Usually, I would have some witty retort or a sarcastic response. But her words got to me exactly where she meant them to…right into my vulnerable heart. They struck a nerve and fueled my paranoia, rendering me speechless. Not that she was going to give me much of a chance to reply. Instead, she continued to careen headfirst into her vicious attack.
“As much as I think he’s a pig and he should die a slow and painful death, there’s no denying when two people are meant to be together.” She blew smoke at me. “You should probably quit while you’re ahead.”
Before I could reply, a voice came from behind me.
“Okay, I’ve heard about enough of this!” Emma stepped between me and the she-beast standing on the porch. “Listen to me, you psychopathic nightmare. You need to go, and you need to go before I shove that cigarette all the way down your goddamn throat. Am I making myself really clear? Now get on your tricycle and ride yourself off this porch and out of our faces for good. And don’t even think about bringing your raggedy-ass back here.”
Without waiting for a response, she slammed the door on Thea and turned to me.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“Good,” she said. “Best you make another pitcher of margaritas and then tell me what the fuck that was all about.”
CHASTITY
There was a good reason I stopped drinking margaritas years ago, and it was currently banging on my skull as I drove Emma to the airport the next morning. Following Thea’s late-night visit, we’d sat up till late, drinking another pitcher of margaritas, while I explained everything to her.
Armed with the facts, Emma assured me I had nothing to worry about. That it sounded as if Ruger was in for the long haul with me, and was only fulfilling his parental obligations with Astrid.
“If you ask me, that man only has eyes for you,” she said.
Saying goodbye to her at the airport was hard. I missed seeing her every day like we used to in college. She was my voice of reason. A confidante I missed dearly.
Before driving back to Destiny, I sat in the parking lot and tried ringing Ruger. Last night he didn’t call until almost midnight, but I had missed his call because… well, because margaritas. After two pitchers, I had well and truly passed out by the time my phone rang.
Now I was desperate to hear his voice. His late-night call made my stomach ache and my head buzz with questions. Why did he call so late? What had he been up to all evening?
I tried not to let my paranoia get to me. I trusted him. I loved him. And I reminded myself that it was me who told him to go to New Orleans.
But I knew Astrid wanted Ruger back, and the visit from her sister last night was further proof of it. I wondered which one had come up with the idea. The classic divide and conquer plan of attack. Astrid would try to wear down the object of her desire while her sister delivered a paralyzing blow to the baby daddy’s girlfriend.
When my call to Ruger went to voicemail, I threw my phone on the passenger seat and started the drive home.
As I drove along the quiet stretch of highway between Humphrey and Destiny, a county sheriff’s car sped up behind me and turned on his lights.
Pulling over, I looked in the rearview mirror and watched a sheriff’s deputy climb out of the patrol car.
Confusion tingled at the base of my spine.
I wasn’t speeding. My car was registered. There was no reason for him to pull me over.
Instinct told me to drive away.
But lately my instincts had been so skewed by paranoia and the upheaval of Ruger leaving town, I ignored them.
But something was off, and when the deputy appeared at my window, that feeling only got stronger. I felt his eyes burning into me from behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses.
I wound down the window and handed him my license and registration. Which he wasn’t interested in taking.
“Climb out of the car, please, ma’am.”
I looked at him, puzzled by his demeanor.
“Would you mind telling me what the problem is, officer?” I asked.
“Just climb out of the car, lady.”
I didn’t like his behavior. Or his abruptness.
Or the fact that he was acting like I was a wanted felon.
“Not until you tell me why you’ve pulled me over.”
The air between us snapped with tension.
Something is wrong.
“I said climb out of the goddamn car,” he growled.
Every nerve and fiber told me not to do as he said.
Every cell of my being screamed at me to flee. But I ignored them because there was still a part of me that wondered if this was all about a broken tail light or something innocent, and that Dirty Harry was just a hard-assed cop who didn’t like to be questioned by the people he pulled over.