“Kelly. Good to see you.” Lacey’s father stood at the door, a cardboard box in his hands. “I saw Jessica out front. She’s growing up.”
“Yes, she is.” Her eyes wet, Kelly looked at Lacey over her shoulder. She slipped by Dr. Campbell and darted across the porch.
Lacey silently watched Kelly escape, utterly stunned by her revelations. Kelly had held the power to stop everything. And she’d done nothing. Lacey’s heart cracked. She knew she’d never talk to Kelly again. Dr. Campbell shot a sharp look at his daughter’s face.
“You don’t have to ring the doorbell, Dad.” Lacey forced a smile and her gaze locked on the box. He brought it.
“My hands were full.” He held out the box. She kept her arms at her sides.
“Is that it?”
“I went to a lot of trouble to sneak this out. I need it back tomorrow.”
Lacey reluctantly took the box. It was about fifteen inches in height and length, and weighed next to nothing. Willing her hands not to shake, she set it on the sofa.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Her father wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight. “I don’t get it.”
“I know.” She squeezed him back, pressing her face against his coat.
The room fell silent.
“Have you heard from Michael?” He stepped back, his arms slowly letting go. He searched her eyes.
Lacey smiled. “He’s not coming home for a while. Something about climbing red rocks and rafting the Colorado River.”
“And a woman?” Her father’s eyebrows rose.
“I don’t think he’s doing either adventure alone.”
He studied her, searching her face. “He’s a good man. I always thought the two of you...”
She shook her head. “Not meant to be, Dad. Michael knows it. And it’s OK with me.”
Her father looked like he didn’t quite believe her, but he changed the subject. “Where’s your other young man?”
“Right here.” Jack stepped out of the kitchen, his silver eyes twinkled, and Lacey knew he’d heard the last exchange.
Dr. Campbell nodded at Jack’s bandaged right hand. “How’s it coming?”
“It’s doing good. Grafts are coming along.” Jack ran a hand over his buzzed head. “Hair’s nearly grown out past army length.”
His hair had also burned. He’d shaved his head, making Lacey feel like she was dating Vin Diesel. She missed his thick black hair.
Lacey also wore her hair short, just below her ears. Several inches had burned in the flames, and her hairdresser had chopped off even more to give it a bouncy, perky look that framed Lacey’s face. She’d never had short hair.
She hated it.
Her father grinned, gave Jack an affectionate slap and squeeze on the shoulder, hugged Lacey again, said his good-byes, and left.
Jack pulled Lacey into him, holding her tight as she rested her head on his heart. She listened to the comforting thumps. “I heard Kelly leave.”
Lacey said nothing.
“Were you right about Jessica?”
She nodded against his chest.
“What’s in the box? Why does your dad need it back tomorrow?”
She’d wanted to open it alone. But they’d made a commitment to face problems together. Since the fire, only during his surgeries had Jack been away from her side. He’d insisted Michael or her dad stay with her at those times. Twice he’d come out of anesthesia with his fists swinging and her name ripping from his lips. Half-conscious, he’d been inconsolable until he’d heard her voice, touched her face.
Lacey no longer worried about his playboy past or his commitment to a relationship with her. Any other man would have raced away in the aftermath; Jack had stayed, been her rock. He’d told her he wanted to be with her. He’d repeated it a dozen times in the days after the fire, clenching her hands like he might be asking too late, like she might turn him down.
Lacey had understood. She should be dead, but life had given them a second chance and neither of them would waste it. He’d moved into her home and clutched her close every night in their bed.
She loved him.
She picked up the box and Jack followed her into the kitchen. “It’ll help with my nightmares.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders jerk. He’d had a front-row seat to her restless and thrashing dreams. Mentally they both knew the danger was gone, but emotional shadows flitted around the two of them. Shadows of stress and strain, remnants from a night of horror. She set the box on the island and rested her hands on its top.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Jack ran a hand over his short hair. “I’m trying to help you with the nightmares.”
She gave him a smile, meeting his worried eyes. He so badly wanted to heal her, give her peace, and mend every sad part of her. “You do help. I love waking to find your arms around me at all hours of the night.” She knew it helped him too.
Lacey frowned at the box. “This is for closure.”
She opened the top of the box and reached in, pulling out a rounded shape wrapped in white towels. Slowly she peeled back the towels and heard Jack catch his breath. “Jesus, Lace.”
Lacey eyed the sanitized skull. Two round holes punctured the forehead, an inch and a half apart. A large section of the back of the skull was missing, destroyed by the powerful exit of the bullets. The mandible was also missing, but she didn’t need that part. She looked at the front top teeth. Taking a deep breath she touched a finger to the tiny lateral incisors, the ones that looked like small fangs. She rapidly rewrapped the skull, set it in the box, and closed the top with quivering hands. She exhaled, feeling the shadows lighten, the tears threaten.
Bobby DeCosta wasn’t coming back.
His arms shaking a little, Jack pulled her tight to his chest and pressed his mouth against her hair. “God, I love you. You know that, right? Right?”
Nodding, she closed her eyes, inhaled his scent, and relaxed, feeling his heat warm her to her toes. No one could take her away from him again.
“I love you too,” she whispered.
Some authors say it takes a team to create a book. I’m going to revise that statement: it takes a cheerleading team to create a book. The life of a writer is a series of ups and downs, wins and losses. Every writer needs precious people to believe in them and guide them through the downs and celebrate during the ups. These are my people: My agent, Jennifer Schober, who never gave up on me. My editor Lindsay Guzzardo, who loved my books and my writing enough to get them into readers’ hands. My editor Charlotte Herscher, who fine-tuned my books into something fabulous. Head cheerleader Elisabeth Naughton, who taught me to Believe. My biggest thank you goes to my husband, Dan, who pushed his way into my life during a very black time and taught me to laugh, love, and never give up.
Photograph ? Yuen Lui, 2010
Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, Kendra Elliot has always been a voracious reader, cutting her teeth on classic female sleuths and heroines like Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls before proceeding to devour the works of Stephen King, Diana Gabaldon, and Nora Roberts. She graduated with a degree in journalism but went on to become a licensed dental hygienist. Now a Golden Heart, Daphne du Maurier, and Linda Howard Award of Excellence finalist, Elliot shares her love of suspense in her first novel, Hidden. She still lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and three daughters. Visit Kendra at KendraElliot.com.