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“You should walk away,” he says after taking a deep drag on his cigar. Cherry-scented smoke drifts my way in the breeze. “Before it’s too late.”
“Are you threatening me? What next? Going to shoot me? Do that chokehold thing on me like you did that guy who tried to steal my necklace?”
“I’m not going to do anything except get in my car and leave.”
“So go ahead.”
He continues to stand there, taking another puff on the cigar, staring at me. I get the weirdest feeling like I’m an exhibit in a zoo and he’s one of the visitors, watching me through thick glass, waiting for me to entertain him.
“I thought you were fucking off,” I say eventually when it’s clear he’s no plans to move or talk further. “You don’t appear to be moving.”
“Fuck,” he says, more to himself than to me. He looks like he’s about to say something else. Instead, he throws the cigar on the ground and marches over to me, standing too close, his mouth churning, becoming a snarl. “You’ve no idea how much I want to spank you for continuing to cuss like that in front of me.”
My butt tingles like he’s already done it. I do my best not to look away from him as I swallow hard. I won’t let him intimidate me. I have every right to be up here. He’s the one who stole my file. He’s the one who should be ashamed of himself, not me.
“Are you threatening me?” I say, surprised by how strong I sound.
“I’m making you a promise,” he continues. “I have tried to walk away from you, believe me, I have tried. But if you don’t leave now, you’re going to end up over my lap and I’m not going to stop until you’re drenched with sweat with a tanned hide and a soaking wet pussy. You don’t want that, Chloe. Trust me. Go back to your quiet little life.”
He reaches out toward my neck. I get the feeling he’s about to choke me but he strokes my necklace with his thick fingers instead, breathing me in as he leans closer to me.
He wraps his fingers around the necklace, gripping it tightly, pulling my head toward his. “Get out of here,” he says in a menacing growl. “Before it’s too late for the both of us.”
14
CHLOE
* * *
It’s not fear of what he might do that scares me so much. It’s fear of what’s behind the anger in his eyes. I can see the desire there, like a blazing hot sun barely hidden behind a bank of clouds. Any moment that desire is going to come out and scorch us both to death.
It’s right there, just out of reach. Going to leave me burned and scarred any moment.
His hand is pointing back down the mountain. He’s telling me to leave as clearly as he can.
I don’t do anything. I just stand for a moment, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but drown in those eyes of his.
I get a hold of myself pretty quickly. He doesn’t get to decide what I do with my life. He’s not in charge of me. He should be on the back foot here. I’ve caught him digging up whatever it was my parents have hidden. The only question left is how to approach this.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I snap when I realize I’ve been silent for way too long. “Why did you take my file from the sheriff?”
He looks at me like he’s about to deny it. Then something gets a hold of him and out comes the truth in three simple words.
“I needed it.”
“You needed it? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Like I said. I needed it.” He grabs hold of the shovel and walks over to the trunk of his car. He turns back to look at me. “You’re still here.”
He pulls the trunk open and tosses the shovel inside. Spinning around, he again looks like he’s about to say one thing and then something else comes out. “What are you doing out here?”
“You slipped up,” I tell him, pulling the photo out of my backpack. I pass it to him, pointing at each figure in turn. “That’s my mom. That’s my dad.” I tap harder. “And that’s me. I was two years old when I went missing and I’m starting to get the feeling you have something to do with what happened back then. Am I right?”
He snarls back at me. “You do not want to follow this line of questioning,” he says, leaning in closer to my face. “You won’t like where it takes you.”
“Did you kill my parents?” I’m not even sure I want to know the answer. Maybe he was right. Maybe ignorance is bliss.
“No,” he replies, slamming the trunk shut a moment later. “I did not.”
