Snapped (26 page)

She donned the bikini she’d purchased without even trying it on. It was turquoise with white polka dots, and it fit fine. What wasn’t so fine was the line of purple bruises across her abdomen in the shape of a seat belt. So much for the beach babe look. She slipped into some jean shorts and grabbed her only piece of luggage—a faux leather tote bag. She dropped her keys and phone inside it, alongside her cash, and headed out the door.

It was almost like a hangover—the achy, woozy sensation she felt as she stepped into the sunshine. No cotton mouth, but a definite throbbing behind her eyes. She had a sharp craving for food and an even sharper one for coffee, and she set out on a quest for both.

Mustang Island was a lazy beach retreat populated by retirees, surf bums, and fishermen. It was the perfect refuge for people wanting to get away for a few days or drop out of sight for a while. Sophie had visited once before and knew it was ideally suited to her current purposes. The coastal island was small and rustic, and the village had enough transient young people to keep her from standing out.

She glanced up and down the street. The Island Breeze Motel was located four blocks off the shore, and Sophie thought she remembered a taco stand nearby. She decided to go on foot, leaving her borrowed transportation in the motel lot.

Sophie looked at the pickup. It belonged to Scott Black, who had responded to her SOS call last night and collected her at the hospital. Scott had been more than happy to lend her his truck, because, first, she needed it,
and second, he also owned a Harley, which he sometimes took to work at the Delphi Center. The third reason was a bit more complicated. Scott was pretty attached to his truck, so Sophie knew this particular favor came with some as-yet-unspecified strings attached. But she’d deal with that later. She’d promised to return it in a few days with a full tank of gas, and
that
promise was definitely one she could keep.

She headed for the beach, keeping her eyes peeled for a thatched-roof hut with a picnic table out front. She found it without trouble and treated herself to a veggie breakfast taco and a grande coffee. Then she bought a refill. The woman who gave it to her kept eyeing her bruises, so Sophie took the refill to go and strolled down the street until she found a surf shop. She bought a blue-and-green sarong and tied it around herself so she could wander the streets without attracting stares. After thoroughly exploring the village, she decided to hit the beach. She slathered on sunblock, spread out her wearable beach blanket, and sat down facing the waves.

The surf was up today. Teenagers trudged up and down the shore with boards tucked under their arms. Children frolicked in the water. A snow-cone truck rolled by playing a reggae tune that told her not to worry, be happy. The lyrics mingled with the sound of the waves long after the truck had gone, and Sophie tried to heed the advice. But of course, that wasn’t possible.

A child squealed. She turned to look at the rainbow umbrella nearby where a family had set up camp for the day. The mother lay on a beach towel reading a magazine while the father and daughter worked together on a sand castle.

Sophie watched the girl. She had long blond pigtails and reminded her of Becca Kincaid. Only Becca would never spend a day at the beach with her mother, ever again.

Sophie’s chest hurt, and it wasn’t from the bruises. She dialed a number she knew by heart and waited through five rings.

“Good afternoon. The delphi Center. How can I direct your call?”

Young. East Texas. Sophie refrained from correcting her grammar.

“Extension five-thirty-nine, please.”

“One moment,” the temp said pleasantly.

Silence. Sophie counted sandpipers until finally the call went through.

“Botany.”

Sophie hung up. She dialed again.

“Good afternoon. The delphi Center. How can I direct your call?”

“Hi again. I’d like extension five-three-nine, please. I think that was five-three-six.”

“Oh, sorry! Just … hang on a minute, please. There’s another call coming in.”

More silence. A few clicks. Another series of rings.

“Osteology.”

“Hi, Kels.”

“Sophie? Oh my God, where are you?”

“I’m out of town, actually. How’s it going there?”

“Well …
I’m
fine. But what about you? I heard you were in a major wreck!”

“I’m okay, more or less. Thought I’d take a few days’ vacation, though.”

The other end went quiet, probably as Kelsey’s bullshit meter clicked on.

“Hey, I need a favor,” Sophie said. “Could you get a message to someone for me?”

“Let me guess. An SMPD homicide detective?”

Sophie’s heart skipped. “How did you know?”

“Hmm, maybe because he was banging on my door at ten o’clock last night?”

“He went to your
house
?”

“He most certainly did.”

“What did he want?”

“You mean besides you?”

“I mean, did he ask you a lot of questions or was he just, like, checking in to see if I was there?”

“He wasn’t in detective mode, if that’s what you mean. More like angry boyfriend.” She paused. “And when did
that
happen, by the way? I thought you were in a dry spell.”

Sophie examined her toes, which were covered in sand. She was definitely in a dry spell. Sahara-dry. She could hardly remember the last time she’d had real sex, and yet she’d never felt so abuzz with sexual energy. She blamed the red bra. All that buildup and no payoff. Come to think of it, the entire six months since she’d met Jonah had been that way.

“Sophie?”

She sighed. “Still dry as a bone. But I’m involved in Jonah’s investigation, so he’s just being thorough.”

“Uh-huh. So, what’s this message?”

Sophie cleared her throat. “If you could just tell him that I’m doing fine. I’m recouping from my injuries and
getting plenty of rest, and I’ll check in again over the weekend.”

“I shouldn’t tell him you’re at the beach, I take it?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I can hear the waves. Don’t worry, I’ll relay your little message verbatim.”

“verbatim. Don’t tell him anything else.”

Jonah was a good detective. All he’d need was one little detail, and her plans would be screwed.

“Don’t worry,” Kelsey said. “I can pull that need-to-know crap with the best of them. Take care, all right?”

