Before long, we were cruising the main street of Shadow Ridge, headed toward the one and only service station at the western edge of town, the one I had stopped at that very first day.

  The scenery had changed a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Leaves and branches littered the streets and sidewalks. The stately oaks and colorful sugar maples so prevalent along the river were decidedly sparser. The storm front had moved through and continued on its northeast path, leaving a lingering drizzle and a chilly bite to the air in its wake.

  I could see my car in one of the bays, raised high enough to properly inspect damage beneath. Chuck waved in greeting, then wiped his hands on a greasy rag and ushered us into his tiny office. It was a cramped and untidy space, filled with the scents of motor oil and new car parts, nothing like the professionally decorated dealerships my parents used to frequent. And the owner, Chuck—he was a bona fide mechanic, not a showroom manager trying to upsell me something. I appreciated that about him.

  Something else I appreciated about Chuck—he spoke directly to me, not to Steve, about my car. Some things I understood, like engine, transmission, and frame damage. Other things sounded like he was speaking a different language. My eyes started to glaze over within the first two minutes.

  “You’re speaking Greek to me,” I said, putting up my hand to stop him. “What’s the bottom line?”

  “Between parts and labor …” He mentioned a figure far larger than I’d expected. It was almost more than I’d paid for the car to begin with.

  “Insurance should cover most of it,” Chuck said.

  I shook my head. Insurance companies required forms and reports, and while I’d pretty much decided I was going to go back and handle my business, I wanted to keep Shadow Ridge and my time here off the radar for the time being, just in case.

  “I don’t want to involve the insurance company.”

  “You sure about that?” he asked skeptically.

  “I’m sure. How long will you need to fix it?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “That long?”

  “Maybe longer. I’m planning on heading up to the you-pull-it place later this week. I can see what’s available. Chances are, I’ll need to order a couple of components right from the dealer. Plus, I’m kinda swamped right now.” He took off his hat, scratched the back of his head, then replaced the cap, looking almost apologetic.

  In another town and under different circumstances, I might have suspected the mechanic was trying to inflate the time and cost estimate, but one look around the lot assured me that he had plenty of business and didn’t need mine. I knew then that Steve had probably called in a favor to get Chuck to look at my car as quickly as he had.

  The money wasn’t an issue. I kept a small balance in a “traveling” account, which was the one I used on the road in case someone stole or skimmed my ATM card. When funds dipped too low, I’d locate a secure internet connection and transfer money from my regular account, the one to which my previous employer had deposited my paychecks and held more. Since I’d been living off my tips, I hadn’t had to do that in a while. Keeping my digital footprint to a minimum was important. I had no idea who my stalker was or what he might have access to.

  But I needed a vehicle.

  “Do you know where I could get a replacement for less than the cost of repairs?”

  “I’ve got some good, reliable used vehicles out back. Not much to look at, but they’ll get you where you want to go.”

  “Perfect. Do you take cash?”

  Chuck laughed. “Of course I do. Come on. I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

  We walked around to the back, and Chuck showed me his version of a used car lot. There were half a dozen vehicles. Three trucks, one Jeep, a compact, and a base model sedan that wasn’t much different than the one I’d been driving. While the sedan seemed like the most obvious choice, I was drawn to the Jeep. There was something rugged about it, something that said it could handle just about anything. I found that appealing. My guardian angel must have thought so, too, because the back of my neck tingled every time I walked by it.

  “I want this one,” I confided to Steve.

  “Can you drive a stick?” he asked, peering inside.

  “Yes,” I answered simply.

  My father taught me. He said if I could drive a stick, I could drive anything. Of course, the Jeep was slightly different from my dad’s Jaguar F-Type, but the principle was the same.

  Yes, my father had taken me out on a private course and taught me how to drive on a luxury sports car—because he was awesome like that.

  Steve grinned. “Yeah, I can see you as a Jeep girl. And you’ll appreciate the four-wheel drive in the winter.”

  My heart twisted at the thought of spending the winter here. Of seeing the mountains covered in snow. Shadow Ridge would be a winter wonderland—I was sure of it.

  “It seems a little pricey for something with nearly a hundred thousand miles on it though,” I mused.

  “Jeeps are made to last a hell of a lot longer than that. Plus, we can get him down on price. Chuck loves to haggle.”

  “I’m not much of a haggler,” I admitted.

  “How attached are you to your sedan?” he asked, lifting his chin toward the bay.

  “Not at all,” I answered honestly. It was a means to get from point A to point B as unobtrusively as possible.

  “Do you trust me?” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “Of course.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was shaking hands with Chuck, sealing the deal on my used-but-new-to-me Jeep. Steve had worked out a sweet deal, involving a trade-in of my accordion car and a reasonable cash price.

  “Can I pick it up later today?”

  “You can take it now,” Chuck said.

  “But I haven’t paid for it.”

  Chuck glanced at Steve, his eyes twinkling, and shrugged. “I’m not worried.”

  Still, I didn’t feel right about driving away in something I hadn’t paid for and said so.

  I turned to Steve. “Is your offer for breakfast still good?”

