When I pull up in the lay-by on the lane toward the church, the biggest, blackest cloud is creeping over, casting a shadow over the graveyard. The sky looks like it could open at any moment. I see a cab sitting in the lane, the driver reading a paper. My phone pings an alert, and I open it, seeing Beau’s turned her phone back on. She wants me to find her. “Already did, baby,” I murmur, getting out, not bothering to check her exact location. I can smell her, her fragrance mixing with the heavy, clean scent of the impending rain. I make my way down the paved pathway, the ancient slabs cracked and uneven, not a single stone in one piece. The metal gate into the graveyard is twisted and rusty. It’s sad and dreary. Everything a graveyard should be.
I let myself through and find her immediately, sitting before a gray marble headstone, her arm wrapped around her knees, hugging them. Weaving around the graves, crushing the long grass with my boots as I go, I keep my eyes on the blurry words of Beau’s mother’s headstone until the inscription is clear. I come to a stop and read it. Three times. And that day two years ago is as real now.
“Tell me who you are,” Beau says quietly, not looking back.
“To you or them?”
“To me.”
To her. Most importantly, who am I to her? I move in and lower behind her, framing her seated form with my thighs. I wrap my arms around her upper body and pull her into me, placing my mouth at her ear. She doesn’t resist. “To you, I’m freedom.”
“Hello, freedom,” she whispers, and I swallow, relaxing, as she starts to turn in my arms. I release her, just enough to let her, and she kneels before me, taking my arms from around her back one at a time. Her eyes meet mine. Resolute. “I’m ready to know who you are. Are you ready to tell me?”
I nod, even though I know and accept that I can’t tell her everything. “Will you leave?” It’s an unfair question, and, crazily, it feels like telling her I’m a killer will be the easy part. Because she’s worked that out for herself. And, whether I wanted to or not, I helped her along the way to enlightenment. I’m still unsure why. Maybe because I see life beyond death and revenge with this woman. Am I capable of that? And do I deserve it?
“I don’t want to,” she whispers.
I guess that’s all I can ask for. “Let me take you home.”
“You mean to your home,” she says, staring at me with so much acceptance in her eyes, I honestly don’t know what to do with it.
“My home.”
She nods and stands, looking at me and offering her good hand. I take it tentatively and she tugs, as if her small frame and strength actually contributes to pulling me up.
I tuck her into my side and walk us out of the graveyard. “The cab,” she says, pointing. “I told him to leave the meter running.”
“I’ll sort it.” I deposit her in the passenger seat of my car before wandering over to the cab, pulling off some notes and handing them over.
“There’s a bag on the back seat,” he says, motioning over his shoulder.
I frown and look back to Beau. She’s daydreaming, staring out of the window. I reach for the paper bag, open it, and freeze. “What the—?” I stare at the box for an eternity, trying to turn it into something else. Anything else. A minute later, I’m still gazing at a pregnancy test. “Oh Jesus,” I whisper, my mind not telling me what the fuck to do. I pull it out of the bag and stuff it in the back of my jeans, slamming the door of the cab and pacing back to my car, my head fucking bent.
I slip in beside her. Regard her closely. She’s despondent. Distant. “Where did you go?” I ask, starting the car and crawling along the gravel lane. A fucking pregnancy test?
“Nath,” she says quietly, looking out of the window. Which means she doesn’t see my unstoppable widening eyes. “A friend.”
Fuck me, she was with that corrupt shit? When? I’ve got eyes on him.
“And my ex.” Now, she does look at me. For a reaction? I know my tight jaw is giving her one. When was the last time she slept with her ex? “They’re both FBI,” she adds.
“And they’ve looked me up,” I say, feeling the tightening of my grip on the wheel.
“They didn’t find a thing past five years.”
“That’s because I didn’t exist, Beau.”
She says nothing. She doesn’t need to.
I return my eyes to the road. “But I exist to you.” I take her hand from her lap and squeeze. “To everyone else, I’m illusive.” Such a statement should earn a gasp. A cry of realization. The retraction of her hand from mine.
Not Beau. She slowly looks away and gazes out of the window, processing what she’s learned about me.
She doesn’t look like she wants to bolt. But there is one thing that’ll have her walking away from me, so I have to ensure she doesn’t find out. Beau’s mom was relentless. Frustrating as fuck. Always there in the background ready to fuck everything up. One way or another, I knew she would end up dead. She pissed off too many people with her hunger and persistence, started to uncover too many truths. I don’t want Beau to follow the same path.
I pull to a stop at the junction, and a fleeting look at my rearview mirror has me stalling from indicating. A BMW in the distance, the nose of the car just jutting out of a dirt track we passed. I flick my eyes to Beau. She’s oblivious, still gazing out of the window. I slowly return my eyes to the mirror, pushing down the lever for my indicator as I do, edging forward a few feet, waiting. The car appears.
I pull away, smooth and calm, glancing at my mirror constantly. I’m at least three hundred yards down the road before it gets to the junction, keeping a safe distance. Not safe enough. And way too close for comfort. My fingers start drumming the wheel, my mind strategizing. God damn state laws in Florida. No fucking front license plate. But it’s a BMW. Butler drives a BMW. I look across to Beau, finding her still gazing out of the window. Still oblivious. I pull my phone out and text Otto.
Butler?
His reply is instant.
Can’t find the fucker anywhere.
Motherfucker. My teeth grate as I keep eyes on three things. Beau, the road, and my mobile.
He’s tailing me. I’ve got Beau. He was following her.
A bend in the road ahead gives me the opportunity I need, I just hope there’s a turning off the main road soon after. Another look at the mirror. I need more distance, so I discreetly build up speed as we approach the curve ahead, just enough to gain more space, but not enough to rouse suspicion in Beau. The moment I take the bend, I look up, seeing the BMW out of sight. And ahead, the turn I need. I indicate, all rather considerately, considering the circumstances, and take the turn onto a small dirt track, stopping a few yards down. I look up at the rearview mirror.
“What are we doing here?” Beau asks, knocked from her quiet daydreaming.
My eyes remain on the mirror, and the second I see the BMW fly past, I turn into her and take her cheeks, kissing her hard, deep, and long. Her tongue surrenders to mine in an instant, swirling and rolling, her good hand in my hair. Thank God for her inability to resist me. I’m banking on it going forward. “Just in case you forgot what it feels like,” I say, my throat hoarse, slowing our kiss until our lips are merely touching and our breaths clashing. Her eyes are glassy. Her expression blank. “Don’t look at me like that, Beau. Don’t look at me like you can’t decide whether I’m worth staying for.”