Burying Water (15 page)

“Dakota?”

“Hmm?” She turns to look at me. “Oh, right. Jesse. Well, he used to hang out with these two hooligans—Ian and Dirk—and everyone knew them as a trio of trouble. Anytime something happened in town, you could guarantee that those three were involved. But . . . Jesse always seemed different from those two. They were loud and obnoxious and . . . rude. Jesse wasn’t. He was just there, usually hanging back, more cool and composed.” She pauses to take a gulp of her coffee. Dakota drinks her coffee fast. “So when Tommy Myers was stabbed at that party—”

“
What
?
”
Stabbed?

Dakota nods. “Yeah, that was a big deal for this town. I don’t know exactly what happened, but there was this house party and Tommy got stabbed on the street after a fight. Sheriff Welles threw Ian, Dirk, and Jesse behind bars. Ian and Dirk said it was Jesse who stabbed Tommy. There were no other witnesses except them, and Tommy was in a coma.”

Jesse
stabbed
someone? “What about fingerprints?”

“It was winter. They all had gloves on. But Tommy survived. Whatever he told the sheriff got Jesse off and put Ian and Dirk in jail, like the dirt bags they are.”

My face twists with horror.

“I know, right? Tommy’s fine now. Living in Bend and married, the last I heard. Likes to show his scars at parties.” Her eyes flicker to the side of my face. I quickly turn to the window display, setting the old quilt gently on the floor.

“What a mess, though. Jesse’s father almost lost the next election, and everyone knew it was because of that whole fiasco with his son. I can’t imagine it was easy for Jesse being at home after that.”

I think I now know why he stays in that apartment above the attic.

“It could just be coincidence, but my uncle’s neighbor’s friend owns a security company and he said that Ginny had bars put up on her windows not long after. Apparently, she didn’t feel safe with Jesse living next door, even out there in the middle of nowhere.”

I sigh. So
this
is how rumors spread in a small town.

“I think I slept with him at a party.”

What?
My jaw drops and my stomach begins to churn. “You
think
you slept with Jesse Welles?”

Dakota cocks her head. “What? No! Chuck.” She points out the window. There’s Chuck, leaving Poppa’s Diner across the street.

Relief swells in my chest. But why do I care who Jesse may have slept with?

“In fact, I’m pretty sure I did. My junior year? Or maybe sophomore?” Amber suggested that the “Dakota stories” extended beyond laced brownies and five-leafed plants in her backyard and into the beds of many guys, both in high school and older, both married and not. Dakota has called herself a “free spirit” on more than one occasion, so this shouldn’t surprise me.

It certainly doesn’t sway me. I still like her. Plus, who am I to judge? Maybe I was a “free spirit” too. Thanks to the baby that I lost, I know that I wasn’t a virgin when I was attacked, though I may as well be for all I remember. And given that no one seems to be looking for me, I must not have been in a relationship. But who have I slept with? Just the father of my child? Was there anyone else before him?

“Water? Are you okay?”

I realize that I’m standing in the window like a mannequin, and two elderly ladies are staring at me. “Yeah. Fine.” With a brief wave to them, I pick the quilt up off the floor. “So what was wrong with the stereo?”

“Oh! It was unplugged. I must have bumped it somehow.” She disappears behind the curtain once again to begin flipping through the stations. “So, what kind of music do you like?”

I frown. “I don’t know.” There aren’t any radios at Ginny’s. She prefers complete silence and curses Sheriff Gabe when she can hear country music playing from his car. Meredith always has talk radio on. Amber likes pop music. I heard alternative rock coming from the garage when Jesse was there. If I had to pick, I’d probably go with that.

Dakota’s head pokes out from around the beaded curtain. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

I smile. “I’m easy. Pick whatever you want.”

“Good. Call me weird, but I’m really digging trance lately.” A hypnotizing electronic sound pumps through the speakers.

It slides down my spine like a cold, wet finger.

And now I know what kind of music I definitely don’t like. Not at all.

NINETEEN

Jesse

then

“Welles!”

I peer out from the engine I’ve been buried in all afternoon to see Miller approaching me. “Mr. Petrova wants you at his house.”

My face screws up. “What for?” I left him a full-page list on Saturday night. I’m guessing some of that stuff will take weeks to get in.

Shit.

Did Alex come clean with him? A guy like Viktor would probably beat the hell out of her and then come after me.

I get no answer from Miller. Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I tap out a text to Alex, leaving greasy fingerprints on the screen.

V wants me to come over tonight. Do you know if he got parts?

I don’t want to put much more in writing, in case Viktor ever snoops through her phone. I drop it into my breast pocket and stare at the engine I’ve been working on, wondering if I need to be worried, while I wait.

Ten minutes later, my phone vibrates. I hold my breath.

Some boxes arrived today and he had them dropped in the garage.

“Thank fucking God,” I mutter, hanging my head, my chest suddenly lighter. It shouldn’t surprise me that the guy can get impossible-to-find, incredibly rare parts in less than forty-eight hours.

A second text comes in a moment later:

I won’t ever say anything. I promise.

Guilt swells for doubting her. I answer:

I’ll see you tonight, I guess?

It’s a full minute before I get a response.

I can’t ever do that again. I was hurt and wanted to do something hurtful. It was wrong.

I sigh and type out:

I know. It’s okay.

It’s not okay. Because it’s only been seven hours since I left the hotel and I miss her. Because I already want her again. And because I want to believe that what happened between Alex and me was more than simply her getting even.

