Burying Water (Burying Water 1)

“All she knows right now is that it’s an attempted murder investigation and it needs to be kept confidential. I’ll have to tell her sooner or later, though. Especially if Alex survives. Your mother’s met her. She knows what she looks like.” He adds softly, “What she looked like.”

“What do we do now?”

He stands, and begins pacing around the room. Another Sheriff Welles tic. “We get rid of everything. Your clothes, the blanket, all traces from your car.”

“Bleach?”

“No, we need something with oxygen. Luckily your mother has an affinity for stocking hydrogen peroxide. We have a few bottles.” I guess there’s a benefit to having a sheriff for a father. Especially one intent on discrediting CSI. “And then you’re going to tell me everything, Jesse. From beginning to end. Every last detail. No lies. I need to know that I went against everything I stand for for a good enough reason.”

I nod solemnly. “Thanks, Dad.”

The muscles in his jaw tighten. “If she dies, he’ll get away with it. By moving her, we’ve lost evidence. The case has lost credibility. You will be the prime suspect if there are any links at all.”

My forehead falls into my hand. “I know. I just . . . I saw her and I couldn’t think straight. I still can’t. I just want to hide her from him.”

“Do you know how lucky you are that you were never booked and fingerprinted with that whole Tommy mess? If you had been, Crane would already be busting down the door.”

That’s one complication averted. But it’s far from the only one. Viktor’s friend, Albert, would have driven out to Black Butte by now. He would have seen that she’s not there. What happens then? “Things may still get worse, Dad.”

Encircled by a small ring of stones, with dark smoke swirling into a black sky for no one to see, my father—the righteous sheriff of Deschutes County—and I burn all evidence that I was ever near Alex.

And I tell him every last detail.

Including how much I love her.

“Welles!”

I try to hide my scowl as I peer out from under the hood of the Honda I’m working on. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Miller barks. “Go outside. Mr. Petrova’s waiting for you. Now.”

My stomach tightens. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I toss my wrench on the table—earning Miller’s sneer—and then make my way through the side door, feeling Boone’s eyes on me the entire time.

I still don’t know what triggered the attack, or what Viktor managed to get out of Alex before he left her there. I’ve been waiting nine days, my heart pounding every time I step into my apartment or walk out to my car, expecting to find Viktor or Albert or some unfamiliar face waiting for me. Couple that with the agony I feel as Alex lies unconscious in a bed in St. Charles Medical Center—she’s defied all odds to make it this far, but she’s still not out of the woods—and I’m basically a disaster.

When my father gave me a rundown of all her injuries—how Viktor raped her, how she lost her baby, how she’ll have an unsightly scar running down her face for the rest of her life if she lives—I sat in my car, ready to find and kill Viktor on sight with my bare hands.

But I do know that Viktor thinks the evidence of his crime is gone. Boone went back to The Cellar with Rust the next night. Viktor was there, fingers twitching and eyes roaming. Definitely on edge. Boone kept his mouth shut and sucked back his vodka while listening to Albert confirm in Russian that, yes, he drove out in the morning to clean up.

That a mountain lion had gotten to her body.

And, yes, he cleaned up. Not a trace left.

Boone’s certain he heard—and translated—correctly.

The only reason Boone and I can think of that explains Albert’s lie to Viktor is that he assumes a mountain lion did in fact get to her but Viktor will lose his shit if her body isn’t burned or buried. Mountain lions are rare in those parts, but I’ll gladly take Albert’s lie if it keeps Alex hidden. So far, it seems to have worked.

Still, as I approach the gold Hummer sitting outside and the murderous son-of-a-bitch standing next to it, those naturally cold eyes on me, I have to wonder if I’ll end up in a field somewhere soon, too.

“Hello, Jesse.”

“Viktor.” I make a point of pulling the rag from my back pocket and rubbing my greasy hands in it, to avoid any potential handshake he offers. In truth, as much as I hate this monster in front of me, I’m ready to piss myself right now.

“I wanted to extend my offer to you once more. My friend’s car is arriving this weekend. He’s willing to pay well for the restoration.”

What? That’s what this visit is about? It takes me a moment to gather my wits. “Not interested.”

He smirks. “You like working all day in a garage, having that . . .” he says, muttering a Russian word, “bark orders at you? You could have what I have, if you make the right decisions now.”

I did have what you have. Because I made all the wrong decisions. And it didn’t matter, because he still f**king stole it from me. “I like my eight-to-five job. Simple. No stress. That’s all I really care about. You should ask Tabbs or Zeke. They’re both good with engines. I’m sure one of them could help your friend out, and they’ve got mouths to feed.”

I’ll bet he gets what he wants by being able to predict people. The way he’s sizing me up now, I don’t think he predicted a second rejection. He probably doesn’t know what to do with it. “And what if you lose this job?”

Is that a threat? I shrug. “Then I’ll get another one. I was thinking of leaving Portland anyway. The rain’s getting to me. Thinking San Diego may be more my thing.”

He offers a flat smile. “I had hoped you were more ambitious than this.”

“I’m not.” I swallow hard and then force out, “But thanks for thinking of me.” The vile aftertaste burns in my mouth.

“I will not be making this offer again.”

“I understand.”

His lips twist with disdain. “I wish you luck in your simple life.” He says the word with disdain, and I catch the light bruising against his knuckles as he reaches for his car door. Evidence, right there. Fading. Soon it will be gone.

