A Deadly Reunion (23 page)

Between Scott boys and murders, this place
was shredding from me every sense of power and self-worth I’d built
up over the years.

Sniffing hard at that thought and rubbing my
nose, I returned my hands to the steering wheel, sat up straight in
the car, and got ready for a very long drive.

Fortunately, I’d charged my phone, and I
could use the GPS map to direct me out of Wetlake, though I wasn’t
dumb enough to trust it entirely. If I asked it to direct me to the
nearest town, it would probably take me to the nearest quarry or
pit or cliff or wolf-infested valley instead.

I would just have to drive until I hit one
of the main roads, and then I could use the signs to direct me to a
place I could stay. I’d call into some motel, get a couple of
hours’ shuteye, and then continue my drive.

Or would I?

Just as I rooted around in my bag for my
bottle of water, my hand rubbed against something metal.

The keys.

My motel keys.

Damn.

Though I could try to post them, I didn’t
know how the motel would feel about that. Could they rent out the
room while knowing I still had a set of keys to it? Would that
breach some kind of security protocol for them?

Probably.

Also, they’d likely charge me through the
teeth for not returning the keys on time.

Then again, I’d just paid triple for a truck
I would never drive once I’d made it home.

Still bothered by the idea of having the
motel keys, I started to slow down.

And okay, maybe it wasn’t because of the
motel keys.

Maybe it was because of unfinished business
at the motel.

Denver.

I hated leaving a relationship angry. I was
the kind of person who wanted to fix something when it broke – the
second it broke. I didn’t like to leave wounds festering.

Denver wasn’t your average wound though, and
he certainly couldn’t be fixed with a direct and mature
conversation.

Still, I found myself slowing down.

Fuck. I hit the steering wheel with the palm
of my hand as I pulled to the side of the road.

I needed to say sorry, didn’t I?

I was being the world’s biggest bitch.

Due to the stress of the situation and my
own horrible personality, I wasn’t cutting him the slack he
deserved.

While I could run away from the murders in
an exceedingly expensive truck, he had to stay here and deal with
them.

He had the responsibility to stop anyone
else from being killed, and even though I knew most of my reunion
buddies would be fleeing Wetlake like rats from a sinking ship, the
serial killer could follow them.

I swore again. Bitterly.

Then I swore some more as I turned the truck
around.

All I had to do was go up to his motel room,
knock on the door, say sorry, and leave.

I knew he wouldn’t accept my apology, but I
had to give it a try.

And if he wasn’t there, then... I’d write
him a note.

Anything to preserve my sense of dignity and
morality.

Using my phone to navigate back to the
motel, it only sent me on a few wild goose chases before I pulled
up into the car park.

It was dead quiet.

It took me a long time to muster up the
courage to open the door and jump down from my monstrosity of a
vehicle.

There were a few porch lights on around the
reception building, but I doubted anyone was actually staffing the
counter at this time of night.

“
Right...” I trailed off, shaking my head
so strenuously I could have snapped a neck muscle.

I forced myself to close the door of my
car.

Bringing my bag over my shoulder, I locked
the car and I slowly, ever so slowly made my way across the car
park, onto the grass, and up onto the porch.

I’d already figured out which room was
Denver’s. He hadn’t told me, but I’d seen him returning to it
several times.

Right now I walked over to it morosely, as
if I were on a death march.

My shoulders had never been so rounded, my
stride never so weak, and my heart never so heavy with a potent mix
of fright and shame.

I wanted to tell myself that I couldn’t
reason with a man like Denver, and that men like Denver didn’t
deserve apologies.

He’d brought this on himself.

If he’d only been nicer, like his brother,
then I wouldn’t have snapped at him and I wouldn’t have left in a
huff.

As soon as I thought that, I heard my
mother’s disembodied voice saying there was never a reason to be
rude.

I made it up to his door.

I think I stood there for a full five
minutes, swallowing, staring back at my car, and staring over at
the door.

