“Good enough.”
She walked along the pathway that led back to her apartment. The night was hot, and she felt sweaty and weary. But as she mounted the two steps to her door, she felt a chill between her shoulder blades, as if hard eyes were staring at her. She whipped around, but there was nothing there. Not even a breath of wind pushing the branches of the trees at the edge of the small yard. Quickly, she let herself inside and closed and locked the door, drawing the chain. She stood for a moment in the silence, then because her stomach was starting to get fluttery again, grabbed some soda crackers from her cupboard and munched them down, then stripped off her clothes, dragged on her pajamas, and fell into bed, exhausted.
*
Erin Higgins was alive and at the Prairie Creek Hospital!
His heart pounded hard and fast, painful. Erin Higgins. That bitch. That sneaking whore. It was because of her that he’d lost Rachel. He’d had to hit her hard, over and over again, with the butt of his rifle once he’d gotten her off him that night. And then he’d jumped in his truck and driven down the dirt lane, enraged at Erin. She couldn’t run away. She couldn’t! She could identify him. Rachel had ripped his mask off, and Erin might have been gone by then, but she’d seen enough of him to know. He had to catch her, fuck her, kill her . . .
But she hadn’t been on the lane. She’d gone into the woods, and he’d searched but never found her. By morning, he’d had to go back and bury Rachel. If for some reason Erin made it through the forest, he had to cover up.
But she didn’t make it through. Weeks went by, and there was no sign of her. He’d started to feel less panicked. She’d probably died out there. And then he’d found Courtney . . .
Katrina Starr and Ruth McFerron . . . they’d found her. And Shiloh was asking too many questions too. Those three!
His hands fisted in fury, and he had to fight to relax them. He was at The Dog, having a beer, and everyone was abuzz at the news. Hank Eames had taken a fall and was at the hospital and overheard, though they’d been trying to keep it quiet. “They think whoever took ’er’s going to come after her,” Eames said loudly. “That Ruthie thinks we’re all guilty!”
He’d learned as much as he could, his pulse racing, and then had headed out. He’d driven by Ruth’s place, but the bitch had been with Ethan Starr, so he went instead to Katrina’s, watching from the pines along the back fence, staring at her hard, until she suddenly turned back and stared right back in his direction.
You can’t see me, whore. But I see you.
He’d watched her lights go out, one by one, then had cruised by her door.
Feel me, bitch?
His boner was damn near painful in his jeans. Addie . . . he thought, wishing she would give him something. Anything.
But it didn’t matter. He would take her, but his mind would be on Shiloh, and Ruth, and Katrina Starr . . .
*
Kat slept hard, though she had to get up to relieve herself several times—another aspect to pregnancy she’d have to get used to, as she’d always been proud of her steel bladder. Still, it felt like she’d barely been asleep when there was a loud pounding on her door. Rolling onto her back, she groaned, staring up at the ceiling. Seizing a pillow, she pulled it over her head, covering her ears. It was way too early to rise.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Growling under her breath, she tossed off the pillow and stalked in her pajamas to her door, peering out cautiously. She made a strangled sound in her throat, then threw it wide.
Blair Kincaid stood on her small porch, in jeans, boots, and his Stetson.
And in one hand was the same kind of gold envelope that had been given to Shiloh and Ruth . . .
*
Blair took in Kat’s tousled hair, the satiny green pajama top and matching knee-length pants, the dark circles under her eyes, and the cautious, almost resentful, way she looked at him. It was six-thirty AM and he knew it was early, but he’d tried reaching her the night before to no avail.
Her eyes were focused on the envelope. “Where’d you get that?” she asked sharply.
He looked down at it. “It was sitting on top of your mailbox with just your name on it. I saw it as I went by.”
One hand reached for the lapels of her pajama top and held them tight. He smiled at the gesture, noticing her slim legs and small feet. Her toenails were a soft pink.
But her gaze was still glued to the envelope. She reached a hand for it, holding it so gingerly, he asked, “What is it?”
Instead of answering, she responded with, “Why are you here?”
“Well, you’ve been avoiding me, and we need to get past that. You’re pregnant. I’m the father. We gotta make some plans and—”
“Shhh.” She grabbed his arm with her free hand and yanked him inside. Her lapels parted, and the mounds of her breasts peeked over her pajama top. “Hold your voice down. This was on the top of my mailbox?”
“Yep. I take it you haven’t told your father yet.”
“It wasn’t there last night. Did you see anyone?” she asked as she shut and latched the door, drawing a chain across it.
He shook his head, mystified. “What the hell is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Kat.”
She shook her head.
“Well, open it up,” he said. He wanted to put the issue of whatever was in the envelope to rest and get back on topic.
“I’d rather not.”
He lifted his hands in disgust. “Then let’s talk about the baby. Our baby.”
“I’m too busy to get into this now.”
“I know what you think of me,” he went on, ignoring her. “And okay, I probably deserve it. I’ve been—unreliable—and making this baby probably adds to that. But it’s time we addressed this issue. What are your plans? I mean, really Kat, what are they?”
“I don’t have any plans. I’m working on a case.”
“Give me a straight answer. This is my baby too. Are you keeping it?”
“Of course I’m keeping it!”
“That’s not what you said.”
She pulled herself up short. “I know. I didn’t mean it. I just . . . I don’t owe you an explanation.” She stalked toward the tiny kitchen and set the envelope on the table, then stared for a moment at the coffeemaker, before pulling out a bag of coffee grounds and a filter and filling up the carafe with water. “I’m going to make coffee,” she said unnecessarily, “and then I’m getting ready for work.”
“I heard about Erin Higgins.”
She whipped around in surprise. “How?”
“It was all over The Dog last night. Bryce had a lot to say.”
“Oh God. Bryce . . .” She shook her head as if clearing cobwebs.
“He seemed kind of pissed off. But it’s good that she turned up after all this time.”
“He knew she was alive.”
“He did?”
She nodded, then peered up at him quizzically. “How much do you know about Erin?”
“Just that she’s been missing, and she had an accident yesterday, and that’s when it was discovered who she was.”
“She came forward to Ruth and me in Wheeler City yesterday. I was there when she drove in front of the truck.”