Chapter 5
RHETT
“Road trip!” Mira sings from the back seat, leaping up and down.
I glance at Elle. At the flush in her cheeks and the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, she keeps trying to tame it. Like she thinks she doesn’t deserve it.
I need to tell her who I am. That I know what happened to her. That I was there the night her world went to shit. It’s why I asked her about her folks. I was hoping the conversation would lead there. But her reaction gave a clear message.
She wants to bury the past. It’s not like I can blame her.
“Rhett, what’s your job?” Mira asks.
“Mira,” Elle mutters.
“It’s fine,” I say, looking at Elle. But not for too long. She’s wearing a summer dress that hugs her curvy body, shows a glimpse of her round and full breasts, and her bare, tempting legs.
I try to fix my view of her in my head. Try to turn her from fucking beautiful inside and out to off-limits. But I fail. Hard.
“I’m a bounty hunter,” I say.
“Whoa,” Mira mutters. A pause, then, “What’s that?”
Elle and I laugh together, sharing a warm look. I love the sound of her laughter. Especially because I know how difficult it must be for her to laugh. And there I go again, defining her by her trauma…
“When people run from the law, I find them and make them face justice,” I say.
“That’s really cool,” Mira says. “Do you have a gun?”
Only around fifty.
“Those are secrets of the trade,” I say, winking at her in the rearview mirror.
She giggles, looking out the window. I feel Elle staring at me, see the wonder out of the corner of my eye.
Does Mira remember me? Perhaps she recognizes me, and that’s why she’s so happy to see me. Or maybe, even if she doesn’t, there’s some buried memory that makes her see me as a savior. Whatever it is, I feel like a dishonest jerk.
“It’s so pretty out here,” Elle murmurs.
Her hands are in her lap. Busying with the hem of her skirt. She’s got a warm, content smile on her face. A brave smile. Like she’s fighting off demons—
Fucking stop it, man.
She is not that night. She is not the worst thing that ever happened to her.
“Do you think it’s pretty, Rhett?” Mira says from the backseat, kicking her legs. “Rhett is a really cool name, too. Like Brett, but with an R. Why did your parents use an R instead of a B? Did you know that R and B is a type of music? I didn’t know that until Sissy told me, did I, Sissy?”
Elle gives me a look, rolling her eyes. But she can’t hide the glow in her cheeks. The warmth in her expression. Her sister is opening up, being a kid, and I can tell that means the world to her.
“R and B,” I say, smiling. “Never heard of that until now.”
Mira goes bug-eyed. “Really?”
“Guess you learn something new every day.” I grin. “And as for Rhett over Brett. My dad’s hand slipped when he was filling out my birth certificate.”
Mira erupts into giggles. Elle smooths her hands up and down her legs with nervous energy. The savage in me awakens. Roars. Her hands gliding against the thickness of her thighs. I focus on the road. Try to.
We’re quiet for a time, then Elle sighs.
I look at her. Almost asks, Something wrong?
But every question leads me deeper into a tunnel I should avoid at all costs.
If she knew who I am – knew that I know who she is – she’d probably scream at me to pull over.
Run from the car. I’m a walking reminder of what she endured, when it’s clear she wants to put that chapter behind her.
Another sigh.
Hands busy in her lap. That dress is doing a serious number on me. No tights underneath, just her smooth, silky looking skin. Letting me imagine sinking my hands into her, squeezing to see her curvaceousness, excited and eager around my hands. Making me wild and hungry.
I’m a fucking animal, too uncivilized for her.
A third sigh comes, and I can’t take it anymore.
“Is something up?” I ask.
“Huh?” she murmurs.
“You seem… distracted.”
“I just love this place, that’s all.”
“And that makes you sad?”
“Who said I was sad?” she snaps.
I say nothing, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
“Sorry,” she murmurs.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Elle.”
Not now, not ever.
“Just being out here, it makes me wish I had my camera.”
Ah, that’s right. Details from the case return to me. There wasn’t much of an investigation, since Conti’s DNA was all over the scene. And anyway, I wasn’t on it for long. My resources were needed elsewhere. But I remember she had her first show that night.
“You’re a photographer?” I say, feeling like a deceiving ass.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “The way the light filters through the pines, the way the trees catch some of it, turn it to shadow… it’s sort of, I don’t know, like life.”
“That’s too artistic for me, Elle. You’ll need to explain.”
She looks at me. Cheeks flushed. Vulnerability in her eyes. “It’s like hope is trying to glow, as if it’s trying to… to flood the world. But the trees are standing guard, making sure we don’t let our hearts open too much.”
My heart aches. I feel a tug in my chest that’s new and confusing and shouldn’t be there.
I’m a stone-cold killer. I’m a monster who kills worse monsters. I shouldn’t be feeling anything for this woman.
“That’s what you see when you look at those trees?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“That’s… special, Elle.”
She laughs. “Or maybe I’m just a wannabe. Ooh, look at me, Miss Artistic. Maybe they’re just trees.”
“To me, they’re just trees. To you, they’re more. And that means something.”
She shrugs. But I can’t leave it alone. Drawing out that spark in her felt significant.
“What made you want to be a photographer?” I ask.
“It’s not very interesting.”
I want to bellow. She shouldn’t downplay herself like this. Shouldn’t act like she’s not interesting.
“It is to me,” I tell her firmly.
“Why?”
“Because I’m about as unartistic as they come.”
I glance in the rearview when I see motion behind us. Another car, a family of four. My instincts are always alert. Mira is watching us quietly with wide, fascinated eyes. I think she knows something is going on here. Something special, no matter how many times I tell myself to calm the fuck down.
“So you’re like an artist documentarian?” Elle says dryly. “You’re investigating our strange ways?”
“Sure,” I say. “If you want to think of it that way. Or I’m just interested.”
I take the final turn, and the forest breaks away to a road. Gunnison Peaks sits in a slight dip surrounded by hills and mountains, the clear sky bright blue as we drive past the welcome sign.
She shrugs again. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t want to be a photographer.
One of my first memories is of me begging…
” She swallows. Mom and Dad, she was going to say, but even that is too painful for her.
“For a disposable camera. It was like magic to me. The world viewed through a lens. Find a light. That was what I used to say, even back then. Find the light, find the shot. It was amazing.”
She folds her arms, lower lip jutting as if she’s angry with herself for thinking of those memories. “It’s all pointless now, anyway.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because who cares about photography?” she hisses. “It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter. I need to live in the real world, get an actual job, stop pretending that there’s even a slight chance I could make a living as a photographer.”
“I think you coul—”
“You haven’t seen my work, Rhett,” she cuts in. “For all you know, I’m terrible. Anyway, I haven’t picked up a camera…”
Since her parents. Since Conti took everything.
“You should probably focus on driving,” she says, eyes focused on the road ahead.
I grit my teeth. She says she could be terrible, but hearing the passion in her voice, I know she’s not.
I don’t need to see her work. She lit up for me then, her enthusiasm clear.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this, but I want to draw out that passion.
Make her feel safe so she feels free to explore her craft again.
Instead, I do as she says. Focus on driving.
And bury all this deep in my gut.