anything special, either. Just another lay. You thought we had good sex, but we didn’t. I’ve had a lot better.” He nodded, his mouth curled in contempt. “A lot better.”
He was almost to the front door when she grabbed his jacket and tossed it down the hole after him. “Take your fucking gigolo jacket!”
She heard his angry footfall, heard the soles of his sissy shoes as he made his way back to get his jacket. As a finale, he pulled down the ladder, dropping it on the living room floor.
She listened, finally hearing the sound of a car pulling away, finally hearing it fade into the distance.
That's when she began to shake. The gun slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She put a trembling hand to her mouth.
He hadn't raped her, yet she'd been violated. Emotionally, physically. And worse, he’d attacked her art.
Darkness fell.
He'd left the front door open. She could tell because the cold found its way upstairs, and she could hear Hallie’s nails. Kind of tap-dancing across the floor, the chunks of snow and ice that always clung to the pads of her feet making the sound even more distinct.
Claire knew she should climb through the opening in the floor. The drop wouldn't be bad if she lowered herself as far as she could before letting go. But she felt sick to her stomach. Instead of getting up, she crawled into the space between the couch and the wall. Once there, she cried.
Chapter 17
It was stupid, going back. And dangerous. She'd probably called the cops. They probably had her place staked out. That was it. The thing on the news about his being presumed dead was a trick to flush him out. And he'd fallen for it. He'd been sucked right into their trap.
A novice would have known better.
But Claire. He couldn't get her out of his head.
Dylan had been waiting years for the opportunity to vanish, and here he was, risking everything to see Claire one last time before he rode off into the sunset. It was nuts. So he'd told himself he'd just swing by her place on the way to wherever the hell he was going, pay for the repairs on her Jeep, plus return the money and backpack.
He bought a car from a guy for a grand. Front-wheel drive. Two-hundred-thousand miles on it. What more could he ask for? He'd also picked up some necessities, like basic clothing and a new jacket.
It was dark when he turned down the snow-packed lane that led to her house. He'd planned it that way. Darkness seemed the way to go in case somebody was watching her house. He pulled up next to her Jeep, deliberately avoiding the motion light's target area. The front door was standing wide open. There were no lights on inside.
A trick? A trap?
He shut off the engine, grabbed the backpack, and slowly got out of the car, his heart pounding a warning. He moved toward the door. The motion light came on, almost blinding him. A second later, Hallie nailed him, hitting him hard in the stomach with both front paws. He rubbed her good behind the ears, all the while keeping his eyes on his surroundings. Hallie dropped back to the ground and circled him, making a whining sound Dylan didn't like at all.
Remaining outside, he reached around the corner and turned on the living room light. He waited a moment, then slowly looked inside. Hallie had been going in and out as she pleased. There were wet spots where she'd tracked in snow.
He told himself to run, to get the hell out of there. Any moment, he was going to be surrounded by a bunch of weekend warriors in jackets, pointing sniper rifles between his eyes.
He spotted something on the floor. A piece of paper. Dirty. Familiar. He stepped inside and picked it up. Even though it was torn and smudged and wet, he still recognized it. Claire's picture. The one of the grasshopper, the one he'd liked so much.
The backpack slipped from his numb fingers. “Claire!”
He ran to the bedroom and turned on the light. Nobody. Nothing disturbed. The bathroom was the same way. In his haste, he'd missed the
He was almost to the front door when she grabbed his jacket and tossed it down the hole after him. “Take your fucking gigolo jacket!”
She heard his angry footfall, heard the soles of his sissy shoes as he made his way back to get his jacket. As a finale, he pulled down the ladder, dropping it on the living room floor.
She listened, finally hearing the sound of a car pulling away, finally hearing it fade into the distance.
That's when she began to shake. The gun slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. She put a trembling hand to her mouth.
He hadn't raped her, yet she'd been violated. Emotionally, physically. And worse, he’d attacked her art.
Darkness fell.
He'd left the front door open. She could tell because the cold found its way upstairs, and she could hear Hallie’s nails. Kind of tap-dancing across the floor, the chunks of snow and ice that always clung to the pads of her feet making the sound even more distinct.
Claire knew she should climb through the opening in the floor. The drop wouldn't be bad if she lowered herself as far as she could before letting go. But she felt sick to her stomach. Instead of getting up, she crawled into the space between the couch and the wall. Once there, she cried.
Chapter 17
It was stupid, going back. And dangerous. She'd probably called the cops. They probably had her place staked out. That was it. The thing on the news about his being presumed dead was a trick to flush him out. And he'd fallen for it. He'd been sucked right into their trap.
A novice would have known better.
But Claire. He couldn't get her out of his head.
Dylan had been waiting years for the opportunity to vanish, and here he was, risking everything to see Claire one last time before he rode off into the sunset. It was nuts. So he'd told himself he'd just swing by her place on the way to wherever the hell he was going, pay for the repairs on her Jeep, plus return the money and backpack.
He bought a car from a guy for a grand. Front-wheel drive. Two-hundred-thousand miles on it. What more could he ask for? He'd also picked up some necessities, like basic clothing and a new jacket.
It was dark when he turned down the snow-packed lane that led to her house. He'd planned it that way. Darkness seemed the way to go in case somebody was watching her house. He pulled up next to her Jeep, deliberately avoiding the motion light's target area. The front door was standing wide open. There were no lights on inside.
A trick? A trap?
He shut off the engine, grabbed the backpack, and slowly got out of the car, his heart pounding a warning. He moved toward the door. The motion light came on, almost blinding him. A second later, Hallie nailed him, hitting him hard in the stomach with both front paws. He rubbed her good behind the ears, all the while keeping his eyes on his surroundings. Hallie dropped back to the ground and circled him, making a whining sound Dylan didn't like at all.
Remaining outside, he reached around the corner and turned on the living room light. He waited a moment, then slowly looked inside. Hallie had been going in and out as she pleased. There were wet spots where she'd tracked in snow.
He told himself to run, to get the hell out of there. Any moment, he was going to be surrounded by a bunch of weekend warriors in jackets, pointing sniper rifles between his eyes.
He spotted something on the floor. A piece of paper. Dirty. Familiar. He stepped inside and picked it up. Even though it was torn and smudged and wet, he still recognized it. Claire's picture. The one of the grasshopper, the one he'd liked so much.
The backpack slipped from his numb fingers. “Claire!”
He ran to the bedroom and turned on the light. Nobody. Nothing disturbed. The bathroom was the same way. In his haste, he'd missed the
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