CHAPTER 18
The air was cool outside, but fresh, soaked with that damp autumn chill. Nina inhaled deeply as she stepped out into the parking lot in front of the children’s center.
She’d done what she came to do. Now she could go home.
Stella had apparently already managed to brief the entire staff on the details of her personal life. How else to explain that wary stares had turned into pitying stares—and that the cook, Miss Brenda, had offered to “settle her nerves.”
Nina took out her keys, hit the button, and her car responded with a short chirp. But before she could open the door, a voice sounded behind her:
“Mrs. Osborne?”
She flinched and spun around. A man she’d never seen stood a few steps away—tall, solidly built, dressed in an expensive dark coat. Maybe forty.
“Who are you?” she asked warily, narrowing her eyes.
“My name’s Michael. I’m here on behalf of Jasper Garth.”
Her insides tightened. What the hell? Nina stepped back, gripping her keys harder.
“What do you want?”
Michael stayed perfectly calm.
“Mr. Garth would like to meet with you.”
“A meeting?” She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. He wanted to meet her? Out of all the things she’d expected—this wasn’t on the list.
It was surreal. To meet him? To remind him of the horrors he’d put her through? To spit out everything she’d swallowed for years? No. She didn’t have the courage for that. She’d rather die than ever see him again.
“What about?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent.
“He wants to thank you for saving his daughter’s life.”
Nina exhaled sharply and shook her head. Of course. So that was it. For a second she’d feared he remembered.
“There’s no need. I did what anyone would’ve done.”
“Nevertheless, he insists.”
His voice remained polite, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. This wasn’t a request. It was an order. Nina gave him a tired glance.
“No, really. Tell him there’s no need for gratitude.”
Michael didn’t move. He only tilted his head slightly.
“Mr. Garth doesn’t take refusals well.”
A chill ran down her spine.
“And he doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
Her breath caught. She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to be anywhere near him. She couldn’t. Nina met his eyes and said as evenly as she could:
“Tell him there’s nothing to thank me for. I’m sure Mr. Garth is as busy as I am.”
She slipped into her car and shut the door. Michael didn’t step forward—just watched her with that unsettling, unblinking stare. But the feeling remained: he wouldn’t let this go.
The house greeted her with silence. Nina ordered takeout, though she wasn’t hungry. She forced herself to eat at least a salad.
When the delivery arrived, she realized how strange it felt to have dinner alone. An odd emptiness, though maybe that was for the best. With Frank gone, life hadn’t changed much. Except now she was alone in this big house.
She chewed a piece of tomato slowly, set her fork down, then rose to wash her hands. She went to the cupboard. A can of cat food stood there. She took it, grabbed a small dish, and walked to the door.
The neighborhood stray—a ginger tom—should’ve been around somewhere.
She stepped outside into the cool night air, crouched by the fence, opened the can, and emptied it into the dish.
“Where are you, little one?” she murmured, glancing around. The cat had been hanging around for months. He’d come skinny and starving, but now he’d filled out nicely. Still, he refused to let her pet him. She’d even bought him a little house, but it remained empty.
Nina sighed—seemed he wasn’t coming tonight.
Then two polished shoes appeared right in front of her.
She froze. Her pulse jerked, her breath caught. Slowly, she lifted her head and her whole body went cold.
Jasper Garth.
Her blood turned to ice. How was he here? How did he get onto the property? Why hadn’t she heard his steps? What did he want?
A horrifying thought struck her: it was night, she was alone… he could do anything he wanted.
Nina jerked back, trying to stand, but her legs gave out and she slipped onto the cold, damp ground.
Jasper looked down at her calmly. In the darkness his eyes glinted with something sharp, unreadable. His face was emotionless.
She let out a strangled breath, scooting backward with shaking hands. He didn’t move—just extended a hand toward her.
She stared at it, frozen, not even considering taking it.
“Should we talk out here?” he asked, his voice low and even. “Or will you invite me inside?”