  “It is.”

  “Do you mind if we make a quick stop along the way?”

  “Not at all.”

  With a promise to return later, Steve and I climbed back into his truck and left.

  “There’s an IHOP in the next town over, about thirty minutes out. That okay?” he asked.

  “Perfect.”

  15

  I sat back and rubbed my stomach, feeling satisfied in ways I hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe never. And it wasn’t just because of the massive combo platter I’d just inhaled. Steve had awoken something inside of me this morning, and with him in close proximity, parts of my body continued to hum.

  He chuckled.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never seen such a tiny woman eat so much.”

  “I worked up an appetite.”

  Just like that, his eyes grew heated as he, too, remembered the events of the morning. Then, they shuttered, and it was almost as if I could hear his thoughts.

  “Stop it,” I said.

  “Stop what?”

  “Overthinking it. We’re both adults. We both wanted it. It happened. It was fantastic.”

  His lips quirked. “Fantastic, huh?”

  “Stop fishing for compliments. You know it was.”

  “It was,” he agreed, but his smile quickly faded. “But you were feeling vulnerable. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of that.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t take advantage. If anything, I took advantage of you.”

  He still didn’t look convinced.

  “Do you regret it?” I asked.

  “No, of course not, but …”

  “But what?”

  He sat back and ran a hand through his hair, looking adorably nonplussed, and it hit me.

  “You’re wondering why the one-eighty, and you’re afraid this morning was a form of thanking you because of everything you did for me last night.”

  He winced. I could see the truth in his eyes, and it gutted me.

  “Well, it wasn’t,” I assured him firmly. “That theory doesn’t even make sense. You gave me three orgasms and only took one for yourself. I hardly call that taking advantage.”

  Behind me, I heard a gasp and a clatter as plates and silverware hit the floor. Great. I’d just scandalized our grandmotherly-looking server.

  I forged ahead anyway. “The truth is, I’ve been attracted to you since I first saw you. I’ve been resisting your charms because, well, like I said, I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish.”

  “So, what changed?”

  “I did,” I said softly. “Before you found me last night, I’d decided a few things. What I’m doing, regardless of the reasons, is not living, not really. I’m tired of hiding. Tired of running and living in fear. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  He studied me carefully. “Will you tell me?”

  I exhaled. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but, yes, I will. But not here, okay? Let’s swing by a bank, pick up my Jeep, and go back to my place.”

  Two hours later, we were back in my rented cottage. Steve got the fire going while I made a pot of coffee. Mentally speaking, I’d swung back and forth so many times between the should I or shouldn’t I tell him dilemma that I felt like a human pendulum. And now, I had another issue I had to deal with. The balance on my bank account—my primary one—after today’s withdrawal was pitifully low. I was fine for the moment, but if I was going to leave Shadow Ridge, I would be doing so without the financial cushion I’d once had.

  I settled at one end of the couch and tucked my feet up beneath me, facing him at the other. “You’re sure you want to hear this?” I asked, giving him one last out. “We could … do what we did this morning instead.”

  He was shaking his head before I finished talking. “I’m sure. As fantastic as this morning was, I want more than that with you, Casey.”

  There was that warmth again, seeping into my chest.

  “Not sure you’ll feel that way after I tell you,” I muttered.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  He was so calm, so relaxed. I hated that I was going to ruin that.

  I took a deep breath. Rip off the Band-Aid, Casey.

  “I have a stalker,” I blurted out. “I was drugged and abducted, but things went wrong, and I ended up in the hospital. Then, he went after the people I care about. So, I ran, and I’ve been running ever since.”

  I wasn’t sure how’d he’d react to me vomiting the super condensed version of my real-life horror story like that. Anger? Disbelief? Definitely surprise. Instead, I received a furrowed brow in response to my big reveal.

  A furrowed brow and a very unsurprised, “I thought it was something like that.”

  I gaped at him. “Seriously?”

  “You show up out of the blue in Shadow Ridge, take a job under the table, pay everything in cash, hide up here in the Muellers’ cottage, and keep everyone at a distance. No one knows anything about you, except the tiny, vague crumbs you drop when you’re cornered. We’re a small town, Casey, but we’re not stupid. Rose had you pegged as a runner from the moment you walked into the inn.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I sipped my coffee and tried to process the fact that I’d been fooling myself into thinking I was fooling them.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Steve continued, “you’re not the first person to come to Shadow Ridge and decide it’s a good place to disappear.”

  I glanced up at him and studied his face. He was being completely serious. I thought of Rose and John. Of CJ. Of Big Lou and Jessie. None of them were natives. No wonder I fit in at the inn so well.

  Talk about a light-bulb moment. I cleared my throat. “Wow.”

  He offered me a small, encouraging smile. “You’re safe here, Casey. With us. With me.”

  Tears began to build in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly.

  “Hey now,” he said softly, moving closer and taking my hand in his. “That wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

  “I just …” I sniffed, once again failing to find the words.

  “It’s okay,” he said soothingly and gently tugged me against him.

