he loved me too.
Except I wasn’t going to watch this decision eat away at his conscience for the next fifty years. So I was taking it back.
I was taking control.
I was fixing this on my own, something I should have done months ago.
Another tear fell before I forced myself away from the letter to dry my face. With a fortifying breath, I glanced around the house.
For as long as I lived, I’d remember every detail, like the way Luke looked when he was lying on the couch, one arm behind his head and a grin across his face as he laughed at a joke on TV.
I’d remember the way he had to have a napkin at every meal.
He rarely used it, but he always kept one handy.
I’d remember those deep blue eyes staring into the center of my soul.
The silk of his hair sliding through my fingers.
I’d remember how he taught me about love. That real love existed without judgment. Without conditions. Without perfection.
A love that would last my lifetime.
Whether we were together or not, I’d never stop loving that man. Which was exactly the reason I had to let him go. I loved him too much to let regret destroy him.
I closed my eyes and dragged in a long breath, finding his rich scent in the air and holding it in my lungs. The ache in my chest doubled and I slapped a hand to my sternum.
You can do this.
I had to do this.
My backpack was beside the front door, waiting.
I couldn’t take everything I’d collected over the months here.
The dresser drawers in Luke’s guest bedroom were nearly full of my clothes, and inside was a letter I’d tucked away for Presley.
But I had clothes for a couple of days along with what I was wearing.
My skinny jeans were comfortable. I’d stolen one of Luke’s T-shirts, the hem tied in a knot at my waist. The edge of it covered the phone I’d tucked into my rear pocket.
And I had my feather. I’d washed and dried my hair in case I wouldn’t get a shower again for a while, and my hair hung to my waist in straight, thick panels. Behind my ear, I’d twisted a small braid, then tied on the feather.
I was stealing all its strength.
You can do this.
“Forgive me,” I whispered, sending that plea into the air. Like my letter, I hoped Luke would feel the sincerity of those words.
Maybe he’d curse me for this. Maybe he’d hate me for that letter and stealing a sweatshirt from his closet. It was the one he’d worn on the river at night when we cuddled together beside the fire. Maybe he’d be angry at me for a while, but eventually, he’d see this was for the best.
With my belongings packed, all that was left to do was make one more phone call.
I took my phone from my pocket and turned it on. I’d charged it while I’d tidied up around the house, not wanting Luke to return to a mess. Other than the clothes, he wouldn’t have much to take care of to put my time here in the past.
Maybe Presley could help rid the guest bedroom of my things.
I wasn’t worried about my sister. She’d live a happy life. She’d thrive—she already was. This phone call was not to her.
I rounded the end of the couch and sank onto its edge, then dialed a number I’d memorized years ago. It was the only number she had. Then I held my breath as it rang once. Twice.
“Marks residence.”
Tears flooded my eyes. I covered my mouth with a hand to keep quiet.
“Hello?”
I love you, Mom.
Get out.
Get away from him.
All things I wanted to say, but I remained silent.
When I’d left, I’d offered to give her the number to this phone. She’d thought it was better if I kept it to myself. Maybe that had been another mistake.
“Who is it?” The voice in the background sent a surge of panic through my veins. No matter how many years passed, I doubted I’d ever stop fearing my father.
Fearing for my mother.
Dad had stopped hitting me a long time ago. Not just because I went to work with him every day, but because he knew the worst thing he could do to me was hurt Mom.
“I don’t know,” Mom told him. “No one’s there.”
I expected her to hang up, but then there was a shuffling and Dad’s voice was on the line. “Hello?”
I stayed silent, my heart racing.
“Who is this?” There was a familiar edge to his voice. The beginning of fury. Had I just called to hear my mother’s hello and sent Dad into a fit that she’d pay for?
I tore the phone from my ear and ended the call. Stupid, Scarlett. I was screwing up everyone’s life. But not anymore. I couldn’t right Mom’s world, but I could fix Luke’s.
Dad deserved to rot in prison.
So did Tucker Talbot.
And at the moment, he was the only person I could punish.
I shoved off the couch, tucked away my phone and trudged to the door with heavy feet. I slung my bag over a shoulder. Then I punched in the code to the alarm. Luke had done it enough times I’d memorized the code.
Eight. Four. One. Two.
They were the last four numbers on his badge.
If he got a notification, he’d be hours away. And I wasn’t traveling far.
The door’s metal handle was cold against my clammy palm as I twisted it open.
The sunlight hit my face and I squinted against its light as I stepped outside.
The clean air filled my lungs along with the sweet scent of summer.
Any other day and I would have savored the scent of cut grass.
The blue sky and laughter of children playing in their yards.
Not today.
I closed the door behind me and hurried down the sidewalk. My courage faltered with every step but I kept on moving. You can do this. A car’s trunk slammed shut, catching my attention, and I looked to the house directly across the street.
A young woman stood beside her blue car, watching as I walked. I’d seen her before. She was the daughter of the couple who lived there. Her auburn hair was in a thick braid, draped over one shoulder. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as I marched.
I raised my hand in a tiny finger wave and forced a smile, then focused on my destination.
The grass was too long at the place next door. There were no summer planters filled with petunias or geraniums. Now that I was outside and taking in the street from a different perspective, the tan house stood out like a sore thumb. No wonder Luke had suspected the FBI of moving in.
I crossed the driveway and made my way to the stoop, hopping up the steps to the front door. Then I sucked in a long breath and jammed my thumb into the doorbell.
Part of me was surprised that I’d even made it to the door. I guess I’d expected to step outside and immediately be surrounded by federal agents. That I’d be swept into an SUV and hurried away to some undisclosed location.
There was no sound beyond the door. No footsteps rushing to answer. It was a Saturday. I hadn’t spied much on Saturdays just because the neighborhood was busier and Luke was normally home from his workout at the station by this time of day. But shouldn’t she be here?
I rang the bell again and before the chime had died down, the door flew open.
It was not the FBI woman who answered. She was lying on the floor in a pool of blood behind the tall, angry man looming above me. He wore a black leather vest. The same style I’d seen many, many times on Jeremiah’s back.
And before I could turn and run, before I could scream, the world went black.
I gasped awake, then flinched at the pounding in my skull.
The rhythm of the painful throbs matched the bass beat of whatever music was blaring outside the room.
There was no point in looking around. The sterile, cold smell of the concrete floor beneath my cheek was enough for me to know exactly where I was.
The Warrior clubhouse.
My hands were bound behind my back and when I tested the bond, the hard plastic ties dug into my skin.
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I’d planned to go to the FBI, hand over my video evidence and agree to testify against the Warriors.
Right now, they should have me in some sort of interrogation room.
I should be drinking lukewarm coffee as agents listen to my confession.
Then they’d whisk me away to some suburban town in Oklahoma or Oregon or Ohio, and Scarlett Marks would cease to exist.
So much for doing the right thing.
I closed my eyes and pressed my temple into the cold concrete, willing the pain in my head to subside.
“Are you okay?” The voice startled me and my eyes flew open. A woman was sitting beside me.
The redhead from across the street. Luke’s neighbor.
Shit.
“What happened?” I croaked out.
“They hit you.”
Uh, yeah. I’d figured that one out.