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Ignore. Ignore.
Finley dug for her keys as she made her way to the porch. She poked one and then another into the keyhole until she got the right one. The cat peeked from under the glider and yowled up at her.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. The cat would have to wait.
Relief swam through her veins as she moved inside and closed and locked the door behind her.
You’re home. Almost early.
Finley forced Derrick’s teasing voice from her mind.
She couldn’t trust anything he had said or done during their short time together.
Get your clothes off. Get in the shower.
She silently repeated the instructions until the bloody clothes lay on the bathroom floor and steam from the hot water filled the room.
Don’t think. Don’t think.
Beneath the spray of hot water, she closed her eyes and allowed the dried blood to be sluiced from her face ... the stench of blood to be rinsed away. She intended to stay right here until the water ran cold, and maybe, just maybe, the steam would clear the reek of the bastard’s existence from her insides.
She grabbed the bar of soap and loofah and scrubbed herself until her skin felt raw and the water started to cool. Finally, when her body started to shiver uncontrollably, she shut off the water and climbed out. She dried her raw skin and dragged on sweats and a tee.
Using plastic shopping bags as gloves, she stuffed the clothes, socks, and shoes she had peeled off into a garbage bag. In the kitchen she grabbed a Handi Flame lighter and marched out the back door. It was dark as pitch in her small backyard, but she knew the way to the makeshift firepit by heart. She tossed the bag onto the ash from all the nights she and Derrick had sat snuggled around the fire drinking wine and planning for the future.
How stupid was she for buying into his bullshit?
That future had gone up in flames, just as her bloody clothes were going to now. She went back into the house and grabbed a couple of magazines for kindling. While she was at it, she snagged a bottle of wine, was almost to the back door again when she hesitated once more. There was something she had to do. She grabbed a can of cat food and tucked a bottle of water under one arm. Back outside, she set the wine and other goods on the ground, then crumpled magazine pages until she had surrounded the bag of clothes with more-flammable material.Once she lit those crumpled pages, the fire started in earnest. Finley collapsed onto the thick grass, screwed the top from the wine, and watched one more nightmare burn.
The cat found her, and Finley opened the can of food. The food disappeared, and she filled the little can with water. Sipped her wine. Then gave the cat more water. Drank more wine and repeated the previous step.
Vibration in her pocket reminded her that she’d stuffed her cell phone there at some point. She dragged it out and checked the screen.
Boss.
She couldn’t answer. Drank more wine instead. Jack could fill her in on the meeting with Ventura tomorrow.
The flames began to die, and the wine bottle went empty. She sat motionless, numb. Her mind in an alcohol-induced fog.
The cat, sensing her foul mood, had disappeared.
Her cell vibrated again.
Somehow she managed to look without moving anything but her eyes.
Matt.
Definitely couldn’t answer that one. She needed more wine.
She pushed to her feet, swayed more than a little, then staggered her way across the dinky, overgrown backyard to the door. At least she kept the grass in the front yard reasonably manicured. Not that she gave one flip. She only did it so the people who cared about her—like her dad and Matt, Jack too—wouldn’t ask questions.You okay? You’re not feeling depressed, are you?
Was she? She had dared Whitney to shoot her. A distraction, Finley assured herself. She’d known the angry, terrified woman wouldn’t do it. Or Finley had thought she wouldn’t, but then she’d damned sure shot her boyfriend.
Maybe Finley’s instincts were failing her. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Or maybe some part of her still wanted an easy way out.
She padded into the kitchen, poked around in her cupboards. She might not have a stock of dry or canned goods, but she assuredly had a wellspring of wine. There was beer too. Matt and Jack preferred beer. Most of that was in the fridge.