I brought my hand up.

I got ready to knock.

I let my hand drop.

I took a step away, still staring at the
door.

“Are you going to knock on that thing?”
Denver asked from behind me.

I yelped, stuffing my hands over my mouth so
my scream didn’t carry.

I turned to see him behind me, his head
leaning to the side as he stared my way. “What are you doing
here?”

Reluctantly I pulled my hands from my mouth.
Fumbling through my bag, I pulled out my motel keys. “I have to
return these.”

“Reception is closed. It’s one o’clock in
the morning.”

“I’ll just put them under their door then,”
I managed, stuttering through my every word.

“Reception is over there,” he pointed across
the lawn.

“Yes, I know that.”

“That,” he pointed at the door behind me,
“is my room.”

Yes, I knew that too.

I didn’t say anything.

Which was stupid.

It made me seem meek and suspicious at the
same time.

Pushing my hair from my face, I turned and
took a step towards reception. “I guess I’ll return these... and
leave.”

“Before you’ve apologized?”

“Excuse me?” I turned over my shoulder to
face him.

“You came here to apologize. You haven’t
done it yet,” he pointed out coldly.

I swallowed stiffly, my throat dry and
tight. I shook my head.

“Oh, so why are you knocking on my door?” he
asked, his voice so deep and rumbling that it shook through my
belly. “You after something else?”

Both my eyebrows raised in a snap.

“If you are, you should start with an
apology.”

My mouth dropped open. “You are a callous
jerk.”

He sniffed. “I know. And you are arrogant,
self-assured, and out of your depth.”

“Out of my depth?” I tilted my head to the
side, somewhat like a snake, and stared at him severely. “What’s
that meant to mean?”

“It means that you spend your life writing
books, spending money, and never dealing with the darker side of
humanity.”

I snorted. I couldn’t help it. “Why are you
so fixated on what I earn?”

“Why did you just change the subject? Why
are you knocking on my door?”

“Oh, is this your door?” I asked with
feigned sincerity. “I didn’t realize. I thought it belonged to
somebody who’s owed an apology. Not somebody who is such a
world-class ass that they deserve everything they get.”

“So you are here to apologize? Because you
aren’t doing a very good job.”

“Are you enjoying this?” I gestured between
us. “Because I’m not. I just want to leave this town.”

“Guess what, so do I,” he spat bitterly.
Extremely bitterly. The stress and the pressure seemed to break
through in that moment. “But I can’t, not until we stop the killer.
You get to turn around, flash your money, buy a truck, and flee
from your problems. I have to stay here.”

I dropped my gaze.

“I’m trying to do everything I can, but it
ain’t easy. I’ve got a brother who legitimately hates me, a town
who discusses every single detail of a case they shouldn’t know
anything about, a serial killer whose methods don’t make any sense,
and to top it all off this strange woman from high school who
drives me wild.”

I’d opened my mouth in preparation to shout
at him, but I spluttered instead.

“You didn’t think I could be honest, did
you? Well there you go, Patti, you’re about to leave, so what’s the
harm? You drive me wild. I don’t know why. And it doesn’t
matter.”

I was blushing and tingling all over.

“It might be my acerbic personality,” I
tried through a tight breath.

“It’s not that,” he shook his head
resolutely. “You’re only acerbic when you’re pushed. The rest of
the time you pleasantly cynical.”

No one had ever described me as pleasantly
cynical before.

“Then I guess it’s my looks. Maybe you go
for homely, girl-next-door dimples.”

He shook his head. “The girl next door to me
was Stacey Clarke, and she grew up to be a model.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Maybe it’s my money?
No one else in this town can stop talking about it.”

“I’ve saved since I started working. I
invest, and I squirrel away what I don’t have to spend on suits and
food. Now I’m not saying I have as much as you do, but I can get
by. It’s not your money.”

