Deserves to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Uh-huh.”

“Wish I could believe you,” she said on a sigh.

“You can.”

“What, are you suddenly clair voyant?”

“Yeah, me and what’s her name? The nutcase who talks to ghosts.”

“Grace Perchant, and we don’t call her a nutcase.”

“Since when?” He eyed his mother, almost daring her to argue.

“Plate!” she yelled and he rolled his eyes, but pulled a plate from the already-opened cupboard and transferred the sloppy sandwich onto it. “What about some vegetables on that.”

“Mom . . .”

She lifted her hands in surrender. She knew she was one of the worst offenders when it came to nutrition, although that was going to have to change, too.

“Give Bianca some space. Y’know? She’ll come around.” He picked up a thick, dripping half. “If she doesn’t and moves in with Lucky and Michelle, who cares? It’s not the end of the world. Isn’t that what you always say?” He smiled as he threw her words back at her, then took an impossibly large bite.

She didn’t argue, because he was right, even though it burned her to think of Michelle parenting her daughter. But she’d given her kids a lot to swallow, so she bit her tongue. She figured it was time to let the news of her impending marriage settle in and Jeremy and Bianca find a way to deal with it.

Jessica’s feet throbbed, her back ached, and she was fighting the pounding in her head as she drove along the mountain road to her newfound home. Working a double shift was well worth it in tips, but her body was rebelling. She envisioned a magnolia scented bath, thick towels, luxurious shampoo, and the open doors to a shaded veranda where a pitcher of iced tea was waiting.

In another lifetime.

She checked the rearview of her Tahoe, but the street was empty aside from the ever-falling snow. Would it never let up? Enough of the icy flakes had fallen and piled by her drive that it was nearly impossible to see her tracks and she almost missed the turn-off. Again.

One last look in the mirror, then she cranked on the wheel and guided her Chevy through the trees to the clearing and the little ramshackle cabin. Wearily, she locked the SUV and unlocked the house that was dark and nearly as cold inside as out. Closing the door behind her, she stood in the living room for a second, listening. She left the rooms in darkness for a second, hearing the drip of a faucet and the whistle of the outside air as it swirled down the chimney and rattled the window panes. Normal sounds. Noises she’d gotten used to.

She snapped on the lights, one room after another, checking to see that the house was still secure, assuring herself that she was, at least for the moment, safe.

So why did she have the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right? That there was a disturbance in the air?

Because nothing is right. Nothing has been for a long time. Why else would you be on the run, hiding out in this isolated cabin? How long are you going to keep running?

As she’d dragged herself from the banks of that muddy river months before, she

’d told herself that she just needed a little time to pull herself together, to go back and face the music, to end this.

Before he found her.

God, what a mess. Yanking off the wig, she dropped it onto the couch, then clicked her dental appliance from her mouth. Stretching the muscles of her face, she unpinned her hair and shook it free, then started working on the dress and padding. When she was naked, her clothes folded, she took a quick shower, never really getting rid of the chill as the water was lukewarm at best.

She toweled off and pulled on fresh underwear and sweats. Tomorrow, in between her shifts, she’d need to drive into town to the Laundromat she’d used once before to clean her uniforms and to take care of other errands.

Then, she determined, she would finally look up Cade Grayson. From the gossip in the restaurant she’d pieced together that the sheriff’s funeral was still a week in the future and she couldn’t wait any longer. Not when she felt as if she still wasn’t safe.

You’re paranoid.

He won’t find you here. He can’t. . . .

But she wasn’t convinced. There were still rumors about the corpse of the woman found on the O’Halleran farm, a woman named Sheree Cantnor, being mutilated in some way. That in and of itself wasn’t enough to convince her that he’d found her, but then she knew him and also knew what he was capable of. For the love of God, she’d fancied herself in love with him once upon a time. Even gone so far as to marry him.

Naive fool. He’d never loved her, had only been after her money, but still believed he’d possessed her. That she had no longer wanted him, had no longer wanted to be one of his possessions, had brought out his rage, the depth of his depravity and cruelty.

Her stomach quivered at the thought.