“Shirl and Ivy were worried about you.”
She knew he’d been worried about her and didn’t want to admit it.
She didn’t tell him everything. She left out the part about Junior attacking her, and the part about her dreaming up an eyeball, and the part where Ken Doll interrogated her.
Ernie’s face hardened more with each of her words. The softer, sweeter Ernie disappeared. Freddy Krueger Ernie returned.
“What the fuck are you thinking? Going home with a guy you just met.”
Technically, Ernie had a point. But Lathan had never felt like a stranger. “He was nice. Kind. Took care of me when I was sick.” She missed Lathan. She pictured him—his freckles, his tattoo, looking at her in that way only he did.
“He don’t own a phone?” Ernie’s volume had risen back to normal.
“I was sick. I forgot. I’m sorry. Really sorry. It will never happen again. I swear.”
He stared at her face, and she could tell he was ascertaining whether she was telling the truth. “You still want your job?”
“I do.”
“You’re on second shift from now on.” In the world of Sweet Buns, that was a demotion. Second shift was not only a sucky time of day to work, but the supper truckers were the creepiest of the creepers. “Get in there and relieve Ivy. She’s been on her feet ten hours. You find a way to make that up to her.”
“Thanks, Ernie.”
“Evan.” The anger in his voice was gone. He turned and walked inside. Over his shoulder he said, “If you’re in trouble, call me. Don’t go with a stranger.”
“I don’t own a phone,” she whispered to his retreating back.
*
Evanee walked out the back door of Sweet Buns. Even though it was midnight, the rumbling semis continued to beat a cadence that picked at her nerves. Another annoyance among the multitude of things she couldn’t control, couldn’t act on, or couldn’t let herself think about—yet.
She did her owl impression, craning her neck in all directions to make sure no one was lurking around, and then jogged across the parking lot to Morty’s. No way was she going to allow Junior to ambush her. Being back on his radar put him back on hers.
She unlocked and opened their room door. Like normal, it slammed against the wall.
Apricot light from the parking lot illuminated Brit asleep in her bed.
“Sorry, Brit,” Evanee whispered and shut the door. Blackness closed around her. Their room was never dark. “Brit? Are you okay?” Her heart twitched like a rabbit’s nose searching for the scent of a predator, finding it just as the hawk’s talons pierced its flesh.
“She won’t bother us.” Junior’s voice came from right next to her.
Evanee’s breath hitched in her throat. An odd hiccupping noise squeaked from her mouth. She careened forward into the room, away from Junior.
“Whajadoter.” The words fell out of her mouth too fast to make sense. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Her?”
No answer.
She spoke around her gritted teeth. “What did you do to her?”
No sound, except for the semis outside.
“Answer me!” she shouted. But he didn’t answer. His silence an answer all its own. “Did you kill her?” She gagged on the question, already knowing the answer.
He’d killed Brittany.
Poor Brittany. All she ever wanted was the same thing Evanee did. To get ahead enough to leave Sundew, to move somewhere new where she didn’t have to live like a roach, where she didn’t have a past, where she’d be anonymous. “Why? She never did anything to you.”
“She was your friend.” His tone was flat, emotionless.
He had killed Brittany because they were friends. Maybe Evanee should feel guilty about that, but the only emotion she had was anger. He wouldn’t get away with it. She wouldn’t let him.
Step One: Draw him away from the door.
Step Two: Escape.
Step Three: Talk to the police, but they’d just sweep everything under the rug. Maybe the media would be the better option. No matter what, she’d get justice for Brit. Only after justice had been handed to Junior would she allow herself to break down and feel guilty for causing Junior to take Brit’s life—because in the end, it was her fault.
“I’m calling the police.” She hoped her threat would draw him away from the door. She lunged across the dark room, her arms in front of her, blindly searching for the phone that always sat on the nightstand between their beds.
Her knee cracked into the stand. She pitched forward, smacked the lamp. It clattered to the side, then fell to the floor. She swept her fingers over the nightstand.
Nothing was there.
Nothing.
Ice slid down her spine. He’d taken it. Of course, he had.
Sch. Sch. Sch. Fabric rustling. Right behind her. Junior’s breath chuffed moist and hot against the back of her neck. It reminded her of a lion licking the gazelle before ripping its throat out.
At least he wasn’t guarding the door anymore. Time for Step Two.
His arms closed around her, fastening her hands to her sides. She startled, but didn’t fight him. A better opportunity would present itself. She just had to find it. And not let herself get scared.
Concentrate. Think. Don’t let fear dictate your fate. Shut down your emotions—for now. There’d be plenty of time to freak after she got away from him.
He shifted so his mouth was at her ear. “I owe you an explanation.” He spoke softly, almost whispering. “For everything.”
For everything. Uh-huh. Like an explanation could magically take away all the years of pain and hurt and perversion. She curled her lips inward and bit down to keep from smart-assing back at him.
“You saw the picture in my box. But I don’t think you understand.”
“It was Mom and Rob’s wedding photo. What more is there to understand?” Her tone was too high.
“Darlin’, you should talk to your mom before it’s too late. She can explain better than I can. All I know is she owed a debt, not of money, but of life to my dad. She paid that debt by marrying him and giving you to me.”