  I went willingly, laying my head on his shoulder, soaking in the warmth of his body and the feel of his arms around me. I wasn’t usually so emotional. It was him. He laid waste to my defenses and wrapped me in this bubble of safety and acceptance. I had no resistance against that.

  That was when I started talking, and once I got started, I couldn’t stop. I had so much bottled up inside me, and it needed to come out.

  I told him about my parents dying in a car crash on the night of my high school graduation. About dragging myself to college a few months later because that was what they would’ve wanted me to do. About meeting Angie and how we’d gone from freshman year enemies to postgraduate coworkers and roomies.

  “I felt like I was finally getting the hang of being an adult. I had a nice apartment and a decent job with crazy hours. I went out occasionally, mostly as Angie’s designated driver, but sometimes, a guy from the office would ask me to dinner or an event. I wasn’t much of a partier—probably because of what had happened to my parents—but Angie was.

  “ ‘Coerced socialization by association,’ she used to say.

  “I guess it was about six months after we were hired that the cards and flowers started coming. I didn’t think too much of it at first. It seemed harmless enough, and Angie thought the idea of a secret admirer was kind of romantic.”

  I paused, conscious of what a naive fool I’d been.

  “What happened?” he prodded gently.

  “It stopped being romantic and edged into disturbing. My admirer started leaving notes in the cards, saying things like, I can’t stop thinking about you, and, You’re mine. They’d show up taped to the door of my apartment or tucked under my windshield wiper. He was letting me know that he knew where I lived, what kind of car I drove. I felt like someone was watching me wherever I went, and soon, I didn’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Did you report it?”

  I nodded. “Yes, multiple times. The police agreed that it was creepy, but said it wasn’t illegal and there wasn’t anything they could do. If I knew who it was, they could have a talk with him, but I had no idea who was behind it.

  “Things came to a head when Angie talked me into going to a Halloween party. She knew about my stalker but said everything would be fine because there would be so many people there.

  “So, I went. Angie’s guy was there. It was at his house, in fact. But apparently, he didn’t feel the same spark of interest for Angie that she did for him. He spotted me sitting off in a corner and, as the host, felt compelled to come over and talk to me, I guess. It was all very innocent, but Angie saw us, got the wrong idea, and left without telling me. I knew it was the booze talking, but it still hurt that she thought I’d do that to her, you know?

  “Anyway, I left shortly after she did. There was no point in sticking around; I’d only gone there for her to begin with. I remember walking to my car and feeling a little off. I got in, closed my eyes, and …” I shrugged. “Next thing I knew, I was waking up on a wooded trail during a thunderstorm.”

  “You don’t remember anything about how you got there?”

  I bit my lip. “I didn’t at first, but then I started getting these nightmares. I don’t know if they’re actual memories or my brain trying to fill in the blanks, but they sure feel real.”

  I filled him in on the bits and pieces, disjointed as they were. The storm. The drainage ditch. My personified Grim Reaper forcibly expelling water from my lungs. Waking up in the hospital days later with a concussion, a broken arm, snapped ankle, cracked ribs, and pneumonia.

  “My therapist said the nightmares might be my mind’s way of revealing what happened in little pieces, but so far, I’ve remembered nothing that might be helpful. It’s so frustrating!”

  Steve pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. At some point, he started stroking my arm, and it gave me the courage to continue.

  “The police suspect someone slipped me something at the party, but they couldn’t prove anything because too much time had passed. The tox screens were inconclusive.”

  “How long were you out there before someone found you?”

  “Four days.” Three had passed before Angie had reported me missing. An unknown Samaritan had found me and called it in a day after that.

  “Jesus, Casey.”

  “I was in the hospital for about a week. My company, Kleiner, was great. They let me work from my apartment while I continued to recover. The police had no suspects, and with me unable to provide help, the investigation stalled and got moved to the back burner. Angie was super supportive. She did all the shopping and didn’t pressure me to leave the apartment. I was scared of my own shadow at that point, afraid my attacker was still out there somewhere, biding his time, waiting for the next opportunity.

  “Everything was quiet for a while, and I thought maybe, just maybe, whoever it was had given up and moved on. I even started going back into the office. Then, the cards and flowers began showing up again, and this time, they included pictures of Angie—getting into her car, going into our apartment building, shopping at the grocery store. On the backs were handwritten notes, like, She can’t watch over you all the time.

  “Then, one day, I came home and found Angie unconscious. She’d left work early, surprised someone in the apartment, and gotten a blow to the back of the head for it.”

  “Surely, the police took that seriously.”

  “They did, but there was no evidence linking her attack to my stalker. There’d been a series of break-ins in our complex, and they said our apartment might’ve just been next on the hit list.”

  “Jesus,” he said again.

  “I know. Maybe it wasn’t related, but my instincts told me it was, and I wasn’t willing to take the chance. I convinced Angie to move to another apartment. A nicer one with better security. I resigned from my position with the firm, packed a suitcase, bought the most boring used car I could find, and hit the road. I’ve been traveling ever since. I check in with Angie occasionally so she knows I’m still alive, but that’s it.”

 

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