“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
13
ROAN
The unfamiliar vehicle had tripped some alarms as I drove down Huckleberry Lane. Nothing about it was right. The fact that it was a rental. The time of day.
I’d turned up Aspen’s drive on instinct, and what I’d found had me seeing red. She was backed against the fence, fucking trembling. These two assholes had her cornered, and I was about to rip them limb from limb.
The tall, lanky one whirled around, his eyes widening as I rested my hand on my gun. “We just had some questions. That’s all.”
“About what?” I growled.
The shorter, stockier one with black hair glanced my way. “Don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Aspen’s my business.” The words were pure instinct, through and through. “And the fact that you’ve got a woman alone and cornered, and I’m law enforcement, tells me it’s my business.”
The stocky one scoffed. “Aspen isn’t even her real name.”
I didn’t react. I was a master at holding back emotion. But doing it now cost me. “Identification,” I barked.
“No,” he shot back.
“Steven,” the lanky one warned, his voice low as he pulled out his wallet and handed me a driver’s license.
“He doesn’t have the right,” good ole Steven clipped.
“You’re trespassing. I could arrest you both.” I glanced at Aspen, who was unnaturally pale. “You want me to?”
She shook her head. “I just want them gone.”
There was no life in her voice, no fire. That simple fact made me want to kill them both and hide the bodies somewhere no one would find them. “Identification or I arrest you,” I growled at Steven as I took a picture of Tyson’s ID.
Steven muttered something indiscernible under his breath and yanked out his wallet. He shoved his driver’s license in my direction. I took a picture quickly and handed it back.
“Leave. And if you have any contact with Ms. Barlow again, I’ll be taking you in.”
Steven cursed and stalked toward his van but cast a glance over his shoulder. “This story is coming out with or without you.”
“Shut up,” Tyson said, hurrying after him.
I didn’t move until the creeps were out of sight. The second they were, I prowled toward Aspen. She was still trembling, her hand curved around something. My fingers curled around her fist, gently opening it to find a Taser.
I tried to take it from her, but she held tight. I squeezed her hand. “You’re safe now. You can give this to me. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“The safety’s on,” she mumbled.
I surveyed her eyes. They were glassy and unfocused. “You don’t need it right now. I’ve got my weapon.”
Aspen swallowed, her gaze still not taking me in. “I can’t let go.”
I dipped down so we could see each other, eye to eye. “Trust me to keep you safe?”
It was a tall order. A vote of confidence I sure as hell didn’t deserve. But I asked for it anyway.
Something about my words brought Aspen’s gaze back into focus. It was as if she saw me for the first time. Her green eyes searched mine, and then her grip released a fraction.
I quickly took the Taser, double-checking the safety and shoving it into my jacket pocket. “Come on.”
I guided Aspen toward the house. She went too willingly. There were no sharp, snappy comments, no digging in her heels. She simply let me push her toward the porch with a hand on her back.
We climbed the stairs, and Aspen robotically took out her keys. But when she went to unlock the door, her hand trembled too badly.
I gently took the key ring from her and went to work on the locks. All three of them. Three avenues of defense when Aspen had only stepped out to do morning chores.
I held the door open. She moved inside, making a beeline for the couch and sinking onto it. Chauncey hobbled over and laid his head on her lap. She stroked his face and neck, rubbing behind his ears.
She was too quiet. I hated everything about it. Aspen was loud: in what she wore, in her laugh, in the life that seeped from her pores. She was anything but this.
I sat on the other side of the couch, turning to face her. I didn’t say anything, simply waited.
Aspen stared down at the dog as she petted his head in long, even strokes. “My name wasn’t always Aspen Barlow.”
I worked hard to keep my expression blank.
“Five years ago, I was Tara Monroe.”
Something about that name tickled the back of my brain, but I couldn’t place it. Then, all of a sudden, it clicked into place. “Your brother-in-law was convicted of murdering your sister. Attacking you.”
The whole situation had been a media firestorm. John Carrington had claimed he’d come home from a business dinner to find his wife murdered. Said he’d grabbed a knife and reacted when he heard someone enter the house. He’d stabbed his sister-in-law by mistake—so he said.
He’d cut Aspen.
The words circled my brain as I struggled for breath. “He hurt you.”
Aspen’s gaze jerked up at my growled tone. She swallowed hard as she took in the fire in my eyes. “I made it out.”
“Barely,” I gritted out.
Her hand trembled again, and I wanted to kick myself. “A neighbor heard me scream. He stopped the bleeding. The whole time, John cried it was some horrible mistake. That he thought I was someone who’d broken into his home. Who’d killed his wife.”
“But it wasn’t a mistake.”
Aspen shook her head, a tear slipping free. “Autumn was leaving him. He’d become controlling. Emotionally abusive. She wasn’t allowed to go anywhere he didn’t approve beforehand.”
My fingers dug into the couch cushions as I tried to keep myself rooted in place.
“I was there to pick her up. She was coming to live with me. Taking her daughter.”
More of the pieces fell into place. “Cady.”
“Her name was Lucy back then. I got custody after John went to prison.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly.
More tears fell. “Me, too. So damn sorry I didn’t get her out sooner. That I wasn’t fifteen minutes earlier.”
I moved on instinct. Couldn’t stop myself. My hand covered Aspen’s, my large palm dwarfing hers. “This could never be your fault.”
“I know.” Her words were a harsh whisper. “That doesn’t mean I don’t hate myself every single day.”
The urge to pull her into my arms was so strong I had to beat it back with everything I had. “I don’t think your sister would want that.”
A tremulous smile spread across Aspen’s face. “She wouldn’t. She was such a good sister.”
An ache took root in my chest, digging in deep. “I’m sorry you lost her. I’m glad that fucker’s in prison.”
Something passed over Aspen’s face. Something that had unease sliding through me.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Not everyone believes he belongs there.”
I remembered that about the news coverage. Charming doctor. Good-looking. Rich. Involved in charity work. No one wanted to believe he would kill his wife in cold blood. Even with Aspen’s testimony, people thought she’d gotten it wrong. That trauma had confused her, or even that she was outright lying.