“Is this your childhood home?” He looks around him, his chin tilted as though he’s solving a mystery.
I blink rapidly. “Dad died a year ago. When I came home for the funeral, I found Mom had been keeping a secret from me. Cancer. I’m a nurse, so I stayed to help out. She died four months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug off his comment. It’s what everyone says, as though they’ve got something to apologise for. I focus on his face—his look of sympathy appears genuine at least. “I’d given up my job to look after her. I’m an only child, so the farm came to me. Not that there’s much of it now, we sold off the bulk of the land after Dad was gone. We needed the money, and the upkeep was too much for us.”
“So this is your home now?”
I shrug. “For now, yes. To be honest, I’m kind of in limbo. I’ll need to find a job soon, but I’m just dealing with everything.” I raise and lower my shoulders again. The burden of grief is too strong, its pull still holding me tightly. I wipe away a tear, one of the many I’ve cried since Mom had gone, and force myself to get onto the things he wants to know. “One night, Weston came to visit me. I thought he needed money, or to fuck with me, I don’t know. I hadn’t seen him in years—he’d been in jail. I didn’t want him inside the house, but he’s a big man, and there was little I could do about it.” What could I have done differently? I ask myself. It’s not as if I could have overpowered him and sent him away. “When he suggested he treat me to dinner, I wanted him out of the house, so it seemed like a good idea to go. He hadn’t any transport, he’d arrived in a taxi.”
“You own a car?”
I nod, waving my hand in the direction of the door. “Yeah. Well, I drive my dad’s truck. It’s outside.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
My fists clench. Damn Weston. “He must have stolen it.” Ignoring what’s possibly the least of what Weston had done, I continue, “After the meal, I thought I’d be dropping him somewhere, but instead he made me bring him back here.” I shake my head. “Fuck knows how he persuaded me to let him stay the night.” I want to justify myself. “Weston has a nasty temper, as I know only too well. He used to fight for a living, and I, well, I…” Now my hand gestures down at my body and my slender frame. “I knew I’d end up hurt if I refused. I was a coward.”
“Not a coward, just fuckin’ sensible. Even a soldier knows when to fight and when to retreat.”
His words elicit my nod of gratitude toward him, his lack of judgement gives me the impetus to continue.
“It was at that point he asked me to book an Airbnb. He knew they run rudimentary checks, so couldn’t book it himself. He told me he and his friends were going on a fishing trip.”
“And you believed him?”
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “I guessed he couldn’t afford to pay for it himself, but I just wanted him to leave. I didn’t have much choice.” I rub my arm where it had been broken so many years ago, coincidentally, just above where Jeremiah’s expertly applied bandage sits now. “I know what he’s capable of.”
Jeremiah’s eyes darken. “He’d have hurt you. He’d have forced you. You were right not to fight.”
I give a little shudder. Christ, I’m so weak. I should have said no. “I just wanted him gone.”
He digests that for a moment. “You know anything about these friends of his?”
I shake my head.
“Did you ask?”
This time I roll my eyes. “If you know anything about Weston, you’d know I wouldn’t want anything to do with any friends of his. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. I did what he asked to get him out of my house. Only,” I bite my lip, “that didn’t work.”
Again he taps his fingers against his chin. “Instead of leaving, he chained you up.”
I shudder, remembering how he’d taken me downstairs. “He’d gone to bed. It was hard sleeping while he was so near, but eventually I dropped off. He woke me… I couldn’t fight him.” To my dismay, tears prick in my eyes. “He’s too big.” His brow furrows as I add, “I don’t understand why. I did what he asked. Why did he tie me up? And why kill Caspar?” The last comes out as a wail, and a tear falls.
Now he leans forward, putting both feet on the floor and clasping his hands between his knees. His eyes meet mine. “Because he didn’t want you telling anyone where he was going. The reasons for what he did to your dog were probably twofold. One, he’s a cruel motherfucker, and two, he didn’t want his barking to draw attention to the house.”
I wipe another tear away and take back control of the situation. “I know you said you didn’t know him, but that begs the question, how did you know I was here? Did he send you to free me?” I sit, my body taut, as I wait for his answer. I examine his face, looking for any sign that I can’t believe him.
“No,” he admits. “I had no idea he left you here. The reason he rented the Airbnb was not a good one.” He breaks off, and I see signs he’s holding something back. He seems at war with himself, and his mouth works, then he finally tells me, “The place was used to hold someone they’d kidnapped.” His brow immediately furrows, as if he’s given me too much.
My hand covers my mouth. “God, no. If I knew—”
“If you knew, or guessed he was involved in anything criminal, there was nothing you could do without ending up hurt. But I’m presuming he didn’t want you alerting the authorities, hence he chained you in the cellar.”
My eyes close. That makes horrible sense. I open them and look at him again. “Should I go to the authorities now? Tell them everything I know? Is the kidnap victim safe? Hell, what am I going to do if he comes back?” In some ways, I wish he hadn’t told me.
“No authorities,” he says fast, his eyes holding mine. “The situation has been… resolved. I can assure you he won’t be back. It’s over, Cat.”
He sits forward, this time with his eyes closed, and his hands linked behind his head. He seems like a conflicted man.
I sense his pronouncement was final. “Is, is he dead?”
A pained look crosses his face. “Would it bother you if he was?”
If he was, it would explain why he’d left me so long that I’d become certain death would reach me before rescue. If he’d been alive, would he have returned and pretended to be a loving cousin—not that he ever been one, of course.
“Is he?” Strength is returning to me slowly, and now I’ve back some of my old spark. “I need to know. Weston’s evil, always has been. If there’s a chance he could come back, I’ll need to know so I can take care.”
“You knew what he was and still didn’t.” His eyes open and find mine once more.
It’s a fair point. “I wasn’t expecting him. Now, I am, I’ll keep my daddy’s shotgun close by me.”
He snorts, the sound followed by a chuckle. It’s the first time I’ve seen his face anywhere near relaxed. I decide to strike while the iron’s hot and catch him unawares.