“What about the situation with Maybe Quinn?” I arch a brow. “Is that dealt with?”
Jarret pokes his tongue into his cheek and stares down at the floor. A strange huffing sound passes his lips, and he turns toward the door. “Don’t worry about her.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
He steps outside, and a moment later, his shadow flickers past the side window.
No doubt he wants to get his dick wet with the journalist, but he would never let a woman jeopardize our safety. I know his head’s in the game as he waits outside that window, hidden from sight with a gun in his hand, ready to shoot through the glass if needed.
Jake pushes off the wall and stands in front of the only door. He surveys the room, as if looking at it through the eyes of the man who will walk in at any time.
I perch on a chair behind a table. The long wooden surface will be the only thing separating me from Levi Tibbs.
My motorcycle sits outside the window behind me. Levi won’t see it when he approaches the shack, but he’ll spot it through the glass when he steps inside. We positioned the bike there to give him the sense that I’m alone.
Beside me, a sagging couch faces the door. Jake inched it away from the wall, just enough to squeeze behind it, but not enough for Levi to notice it moved.
Jake ambles toward me and cups my chin in his strong hand.
“I love you.” I fill my eyes with the words and see them reflected in his.
“It’s almost over.” He kisses my lips, grabs the shotgun off the table, and takes his position behind the couch.
Then we wait.
Five minutes. My muscles quiver and twitch.
Ten minutes. Heart palpitations tighten my chest.
Fifteen minutes. The scuff of footsteps sound outside the door.
My lungs collapse. My breath cuts off, and I fight the urge to glance at the couch and window. The guys will stay concealed. I just need to focus on schooling my expression and not losing my shit.
Placing my hands on the table, I relax my joints and try to look as nonthreatening as possible.
The door swings open.
Levi Tibbs stands on the threshold, backlit by the glow of the afternoon sun. His eyes converge with mine. His brows jump up, and his breath chokes.
He composes himself quickly and lowers his backpack to the floor while scanning the room for threats.
Looks like he lost weight. He was skinny before, but now he’s all gangly and sallow in trousers that hang on his shapeless legs.
Same evil gray eyes, glinting like razor blades as he leans back and surveys the perimeter outside.
Black hair crops close to his scalp, and his hands flex at his sides. Same hands that bruised my flesh and held a knife against my throat. Same thin lips that stretched around the gag Jake shoved in his mouth.
This is the man who stole my virginity. If Jake hadn’t gone after him that night, he might’ve gotten away with it.
His gaze ticks between me and the gravel road out front until it lands on the window behind me. He registers the motorcycle, and a sick smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He steps all the way inside and closes the door. “You came here alone? How did you know about this place?”
“I heard John Holsten mention it once. I figured you might’ve heard about it, too, and thought you’d come here for a free night’s sleep before skipping town.”
He glances at the floorboard where he stashed his money six years ago. I keep my eyes on his.
“You’re either stupid or you’re really fucking stupid.” He lowers into the closest chair, sitting across the table from me, exactly as we hoped.
“Waiting for you to come after me would’ve been stupid. Would you have done that?”
“What? Gone after you?” He wets his lips and gives my chest a skin-crawling examination. “You sent me to prison, you fucking bitch. What do you think?”
“The prosecutor sent you to prison.”
His gaze darts to mine, his expression oily and hostile. “I can still feel your tight cunt. You bled all over me, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for six years, about how I was your first. I bet you think about it, too.”
I hate that Jake heard that. But he was there that night, right beside me in hell, watching the whole thing. As my mind replays it in agonizing detail, a bitter tang floods my mouth and burns in my throat.
I clear my voice. “I came here to get closure. Did you receive my letter?”
“I jerked off to it every night.” His hand slides under the table.
Part of me wishes he kept that hand on his lap. It might’ve saved his life.
But a bigger part of me, the part that wants this to end, is relieved he failed the test.