Best Kept Secret (Rochester Trilogy 3)

I could do it.

I could.

The inn settles around me. The building’s not new construction. Floors creak as the wind shifts the structure around us by minuscule degrees. The sound of ocean waves rushes at the windows. An owl calls.

No footsteps. Has she fallen asleep already? I know how long the days are with Paige. You love her to death, and all that love is exhausting. You try to be the best version of yourself because she’s just a kid and half the time you fail. Jane never does, though. She leans into caring for Paige like she’s done it all her life. Jane is a million times better at being a parent for Paige than I am. She’s a better person. If anything, she deserves a night away from me.

I keep turning the argument over in my head. Anger comes back like a rain shower. On and off. On and off. I don’t want her to think those things about me, much less say them to my face.

What she said could be true. I could always be looking for something that’s not available to me. Safer that way. For me, but also for the people I want to be with. Love is a blood sport.

I keep hoping anyway. The night drags me under bit by bit while I listen for the soft sound of her footsteps. When I finally fall asleep, I dream of that sound.

Jane herself never appears.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Emily Rochester

My eyes ache from crying. I didn’t expect to get emotional in the prosecutor’s office. The questioning got intense. They were trying to trip me up, asking the same question backwards and forwards. Shouting when I didn’t answer fast enough. But I understand. It’s not something to be taken lightly, a man’s career. A man’s life. My brother. Why did you do this, Joe?

Fireflies dance among the trees, the only light in the forest. The moon can’t reach this deep into the trees. I’m alone. The A-frame has been a sanctuary for me—as well as a prison. I sit on the front steps, which is as far as I venture most days.

Sometimes the solitude has felt like punishment.

A crack of a branch. I freeze, like a deer. It could be anything in the woods. A possum. A bear. As long as it’s an animal, I’m fine. The true danger comes in the form of humans.

Sometimes hunters roam these woods, though it’s not hunting season. Poachers, then. I won’t judge them. I know what it’s like to go hungry. I’d rather their children eat. Still, I have to worry about discovery. It wouldn’t do for Joe to catch wind of a woman living out in the woods.

We can barely hear anything this far from the city. Only the occasional dirge from the distant ferry.

Another crack. I go completely still.

I’ve become used to the ambient sounds of nature. The coo of a bird. The patter of squirrels. Even the chaos has a sort of pattern, and this doesn’t fit into it.

An intruder.

I consider running into the cabin, but whoever it is sounds close. I would make more noise crossing the old, creaky porch than I would staying still. I can’t bring myself to sit, though. I did too much of that before Rhys died—sitting. Waiting. Hoping that if I stayed quiet enough, I could earn some peace. I learned to face my fears in the freezing cold water.

I fought to survive—and I’ve never stopped fighting since.

Now I reach for the pistol that I’ve been carrying for months.

My bare feet are silent on the cool dirt. I press my body against the slanting edge of the cabin and peer around the corner. A shadow shifts. Faint moonlight glints off something metal—a zipper, maybe. Closer. My heart rate spikes. They’re coming closer. Cold sweat washes over me, along with a grim sense of certainty. There are a hundred specific fears, ghosts from my past, being discovered, that I didn’t have time to worry about the more general threat every woman faces—being alone in the dark with a strange man.

Boots land solid on the packed earth.

Before he can round the corner, I step out and aim. “Who are you?”

The shadow pauses. It blends back into the night. Only his voice marks him as more than a figment of my imagination. “Christ. You’re going to hurt someone with that thing.”

“That’s kind of the point,” I say, dropping the muzzle to point down. He’s an asshole, sure. But I’m not going to shoot him. Not now, anyway. “What are you doing here?”

Mateo steps closer, his features just as handsome veiled in night. “Thought you might be plotting some shit, and it’s my job to make sure you don’t fuck Beau over.”

Indignation makes me snort. “You caught me. I’m planning a coup with the trees.”

One dark eyebrow rises. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”