The Shelby sits in front of the garage when I pull up to Viktor and Alex’s house.

“Jesse!” he exclaims, waving at me from the walkway. It’s so unlike him, I wonder if he’s drunk on a Monday at six p.m. “I am glad Miller gave you my message.”

“So you got the parts already?”

He smiles. A snakelike look. “Connections, my friend.”

I’m not his friend, but what the fuck ever. The sooner I’m done with this job, the better.

“I am waiting on a few more, but you should have plenty to get started on. Now, if you will please excuse me, it is time for me to enjoy one of my babies. It has been too long since I have taken her out.” He cracks open the front door and bellows, “Alexandria!” Shutting it, he strolls toward me. “My wife hates going for rides with me. She complains that I drive too fast. It scares her.” He climbs into the Shelby and cranks the engine, the sound of it coming to life a thing of sheer beauty.

I’m in the garage when I hear the front door close and the clicking of heels on concrete. Moments later, she appears in a cotton-candy pink coat, black pants, and ridiculously high shoes. Just the sight of her back gets my blood roiling, because I know what she looks like, what she feels like, what her skin smells like, under all that.

“Hurry up, Alexandria!” Viktor barks and her heels immediately click faster, until she’s practically running. That’s probably why she drops her keys. She stoops to pick them up.

And her fat bottom lip stares at me. She tried to cover it with makeup, but it may as well have a spotlight on it.

I walk to the Aston Martin, gritting my teeth as rage boils inside me, ready to take a wrench to the car. I don’t know how she got it, I remind myself. But I do know that she didn’t have it when I left her in bed this morning.

She’ll probably lie to me anyway. Tell me she walked into a wall or something.

And regardless, I can’t say a damn thing. It would probably only earn her a few more punches and cause me some definite problems. For one, I could kiss my job goodbye, given Viktor’s close connections with Rust. I’d also lose any chance of getting paid for the work I’ve done so far, not to mention my Barracuda.

But I don’t really care about me right now.

A door slams and then the Shelby peels out of the driveway. An angry horn blast at the bottom makes me think Viktor probably cut someone off as he jumped onto the road.

If Alex doesn’t like his driving, she’s probably terrified right now.

“Fuck!” I throw the wrench against the concrete floor.

Why do you have a fat lip?

Viktor and Alex came racing back up the driveway about an hour later, Alex’s face as white as a blank page of paper. She ducked her head and ran inside. I didn’t see her again to ask, but I have to know. Even if she gives me a lame answer.

I’m beginning to think she’s asleep when my phone dings.

I let my phone die last night and Viktor couldn’t get ahold of me.

“You’ve got to be . . .” I want to launch my phone at the wall. Instead, I type out:

He was worried about you so he hit you?

No. He wanted his pinstripe suit laid out for a breakfast meeting and he expected his wife to be home to do it for him
.

A second text comes through quickly after:

You can’t say anything, Jesse. It won’t end well for either of us.

Tossing my phone on the far end of the bed, I storm across the room, pushing Boone’s door open. “Do you know that the fucker beats his wife?”

Boone, on the floor in nothing but shorts, pauses mid-crunch. He never misses his daily workout, even on days when he hits the gym. I’ve seen him come home from the bar annihilated and drop for a hundred reps. “Who?”

“Your man crush, Viktor Fuckhead Petrova.”

He flops to the floor and reaches back to give Licks a belly rub. By the muscles straining against his abdomen, I’d say Boone’s already done most of his reps for tonight. “Are you surprised? You saw him slap her at the bar.”

“So . . . what? You think it’s okay?”

“Of course I don’t, but what the hell am I supposed to do?” He scowls at me.

“You should have seen her lip tonight.”

Boone just stares at me.

I throw my hands in the air. “What?”

“Nothin’, man—I’ve just never seen you get heated about anyone before. You usually don’t give a fuck.” He starts in on his crunches again. “Why doesn’t she leave him?”

“She’s twenty-two, Boone. She thinks she’s trapped.”

“Trapped with a whole lot of fancy shit,” he puffs out.

“The guy treats her like a servant and he hits her. She made a mistake, marrying him.”

He pauses, resting on his elbows, regarding me with recognition in his eyes. “And are you making an even bigger mistake? Because fucking with Viktor Petrova’s wife will not end well for you, my friend . . .” He shakes his head, his mouth open like he’s holding back from saying something. “Just make sure it’s worth it.”

“I’m not doing anything with Alex,” I lie.

His brow pops up. “She goes by Alex now?”

“Alex, Alexandria. Whatever. The point is . . .” What is the point? Viktor beats his wife and . . . what? “The point is don’t ever repeat any of this to Rust or anyone else because he will probably hurt her for it.”

“Repeat what? I didn’t hear shit.” He rolls over onto his stomach for his push-ups.

I head back to my room, slightly more calm. Checking my phone, I see that Alex hasn’t texted again and I don’t know how to respond to her just yet, other than to say, “Call the police and leave the asshole.” My gut tells me Viktor would get off and Alex would pay for reporting him.

Reaching over my head, I peel my shirt off. Kicking off my jeans, I drop to the ground for my own set of push-ups. I have no specific rep number, though. I figure I’ll just keep going until I can work this shit out in my head.

I wake up at some point in the middle of the night, facedown on the floor beside my bed, having pushed myself to exhaustion.

And having no answer.