Good luck, buddy.
“Oh, honey, you don’t want to know.” Her gaze sized him up in a quick up-and-down glance. “Straight and narrow agrees with you, Caleb. I’d hate to have to mess it up.” She raised her hand as if to pat his cheek, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him.
Sadly, that didn’t help any. It was still a connection. His fingertips wrapped around her narrow wrist. Her skin was smooth and cool, the pulse slowly bumping into him, a steady thrum-thrum-thrum. He wanted to draw his thumb against it. He wanted to do a million things with his hands.
Things he wouldn’t do to Delia. Not ever. Maybe he was bad blood, but he didn’t prey on weak women, even when they were so convinced they were strong.
“You’re too skinny,” he bit out, dropping her wrist, willing the feel of her out of his memory as soon as possible.
She barked out a laugh, her arm falling to her side, fingers curling into a fist. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Do you have any supplies?”
“I’ll get by just fine.” She unclenched her fist, tried to brush the too-long bangs out of her eyes. “I always do.”
Not always, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to relive that night any more than she probably did, and if he acknowledged it aloud, they’d both have to face it.
“You have a week,” he said instead, trying to exert some form of control.
“Aw, that’s cute, trying to tell me what to do. I have as long as I’d like. Just go about your life, being Mr. Upstanding Citizen, and keep that girl away from me. End of story.”
He wished like hell it would be that easy, but he knew, even as he turned and grabbed his gun and left, it wouldn’t be. He’d be back soon enough.
*
Delia blinked at the door. Caleb’s hasty departure had been… She tried to analyze it. She thought she’d have to fight at least a little more to convince him to leave her alone.
She had to ignore the disappointment over that not being the case. She needed to be glad he was gone, glad he was going to leave her be. If nothing else, the way he’d held her wrist should send her packing.
Gentle. Gentle would kill her at this point. Still, she had nowhere else to go. Not until she figured out how to get around her current predicament. No one would find her unless Caleb snitched, and she’d ruin him before she let that happen.
She stared at the curtain hanging limply over the window. It looked like there’d been a pattern once, but the sun and age had faded it away. The hem was fraying, but the windows were so dirty, the protection against the sunlight was barely needed.
This place reminded her all too much of home, dark and grimy and old. It reminded her that Steph was still there, only sixteen and under Dad’s thumb. Hiding and cowering in the dark and dust and grime and abuse. Would Mom be more protective of her since she was the only one left? Or would it be worse, because his obsession with having a son had never materialized and he thought Steph was a glaring reminder?
Delia swung away from the window. She had to go about figuring out how to keep herself alive here. She had no food left, no means of making a fire, and Montana in March didn’t offer much hope for warm weather.
Once it got dark, she could probably sneak down closer to the Shaw house and steal some wood. She’d never been up to the main house, but there had to be a woodpile somewhere outside. And maybe she’d have to put her old Dumpster diving techniques to use.
She’d promised herself she’d never be there again, but what business did she have making any promises to herself—a poor girl with a bad reputation and a dangerous father? There was no promise she’d yet to keep for more than a handful of years.
Except getting her sisters out. She had to get Steph out and then…then maybe there were promises to be made. But before she could rescue Steph, she had to have a plan and she had to be alive.
She had one blanket in her pack. One change of clothes. A tube of lipstick. A pack of gum. A dead flashlight. Two dollars and a handful of pennies. It was all she’d managed to grab while the cops pounded at the door. The only thing that had been in her bag prior to that was a lowly condom.
She’d kept it as a good luck charm. She should have known good luck and sex didn’t mix.
A wave of exhaustion and defeat almost knocked her off her feet.
How had it gotten this bad?
Eddie. The bastard. He’d had her fooled. She thought she was using some dumb moron for a warm bed and some food on the table while she used every paycheck to get Billie to Seattle.
Instead, she’d been the one being used as the damned scapegoat when their idiotic drug ring got busted up. He’d been smart enough to fool her, but not smart enough to keep his ass out of trouble.