I was forced to bring my hands up in
exasperation. “Then I have no idea what it is. Maybe you’ve
secretly had a thing for me ever since high school?” I asked, now
blushing furiously.

After all, it was every teenage girl’s
fantasy that the hottest guy in school would one day turn around
and tell her she was the most wildly attractive woman in the
world.

“I never noticed you in high school,” he
answered truthfully.

“Well then, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“You give up too easily,” he toyed with
me.

Again I raised my eyebrows.

We were way beyond flirting now. We were
into some strange realm of unresolved sexual tension into which I
had never previously ventured.

This was the most intense romantic twenty
questions I’d ever been subjected to. Which made perfect sense when
you realized Denver Scott was the one doing the questioning.

“Are you going to tell me?” I asked after a
pause.

“In the Bureau they teach us to reveal as
little information as we can,” Denver said blankly.

“But they teach you to relentlessly pursue
it, I see?”

He nodded. “So Patti, why are you attracted
to me?”

Damn.

That was direct.

It was also not how flirting worked.

Some subtle hints here and there, a saucy
smile, and some flowers if you wanted to overdo it – but not this,
whatever this way.

I gave the kind of shaking, bust-heaving
breath any bodice-trussed damsel would be proud of.

“Don’t blush, don’t splutter, just tell me,”
he said.

Again I was suddenly struck with the furious
desire to hit the man.

Where did he get off being so... so...
direct?

That’s it; Denver was direct. He was the
most direct man I’d ever met.

“Is this where I’m meant to tell you that I
had a thing for you ever since high school?” I controlled my tone,
ensuring it didn’t waver with anything but sarcasm.

“It’s been a long time since high school.
And I’ve changed. I was a bully in high school. I broke hearts and
I didn’t give a damn – anything to impress my friends. So no, I
don’t want you to tell me you liked me since high school.” He
hadn’t moved towards me and he hadn’t moved away. He was still
standing in the exact same spot, the porch lights shining down from
above and defining every tight line and angle to his muscles and
jaw.

“What do you want me to say then?” I
asked.

“The truth.”

“And you think you’ve earned that?” I
clamped my hands before me, trying to look proper.

“Yes,” he answered flatly.

Damn.

Maybe he had.

“I don’t see why you get to ask all the
questions and I have to answer them.” I laced my fingers together
and squeezed them tight, trying to ignore the tide of nerves and
pleasant tingles racing up and down my back.

“Because I’m better at this,” he answered
triumphantly.

I smiled. Snidely. The arrogant-brute
routine could only go so far.

I was done being pushed and pulled by Denver
Scott. It was time for him to make up his mind or to leave me
alone.

“Well then, if you’re better at this, then
you’ll have to find a way to stop me from leaving,” I turned and
walked past him.

I made it to the porch.

Then down onto the grass.

This was the bit where he should stop me.
Run after me. Say my name, tenderly grab my arm, and do anything to
stop me from leaving him.

....

He didn’t come after me.

Well fine then.

His loss.

But I wasn’t going to look back at him, not
even once.

Seriously.

I had enough self-control not to look
back.

I made it all the way back to my car.
Placing my fingers on the handle, I paused.

I told myself to open it. To drive away.

I hadn’t exactly apologized to Denver, but
then again, this apology had taken me in a direction I hadn’t been
expecting.

Or had I?

Perhaps that was the real reason I’d come
back to the motel.

“You have to open the door to drive away,
Patti,” he pointed out sarcastically.

Jesus Christ he was a jerk.

Through and through.

To his family, to his brother, and to
me.

The guy was more complicated than my high
school brain would ever have been able to predict.

I spent my working life warning women off
men like Denver Scott.

Sure, they were fun to begin with, but it
wouldn’t last.

Movies and novels made tortured souls like
Denver look great. But movies and novels never stuck around long
enough to show you the aftermath. Sure, they would be there when
the disastrous couple got together, but they wouldn’t show you when
they broke apart. In flames.