The Other Girl
Erica Spindler
For my guys,
For being the men you are.
And loving me for who I am.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to all of those who helped bring The Other Girl to life: my publisher, St. Martin’s Press, and editor, Jennifer Weis; my agent, Scott Miller; friend and assistant, Peg Campos; writing retreat gal pals Hailey North and Robin Wells; and for once again sharing his immense knowledge, Captain George Bonnett, St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office.
And most of all, thanks to my family, for the support and unending love.
PROLOGUE
June 2002
Jasper, Louisiana
Jasper, Louisiana, in July was as hot as hell and as close as a tick on a retriever. But school was out for the summer, and as far as Randi Rader was concerned, that made up for it—and pretty much everything else, too. As far as she was concerned, school was a total waste of time.
“I’m goin’ out!” she called from the double-wide’s open screen door. Not waiting for a response, she darted into the buggy night. She ducked out of sight between two trailers as her mother’s voice pierced the night.
“Damnation, girl, you get back here! Like, right now!”
Randi angled right, heading for the path that led to a shortcut to the main road. Her brothers had said they’d pick her up by the power station at eight sharp, warning her they wouldn’t wait. Her brothers, she knew, meant it. If she were one minute late, she’d have to find herself another ride.
She checked her watch. It was gonna be tight, and she picked up her pace. The spot came into view; a truck was waiting. But not her brother’s. A bright red, Ford F-150.
Only one truck like it in Jasper. Belonged to Billy Boman, a friend of her brothers. She sidled up to the driver’s side. He leaned his head out. “Hi’ya, sweet thing.”
“Hey, Billy-Bo,” she said, flashing him her best flirty smile. “What you doin’ here?”
“Waiting on you.”
“Me?”
“Your brothers told me to come pick you up.”
Figured. But she asked anyway. “Why didn’t they come?”
“You know Wes and Robby, they always got something going on. You gonna hop in, or what?”
Billy-Bo was irritating but harmless. She supposed the thing that turned her off about him was the way he sweated—a lot and all the time, no matter the weather.
She felt kind of sorry for him, ’cause he couldn’t help it. She’d heard a couple teachers talking about it; they said it was a glandular problem.
Randi had big brown eyes and she knew how to angle them, just so, to get a reaction out of a guy, and she practiced on Billy-Bo. “I don’t know if I should?”
“Aww, come on. I’ve got a cooler full of Dixie long necks. Maybe you want to party?”
“Sounds like a good time. Coming around, Billy.”
Randi climbed in and he handed her a beer. “Opener’s in the console,” he said, pulling onto the road, spitting up gravel as he did. She reached for the opener and saw that wasn’t the only thing stashed in there—he had a baggie of weed, not much but enough to get the both of them good and high.
This night was looking better and better. Randi popped the cap and took a long swallow; the ice-cold brew slid down her throat and she shivered.
“How you doin’ tonight?” she asked.
“Can’t complain. It’s Saturday night.”
“Hell yeah, it is.”
“How about some tunes?” he asked and turned on the radio.
Toby Keith’s new song roared through the speakers, and she sang along between swallows of beer.
Billy-Bo cut her an amused glance. “Robby told me you got into some trouble recently.”
She drained her first beer and reached for another, then popped off the cap. “Yeah, asshole cops caught me drinking and raised all kinds of hell.” She snorted. “Threatened to get me sent off to juvie.”
“That blows.”
“No shit. Mama’s all over me like white on rice. I’m under—” she made quotation marks with her fingers, spilling some beer on her shirt in the process “—house arrest.”
“So how’d you get out tonight?”
“Waited until Mama got in the bath. Besides, what’s she gonna do, call the cops on me? I don’t think so.”
“Suppose not.” He took a swallow of his beer. “Heard your daddy’s back in jail.”
She stiffened. Good ol’ boy “Pops” Rader had gone on another bender and gotten himself incarcerated. Again.
“Yeah,” she snapped. “What about it?”
“Not a thing, sugar. Just makin’ conversation.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about him or anything else that sucks.” She downed her second beer, stuck the empty in the cooler, and grabbed another.
He eyed her. “Maybe you want to slow down?”
“Hell, no!” She raised her arms and hooted. “I like to go fast!”
He laughed and depressed the accelerator; the truck surged forward. Away from Jasper. Away from the crappy double-wide on the wrong side of the tracks, her beaten-down mother, and all those folks who thought they knew everything.
Randi took another long draw on the beer. Far, far away … that’s where she wanted to go. Someplace nobody looked at her that way again. Like she was trash, a no-good girl from a no-good family and going nowhere damn fast.
California, she thought. Yes, ma’am, that’s where she’d go, the minute she got the chance.
Another one of her favorite songs came on and she cranked it up and began to sing, loudly and off-key. The miles passed and the brew worked its magic. Light-headed, she leaned her head against the seat back and gazed at the summer sky.
The music turned from rockin’ to mellow, and Billy-Bo pulled onto a side road and stopped the truck. He cut the engine, but left the radio on. The mood in the truck’s cab changed, and Randi figured she knew what was coming next.
She was right.
“Why’re you way over there?” He patted the seat beside him. “Come on over, sweet thing.”
Billy-Bo didn’t do a thing for her but she was drinking his beer and riding in his truck, so she supposed she owed him and a few kisses … maybe even a little tongue; it wouldn’t kill her.
Randi slid across the bench seat and he started in, straight up. Pressing her back into the seat, mouth open, tongue writhing. He didn’t taste too bad, she told herself, like a combination of Dixie and Juicy Fruit. She played along, acting like she was into it.
Until he stuck his hand under her shirt. At first she tried to be subtle, moving this way or that, letting him know without words she didn’t want that, but he didn’t get the message.
She grabbed his hand, and attempted move it. “Stop, Billy-Bo.”
“Aw, baby, don’t say that. You know you like it.”
“No, I—”
“Don’t be such a cocktease.”
When she tugged on his hand again, he shoved his other up the leg of her short-shorts, finding her panties.
She jerked. “No, stop! Don’t—”
“C’mon, Randi, you’ve been fucking since you were twelve.”