Read Online If You See Her by Shiloh Walker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shiloh Walker
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ugly stain against her pale flesh, the thin red scars vivid and raw.
Holding out her wrists, she lifted her eyes and stared at Law.
“This,”
she snarled. “I didn’t do it. Damn it to hell, I didn’t do it.”
“Hope …”
“Don’t talk to me in that placating,
Oh, it will be all right
tone, Law. Would you just fucking
think
? You were lying there—hurt, bleeding—you’re the one person who matters to me, you really think I could just merrily slit my wrists?” Tears—angry tears, hurt tears, scared tears—blinded her, rolled out of her eyes. Furious, she swiped them away and glared at him. “Just
think
, Law.”
For long, long seconds, he stared at her … and then comprehension dawned, and abruptly he snarled,
“Son of a bitch.”
He spun around and planted his left fist into the wall so hard, the plaster split.
Staring at the second hand of the clock, Brody tried not to let it show that he felt like he was coming out of his skin.
So his uncle had called his dad. Told the old man he needed to talk to the two of them. So the fuck what?
Glancing at his dad, he tried to get an idea if the old man had any idea what was going on, but his dad couldn’t have looked less interested. His eyes, blue like Brody’s, blue like Remy’s, had that vague, spaced look as he stared at the screen of his computer—answering e-mail, no doubt. Although how many fucking e-mails could the mayor of a small town have on a daily basis?
Dad spent more time being the
mayor
than he spent being
Dad
. After all, he had the whole town of Ash, Kentucky, population 8,312, depending on him … Mayor Henry “Hank” Jennings didn’t want to let those people down … he just forgot about his son.
He let his son down every fucking day.
It had been like that since Mom died.
Brody no longer existed.
Not for anybody …
Feeling the sting of tears in the back of his eyes, he shoved back from the table.
His dad looked up.
Storming over to the refrigerator, Brody said, “Did Uncle Remy say how long he’d be? How long this would take? I got shit to do, ya know.”
“No, he didn’t say. And stop swearing, