Protection.
It was my protection in case he ever came back. And if it’s not in the nightstand . . .
My hand fumbles with the drawer where the green velvet satchel lies so innocently. It is heavy in my hand, which is why I never questioned its contents the first time.
But after untying the cord, I discover it’s not the weight of the revolver inside. Instead, another heavy object has replaced it, what to the naked eye is a gun.
Except it’s a fake, weighted and designed to be a replica.
It’s a decent one, sure. But it’s not the gun that’s been in my possession since Jonathan moved out a decade ago.
The preposterous nature of this would typically make me laugh. I’d find it comical if it were any other situation and I was holding a toy gun.
But in this case I sink onto the edge of my bed, because it’s my safety that’s in jeopardy.
My mind drifts to Elle Laughlin.
Elizabeth Laughlin.
Who is she?
Ever since she knocked at my door, my life has been fraught with upheaval. My hands tremble as I hold the now-empty cloth sack in my hand. Elle has been a copilot in my vehicle, and she’s had access to the gun, and if she took it, it means she had a part in my robbery.
No, Char, you’re being crazy. She’s a teenager, not a felon.
At least not yet.
But the facts are there, as much as I want to ignore them. Elle is a loner going through a breakup and a pregnancy, and she’s in survival mode. I put myself in her shoes. Desperate for cash, maybe she needed to pawn my jewelry.
Unfortunately, this isn’t a weird coincidence or something I can write off as ironic. It was a male who assaulted me, but I can’t eliminate her as a suspect. She has to have had some type of involvement with it.
Trembling, I ask myself what else besides money she could want from me.
As I bow my head in my lap, my shoulders heave. I knew I never should’ve answered the door during that storm. I should’ve listened to my gut when it told me to feign indifference toward a stranger on my porch.
Because who can you trust?
No one.
A loud thud captures my attention through the open door of the master suite.
I pause at the sight of Noah’s outline.
He looks unkempt, his tie hanging loose around his neck and his untucked shirt sticking out of his pants. The rolling suitcase and briefcase, an extension of him, are near the hall closet. Wiping a hand over my eyes in disbelief, I quickly smooth a hand over my hair, wishing I had time to brush my teeth and put some makeup on.
“What’re you doing here?” I slide the sham gun underneath the comforter so it’s out of sight. I want to pinch myself; it’s almost too good to be true to see him.
Shaking his head, his jacket hanging limp over his arm, he says, “I can’t do this.”
My face goes slack. “What do you mean?”
CHAPTER 31
Elle
When I walk in the double doors to school, the final bell’s just rung, and, antsy, I wait near Justin’s locker until I feel someone clasp their bearlike hands over my eyes.
“Surprise.” I can smell the booze, Mountain Dew spiked with cheap vodka, on his breath, his go-to drink, since he can hide it in a twenty-ounce plastic bottle.
“Hi.” I shrug his hands off me. “What’s up?”
“Where were you last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“I stopped by Diane’s. Saw your note and talked to Sandra. Said you left with a police officer.” He tugs at my haphazard ponytail. “And you didn’t return any of my calls. Did something happen?”
“I didn’t know you called. I left you, like, four messages,” I say.
“You get arrested? Or did Diane do something crazy?”
“Worse.” I punch him in the arm. “You didn’t tell me you were going to see Charlotte last night.”
“Huh?”
“The plan you said . . .”
“No.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Justin.”
“I’m not.” He says flatly, “I want nothing to do with Charlotte, or you, for that matter.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s not my baby,” he whispers.
“What do you mean?”
“Rumor has it it’s not mine.” He slams his locker in my face.
“Who said that?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is you’ve been sleeping around.”
“Justin.” I reach a hand out to touch his shoulder. “You know me. You know I would never do that to you.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter now.”
“What about our baby?”
He shrugs. “Not my problem anymore.”
“Justin, you can’t mean that.”
“Look.” He runs a hand through his longish hair. “I gotta get to the skate park. I can’t talk about this anymore. I’m too pissed off. I’m gonna go blow off some steam.”
Just then, Courtney Kerr walks by, followed by her girl gang, the groupies dumb enough to stay one step behind so they’re always in her shadow. I heard it was a mandatory requirement for her clique.
Courtney’s stupid pierced nose glints with a diamond stud, probably a cheap knockoff from a store in the mall.
“I hope that doesn’t get infected.” I squint my eyes at her tiny waist that’s not swollen with a baby Justin claims isn’t his. “I’d hate to see it spread to your whole face, possibly destroying all your internal organs and killing you.”
Ignoring my comment, she pauses to touch Justin’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?” Giving me an evil wink, she rubs his bicep as she stares daggers at me.
“It was until you got here,” I seethe.
Menacing, she turns her head. “I wouldn’t talk to me like that, you dirty slut. Do you even know who the baby daddy is?”
“Courtney . . .” Justin chastises her. “Let’s not rub my face in it.”
Her posse of girls starts to titter, and I feel my face turn a bright red that spreads all the way down to my toes. Justin says nothing, his face flushed as he stubs his toe awkwardly against his locker.
“You’re a real dick,” I hiss to Justin. “How could you even think I’d cheat on you?”
Resting his head against his locker, he groans, “What did I do?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You’re an angel.”
“Justin needs someone who isn’t a fucking psycho.” Courtney twirls a piece of blonde hair around her finger. “No one’s ever going to want a kid with you. I mean, is it supposed to sleep and bathe in the bathtub of your studio apartment?”
Justin rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you two at it.” Picking up his skateboard, he salutes us and stalks off down the hall.
Once again, I’m in the discarded pile.
Hands clenched into fists, I punch his stupid orange locker, launching my left foot into the hard metal. Instead of feeling good, it hurts like hell, and I stumble backward, almost losing my balance.
Courtney and her friends laugh as they sashay back to where they came from. Hell.
My emotions are all over the place, and I start to cry, and without a destination in mind, I drive Sandra’s car to Pleasanton Lake, the freedom of having wheels a whole new feeling.