“I don’t want to upset you. God knows I don’t want to add to your stress. I’d just like you to think about... to consider that it’s time to really let those who care about you step in.”
“Okay, tell me what you think I should do.”
“I’ll tell you what I wish you could do. I wish you could pack up and go to Fiji until they catch this maniac. And I know you can’t. Not just because it’s not in your makeup, but because you have your home, your business, your bills, your life to deal with.”
“Yes, I do. It’s maddening, Syl, because I feel like people don’t really understand that. If I crawled in some cave, I could lose my business, my home, not to mention my self-confidence. I worked hard to build all of those.”
“In my opinion, honey, people do understand that, but they wish you could dig into that cave. I think you’re doing what you can, what you have to do—except asking and allowing others to genuinely help. It’s more than having James watch your house and dogs while you take a little trip, or letting Simon share your bed at night. It’s opening up to someone, Fiona, fully. It’s trusting enough to do that.”
“God.” Fiona huffed out a breath. “I’ve practically thrown myself at Simon’s feet.”
Sylvia smiled a little. “Have you?”
“I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. I didn’t get quid pro quo out of that.”
“Is that what you were after?”
“No.” Irritated with herself and everything else, she shoved to her feet. “No. But he’s not exactly the sort who tells you what’s on his mind—unless he’s mad. And even then...”
“I’m not talking about him, or to him. If I were, I’d probably have quite a bit to say. But this is you, Fiona. It’s you I’m worried about, worried for. It’s you I want happy and safe.”
“I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you. And I won’t make a mistake like I did with the reporter again.” She turned back, lifted her hand, palm out. “Solemn oath.”
“I’m going to hold you to it. Now, tell me what you want from Simon. With Simon.”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or haven’t let yourself dig down and think about?”
“Both. If things were just normal—if all of this wasn’t hovering around the edges of my life—maybe I would dig down. Or maybe there wouldn’t be anything to dig for in the first place.”
“Because what’s hovering is why you and Simon are where you are now?”
“It’s certainly influenced it. The timing, the intensity.”
“I’m full of opinions today,” Sylvia decided. “So here’s one more. I think you’re giving a murderer too much credit, and yourself and Simon not enough. The fact is, Fee, things are what they are, and you and Simon are where you are. That’s something to be dealt with.”
She lifted her brows when the dogs went on alert. “And I bet that’s what you have to deal with coming over your bridge. I’m going to go so you can.” Sylvia rose, gathered Fiona in a fierce hug. “I love you, so much.”
“I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Then don’t try. And think of this,” she murmured. “He left mad, but he came back.”
She kissed Fiona’s cheek, then picked up her enormous straw bag. She called Oreo as she strolled toward Simon’s truck. Fiona couldn’t hear what Sylvia said to him, but noticed he glanced toward the porch as her stepmother spoke.
Then shrugged.
Typical.
She stood her ground, though she wasn’t quite sure where the ground lay, as Sylvia drove away. “If you’re here due to obligation, I’ll relieve you of it. I can ask James to stay here tonight, or go bunk at Mai’s.”
“Obligation for what?”
“Because I’m in trouble, which I freely admit. I know you’re mad, and I’m telling you you’re not obliged. I won’t stay here alone.”
He said nothing for a moment. “I want a beer.” He walked up the steps and into the house.
“Well, for—” She strode in after him. “Is that how you solve problems? Is that your method?”
“It depends on the problem. I want a beer,” he repeated, and pulled one out of the fridge, opened it. “I have a beer. Problem solved.”
“I’m not talking about the damn beer.”
“Okay.” He moved past her and out to the back porch.
She caught the screen on the back swing, slammed it behind her. “Don’t just walk away from me.”
“If you’re going to bitch, I’m going to sit down and drink my beer.”
“If I’m going to—You left here this morning pissed off and bossy. Interrupting me every five seconds. Telling me to shut up.”
“I’m about to repeat that.”
“What gives you the right to tell me what to do, what to think, what to say?”
“Not a thing.” He tipped the beer in her direction. “And right back at you, Fiona.”
“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m giving you a choice, and I’m telling you I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”
His gaze fired to hers, molten gold sheathed in ice. “I’m not one of your dogs. You won’t train me.”
Her jaw dropped in sincere shock. “I’m not trying to train you. For God’s sake.”
“Yeah, you are. Second nature for you, I guess. Too bad, because I’d say it’s a pretty sure bet I have a lot of behaviors you’d like to change. That’s on you. If you’d rather James stay here tonight, give him a call. I’ll take off when he gets here.”
“I don’t know why we’re fighting.” She pushed her hands through her hair, leaned back on the rail. “I don’t even know. I don’t know why I’m suddenly considered someone who’s closed in or blocked off or too stubborn or stupid to ask for help. I’m not. I’m not any of that.”
He took a long pull as he studied her. “You got yourself out of the trunk.”
“What?”
“You got yourself out. Nobody helped you. There wasn’t anybody to help you. Live or die, it was up to you. It must’ve been a hell of a thing. I can’t imagine it. I’ve tried. I can’t. Do you want to stay in the trunk?”
Tears stung behind her eyes, infuriatingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You can keep getting out on your own. My money’s on you there. Or you can let somebody give you a hand with it, and get it through your head that it doesn’t make you incapable, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known some strong women. So figure it out, and let me know.”
She turned away, pressing a hand to her chest as it ached. “I got myself into the trunk, too.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“How do you know? You weren’t there. I was stupid and careless, and I let him take me.”
“Jesus Christ. He killed twelve women before you. Do you think they were all stupid, careless? That they let him take them?”
“I—no. Yes.” She turned back. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I know I made a mistake that day. Just a little one, just a few seconds, and it changed everything. Everything.”
“You lived. Greg Norwood died.”
“I know that it wasn’t my fault. I had therapy. I know Perry’s responsible. I know.”
“Knowing isn’t always believing.”
“I believe it. Most of the time. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t pull the chains of that with me.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but they’re rattling now.”
She hated, hated that he was right. “I built a life here, and I’m happy. There wouldn’t be this... I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t happening again. How can it be happening again?” she demanded. “How in God’s name can this happen again?”
She drew a shuddering breath. “Do you need me to say I’m scared? I told you I was. I am. I’m terrified. Is that what you want me to say?”
“No. And if I get the chance, he’ll pay for making you say it, for making you feel it.”
He watched as she swiped a single tear from her cheek. He’d pay for that, too, Simon thought. For that one drop of grief.
And that one drop doused the last sparks of the anger he’d hauled around with him all day.