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I glare, not appreciating how he’s manipulated the moment to become the offended party. He’s the one stepping on my toes. Not the other way around.
“Yeah.” I sigh and grab my coat from the rack. “I’m coming.”
We travel in silence. Hunter broods, while I plot.
I don’t want anyone else affected by my actions. No one but Jacob. Which means I can’t make a scene.
I need to focus on finding his car. That way, I can track him to his house, where the possibilities will be endless. I’ll have more time to scheme. I’ll have i
I’ll get my chance to make him suffer. To make him pay for stealing my family from me. For hurting them. Torturing them with flames and agony.
I dig my fingernails into my palm to distract myself.
I can’t go back there. Not today.
Guilt tries to haunt me with each approaching mile toward Dan’s final resting place. But I don’t let that penetrate either.
It’s time to step up to the plate with my A-game.
We approach the open black gates of the cemetery ahead of time, and I point to the side of the road. “Can you pull over here, please?”
“Outside?”
“Yeah. Just for now.”
He veers to the curb and turns off the car, the silence growing thicker. He taps the steering wheel, winds down his window, and turns the radio on, then off again.
“Have you got something you want to say?” I ask.
He puts his arm out the window and drums his fingers against the door. “You know you can talk to me, right?” he mutters.
I sit forward in my seat as the hearse comes into view at the end of the road. “About what?”
“About anything.”
Dan passes in front of us, the black coffin in full view. I swallow, my heart trembling. This is the first funeral I’ve been to since my family died. And the first where I’ve been the cause of the festivities.
I scan the passengers in the vehicle procession, searching for a familiar face.
“Did you hear me?” Hunter growls.
“Yeah. I heard you. But you’re pushing too hard, too fast.” In other words, I’m falling, too far, too soon. “You need to back off.”
His response comes in the form of a white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel.
“Look… I don’t do this.” I wave a hand between us. “Ever. Not relationships. Not sleepovers. I’m used to being alone.”
His jaw ticks. “I’m not familiar with fairytales either, princess. I’m trying my best here.”
My lips curve at the description—a fairytale. If only. “Give me time, okay?”
He scoffs. “Yeah. All we need is time.” He starts the push-button ignition and puts the car in drive. “Do you want me to follow?”
“Yeah… Thanks.”
We pull in behind the last car and weave along the narrow, curving road through the cemetery. My pulse increases the farther we go, until we stop behind a mass of parked cars.
Mourners walk across the grass, the crowd milling around a grave in the distance. I can’t distinguish faces from here. There are too many.
“I’m going to make my way to the burial site.”
Hunter glares through the windshield as I open my door and slide out. He’s angry with me, and I understand the frustration. But I can’t let it get between me and Jacob.
“Wait,” he grates. “Are you sure you’re happy to go on your own?”
I should crack a joke. I want to. I’ve done everything on my own for so long that his question is comical. “I’m good.” If only his concern didn’t leave me thirsty for more. “Thanks for caring.”
His nostrils flare, those fingers still gripping tight. I shake off the excess guilt, tug my handbag higher along my shoulder, and pull my sunglasses down to partially cover my face. “I’ll be back soon.”
I close the door and keep my head tipped toward the ground. I don’t raise my gaze until I’ve inched my way into the outer ring of the intimate crowd.
Large framed pictures of a dead man are placed on the other side of Dan’s coffin, which is poised above the hole in the ground. They stare, smiling, mocking, unsettling me. Two rows of seated guests whimper softly, the senator seated on the end, his head high, his face impassive.
The reality of my crime hits me, the blow landing heavy against my chest. I created this pain. I’m the cause of the heartache experienced by each and every one of these guests.
I let out a long breath and close my eyes. I’ll pay for my sins soon enough. I know I will. Until then, I can only hope to drag another deserving criminal down with me.
I dance my gaze over the mourners as the priest begins the burial service. I pass over the sniffling women who dab their eyes and the array of men who barely show an ounce of emotion.
Kind words are spoken about an honorless man, lies are shared, and here I stand, searching for hope with none in sight.
I can’t see Jacob. Not even anyone vaguely familiar to the teenager who has since grown into the man in the picture with Dan. I lean to the left to see hidden faces, then again to the right.
He’s not here.
But he has to be. I can feel him through the building tension in my bones, my stomach, my heart. This moment is going to be the culmination of everything I’ve worked for. The years of searching and plotting. The nights of tears and torment.
He has to be here.
He has to be.
I inch forward to gain a better view of the people closest to me and scan the outer row of mourners. I swoop my gaze in a swaying arc, back and forth, until my attention latches onto a familiar profile to my left.
My heart stops.
I freeze.
But it’s not Jacob. It’s the Good Samaritan from yesterday. The one who helped me on the highway. His head is bowed, not in grief, but in conversation. He’s talking to a GQ model-type on the far side of him, their lips moving in lazy chatter.
I pretend to focus straight ahead and watch from my peripheral vision.
The crowd becomes restless. The sobs and sniffles grow. Then I hear the mechanical whir of the coffin being lowered, and people break into category-three mourning.
The Samaritan and the hottie straighten, doing a half-hearted job of paying attention. They’re definitely not close to the deceased. So, why are they here? Business, maybe? Are these the type of men Hunter warned me about?
I inch back. One step… Pause… Two.
The Samaritan’s gaze lazily swings in my direction, then makes a direct hit.
I stiffen, and so does he. His lips part and his eyes widen, and I’m okay with the shock, because I feel it, too. But then he glances away, the action quick and panicked.
Why is he panicked?
A sudden case of vertigo hits, my world tilting. Is he a cop? A detective?
I rush to scour the mourning faces again, this time with more scrutiny. Am I being watched?
I place a protective palm over my handbag.
Oh, fuckity fuck. I’m in big trouble. Even bigger trouble than normal, seeing as though I have a handbag filled with premeditated craziness.
I glance over my shoulder to Hunter. He’s getting out of the car, his gaze still on me as he shuts the door.
He knows. He can tell something is wrong. I’m not being paranoid anymore.
I take another step back, and the suspicious stranger turns away from me, as if trying to hide. Or at least pretending I don’t exist.
It’s too damn late for that, buddy.
I know he’s up to something. I just don’t know what that something is.
Mourners murmur amongst themselves, while others hug or stroll to their car.