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“Why is there a secret compartment in the closet?” I asked, leaning back on the sofa with my glass of wine, then crossing my legs.
King’s gaze dropped to my legs a moment before lifting to my face. The mischievous gleam in his eyes made me smile.
“To keep the lanterns, extra supplies, that kind of thing,” he told me, then reached for his glass of wine. “I heard Doc say your ribs are healing perfectly. How’s the pain?”
The doctor had done another X-ray on Friday. Talking about it only reminded me that my time was coming to an end here. I still had no plan for what I would do next. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to watch the news and see if there was anything about Hill’s death, missing wife, or accusations that I had killed him. I felt as if I were living in my tiny bubble, but I knew, soon, this information was going to be on the news, and someone here was going to see it. Maeme possibly. I had to face reality and figure this out.
I took a long drink from my glass. “The pain is barely an ache now. Which means I should start planning what to do. I can’t thank y’all enough for letting me stay here and helping me the way you have, but there are things…I just need to prepare to leave. Soon.” Saying the words were easier than I had imagined. Perhaps it was the wine’s effect on me.
King sat back up and took the bottle of wine to refill my glass. “You still plan on leaving then?”
“Yes…I can’t live here, and I don’t want to bring my trouble to your door.”
He’d known I wasn’t going to stay, but he seemed bothered by the fact that I was leaving. Reading too much into that was a path I didn’t need to take, but my mind was taking it anyway.
He turned his attention back to me and studied me for a moment. “It would be a real bad idea for you to leave, seeing as your husband was found shot in his home. A colleague of his found him, but his wife, Carmella Millroe, was missing, as was his Mercedes. He was taken to the hospital, survived. His Mercedes was found at a Buc-ee’s just outside of Pensacola, Florida. Then, one day after he was sent home from the hospital, he disappeared.” He paused and used his glass to point at me. “That pretty face of yours is all over the news. So is his. You leave here, and someone will recognize you.”
It felt as if the blood had drained from my face as I sat, staring at him. He seemed too calm about the fact that he was housing a fugitive. Why hadn’t I checked the news? Why had I convinced myself that it was okay? That if I ignored it, the facts would go away?
“I…I…you know. I should have told you the truth. Maeme…she’s been so kind to me. She let me stay in her house. I need to go. I’ll hide somewhere else. I can’t let them come here. Bring her into this.”
I started to stand up, but King placed a hand on the top of my thigh and stopped me.
“Churchill Millroe was found hours after you left. It was on the news, as was your face, the night you arrived here. Maeme doesn’t miss the news. Ever.”
I stared at him. She had known. They all had. Yet here I was. I shook my head, confused as to why they would allow me to just stay here.
“Why? Why would she have me stay here? If they find me here, it will incriminate her, you, everyone.”
“Because you were beaten. You were the one who was hurt. And I highly doubt you shot the son of a bitch, but if you did, then he deserved it. I’ve told you already that this is the safest place for you. No one will get to you here. No one.”
My throat burned as my eyes glazed over. They had known all along, and they believed me. They hadn’t known me, but they had stepped in and helped me. Trusted that I hadn’t done it. Someone cared. Several people in fact.
King reached out to me. “Come here.” His voice was husky as he pulled me to him. I went willingly.
I needed the comfort. The emotions unraveling inside me were overwhelming.
When the first sob broke free of the cage I had been trying to trap it in, King wrapped his arms around me and held me against his chest. I clung to him as the pain, fear, relief, hope all released at once. I wasn’t alone. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t alone.
• seventeen •
“I’d never been one to ignore temptation”
King
The sobbing had grown quiet, but I wasn’t ready to let go of her just yet. Getting my own fucking head straight after this was gonna be difficult. She’d been ready to leave, and Maeme had agreed that when she seemed as if she was planning on going, we had to tell her this much. It wasn’t a lie exactly. Her face had been on the news, but it hadn’t been in over a week. The fact that Churchill was missing was never reported. The boss had handled that with one call.
The past eleven days, she’d changed. She smiled more often. She didn’t seem to be constantly tense and on edge. I’d sat and watched her out on the front porch with a book in her hands more times than I cared to admit. I enjoyed seeing her relaxed. She felt safe here, and I wanted to believe part of that was because of me. Not that any of this was something I needed to think too hard on. Rumor would always be off-limits to me. Even if Blaise hadn’t made that very clear, she would never be for me. What I needed, what I wanted, was something she could never understand.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffled and pulled back from me, wiping at her face.
“Don’t be,” I replied, unable to help myself as I reached over and got the last of her tears. “You’ve been through hell, and it’s over. That’s a lot of shit to process.”
The more I had uncovered on her, the more I’d realized she wasn’t fragile, like I had assumed. It takes a strong spirit to live through the abuse she’d suffered—and not just from Millroe. Her abuse had started before him. When I found the other two men at the foster families who had hurt her, I would kill them too. Slowly.
She let out a heavy sigh, then turned to look toward the windows. The storm had eased some, but the rain was still battering against the house. “How long do I stay here?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
“That’s not something for you to worry about. You’ve been good here, right? It’s been comfortable, and you’ve found things to do.”