Why did you do it? What do you know, Viktor?

The brief glimpse I get inside shows me Priscilla sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, her eyes sparkling as she takes in Viktor. She thinks she’s hit the jackpot. I never liked her, but I feel sorry for her now. She has no idea what’s in store for her.

Not until the Hummer’s taillights disappear around the corner do I let out the breath that I’ve been holding. Maybe he doesn’t know about Alex and me. But, then, what else would have triggered such a violent attack? Did he find her note and figure out she was leaving him? There’s no way he’d do something so savage just because she’s pregnant.

My phone begins vibrating in my pocket. I see my dad’s name on the display and Viktor vanishes from my thoughts in an instant.

“Yeah?” I suck in my breath again and hold it, waiting for the words that I’ve been dreading for nine long days.

“She’s awake.”

“Seriously?” I stumble over to lean on the closest car, a mumble of “thank God” slipping through my lips. “And?”

There’s a pause. “And right now she doesn’t remember a thing.”

I feel my brow pull together. She doesn’t remember the attack? “I guess that’s good, right?” Nobody should have to live with those kinds of memories.

“No, Jesse. You don’t understand. She doesn’t remember a thing. Nothing. She doesn’t even know her own name.”

Alex sat in that very chair just over two weeks ago. Now my mom occupies it, her face drawn and dark circles hugging her eyes.

Staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

“You want us to do what?”

“Don’t tell her.” It’s a simple request.

“She doesn’t have a brain injury, Jesse. She’s going to start remembering things on her own soon enough.”

“Then let her remember on her own terms. When she’s ready.”

“We can’t just leave her adrift like that. The poor girl is completely lost! You should see the look in her eyes. She doesn’t even know her own name!”

“And she also doesn’t remember being raped and cut up and beaten to an inch of—”

“I don’t need the list. I’m well aware of everything that her husband did to her, Jesse,” she snaps. My mom didn’t take the news that I was having an affair with a married, pregnant woman too well. I could have lied and told them that the baby was mine, though I don’t know how much that would have helped. Luckily for me, though, she thinks Viktor should be executed on sight.

My mom sighs. “Why did you two let it get this far? I mean, this man is obviously a maniac and I can see why she wanted to get away from him, but how is hiding all of this now any better? What if she wants to press charges?”

“She won’t.”

She pauses. “This isn’t the first time he’s hurt her.”

I shake my head. “It’s just never been this bad before.”

“What about her family? Won’t someone be looking for her?”

I shake my head a second time. “She doesn’t have anyone but me. Us.”

My mom shares a look with my dad, who leans against the patio door, his face as drawn and tired as the rest of ours.

“There are things that you cannot know, Meredith.”

She answers him with a glare. Apparently that’s been their main method of communication since my dad told her who she was struggling to save, right before he put a gag order on her. She still has no idea who Alex’s husband is—his associations. She’d never sleep again and she sure as hell wouldn’t ever let me out of her sight. My dad’s not willing to put that kind of stress on her.

“Look, Mom. If she starts remembering things, I’ll tell her everything—I promise.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

The entire drive back to Sisters after my dad’s phone call, Alex’s words kept springing into my head. By the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway, I was sure this had to be an omen. “If she has a chance to start over fresh, then we should let her have it. That’s what she wanted. A fresh start. This might be it. You did say this is psychological. So maybe this is her instincts, burying everything she doesn’t want to remember.”

“But that would also mean she doesn’t want to remember you, Jesse,” she says softly.

Maybe she doesn’t. I don’t know what Viktor knows, or why he did this, but I have to think it has something to do with me. Maybe Alex would rather be free of me, too.

I keep that worry to myself as my mom shakes her head absently. “I just don’t see how this can work. Or how it will end well. I mean,” she frowns, “she had deep feelings for you. I saw it the second she walked through this very door. Just being around you may bring everything back.”

“Then I won’t be around her.” It kills me, just saying that, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll stay away.

“And you certainly can’t pick up your relationship with her.” My mom’s voice takes on that stern tone that she rarely uses. “It’s one thing for your father and I to deceive her, but there’s no way you can carry on like you did without telling her the truth.”

Would she even want that? If she doesn’t remember me, if she didn’t feel trapped and utterly alone, would a girl like her fall for me a second time? I grit my teeth against the possibility that the answer is no. “I’ll stay away from her, I promise. I’ll stay in Portland.”

“Does this husband of hers know about you two? Does he even know who you are?”

“No.” I steal another glance my dad’s way. We agreed that Mom doesn’t need to know about the work I did for him, or about the probably stolen car I’m driving. My dad hit the roof when I admitted that. “Just give this a chance, Mom. Please. She may remember everything in a few weeks’ time, but at least she’ll have a bit of peace until then.”

“I don’t know, Jesse.” My mom rests her forehead in her hands. “What if she wants to press charges against her husband?”

“Then I will help her,” my dad says. He and I both know what that means. Right now, my dad can control the investigation. He can keep it low profile. But a deeper investigation and charges would mean potential disaster for him and me. It might uncover all kinds of things, including my ties to her. What if Viktor admitted to it all, including where he dumped the body? How, then, would anyone explain the fact that the body was found somewhere else? By Sheriff Gabe Welles. The father of the guy who was having an affair with the victim, the accused’s wife?