Sophie said good-bye and stared down at the phone. She would have liked to call Mia, too. And maybe even her brother. It seemed ridiculous when she’d been on vacation less than one day, but she was feeling lonely.

She distracted herself by people watching and taking a dip in the Gulf of Mexico. The salt water stung her cuts, but she knew it was good for them, too. And the surf churning against her skin made her feel rejuvenated. The beach was therapeutic for her—always had been. She’d come here after her attack last winter. She’d arrived feeling numb and robotic and stayed until she felt human again.

Sophie stared out at the distant horizon where blue met blue. Being near the vast expanse of water made her feel small and made her problems feel diminished, too. That was part of why she’d come—not just to get away from the dangers surrounding her, but to get some perspective on everything. The water did that for her.

After swimming, she stretched out on the beach and
thought about taking a nap, but her skin was getting pink. It was late afternoon. She wrapped her sarong around herself and wended her way back to the motel, making note of any suspicious-looking cars cruising through town.

She took a long route but didn’t see anything worrisome. No black Dodge pickups, no one following her on foot. She spotted the same gray sedan twice in two blocks, but then it turned left at a stoplight and headed for the ferry docks. Sophie spent some time window shopping, and the red-white-and-blue bunting in some of the windows reminded her that it was a holiday weekend.

Sophie’s stomach growled, and she checked her watch. Maybe instead of napping, she’d shower and grab a sandwich. She passed a hand-painted sign advertising dolphin-watching cruises. Or she could sign up for one of those. She loved boats, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen a sunset over the water. Sophie reached her motel and noted the glowing
O VACANCY
sign. She’d probably lucked out getting a room here, even a shabby one.

She dug her key card from her purse and slid it into the door. The light flashed green. She glanced in the window to her room and noticed the reflection.

A gray sedan pulling into the parking lot.

Sophie’s heart jumped. She turned around and watched, paralyzed, as the sedan slid into a nearby space. An enormous man climbed out. He looked at her over the roof of the car before slamming the door and stalking straight toward her.

Sophie’s throat went dry. She couldn’t breathe. Jonah stopped in front of her and nodded at the key card in her now-quivering hand.

“You going to let me in, or you want to do this outside?”

Do what?

The question stuck in her throat as she stared up at him. The set jaw, the tight mouth, the angry gleam in his eyes—all told her exactly what he wanted to do. He was spoiling for a fight.

He pulled the card from her hand and shoved it in the slot, then pushed open the door.

Sophie’s gaze darted to Scott’s pickup, just footsteps away. The keys were tucked inside the tote slung over her shoulder.

“Not an option.”

She glanced up at him, and he shifted his massive body to block her view of the truck.

Sophie tossed her head and sauntered into the room, as if it were her choice instead of his.

“What are you doing here?” She dropped her bag on the dresser. “I told you I needed a vacation.”

The door whisked shut behind her, and she turned to face him. He stood there, arms crossed, looking a lot like he had the other night at the gym, when he’d been waiting for her in the parking lot. Those hazel eyes were
hot on her again, but it wasn’t just anger this time, it was something else, too. Something that made her stomach flutter and her heart start to pound.

The room felt stuffy, too small. She went over to the window unit and flipped on the air conditioner, and it coughed and rattled before working its way to a steady hum.

When she turned around, Jonah was still watching her with that gleam in his eyes. He hadn’t moved to touch her, and she felt a prickle of doubt. Was she reading him wrong? Had pure anger brought him here? With possibly some wounded pride mixed in? Maybe his cop buddies were ribbing him because he’d misplaced a witness.

“I’m not going back with you,” she said calmly.

He didn’t respond.

“You can’t force me.”

He lifted an eyebrow but still didn’t move.

Her gaze went to the Glock tucked at his side. No badge or handcuffs that she could see, but still he commanded plenty of authority. She crossed her arms, mirroring his stance, except she didn’t have quite the alpha effect in a sarong and flip-flops.

He took a few steps deeper into the room and glanced around. “Nice place you got here.”

“I’m not going back with you,” she repeated.

He surveyed the room some more, and his gaze came to rest on the top of her sarong. His attention lingered there for a moment, and then he looked at her face again.

“You know what pisses me off?”

She just looked at him.

“Being knee-deep in a murder investigation and having to drop everything to play your little game.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“You wanted me to chase after you? Fine. I’m here, Sophie. But I’m not going back alone.”

“You can’t
make
me go with you.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he stepped closer and gazed down at her with that intensity that made her heart thrum. Her insides tightened. There were just a few inches between them, and the space seemed charged with electricity.

He bent his head down, and his breath was warm against her temple. “Take it off.”

She pulled back and looked up at him.
“What?”

“That scarf thing.” His voice was low and rough. “Take it off.”

Her blood heated at the words. “You want me to—”

“Yes.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. She felt ridiculously self-conscious. She had on a bathing suit, for heaven’s sake, but this seemed like a striptease.

Which was the point. He wanted
her
to do it. It was a power thing.

She could have told him to go to hell. She could have walked out. She could have pretended she didn’t want him here and his showing up hadn’t sent her stupid, hopeful heart into a tizzy.

He watched her steadily, waiting for her to decide.

She reached up and tugged the knot. The fabric came loose and puddled on the floor at her feet. She held the last fringed corner in her hand, then let it go.

Jonah’s gaze traveled over her, taking in the scrapes
and the bandage, before settling on her string of bruises. They were darker today, almost black. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but she saw his eyes go flat.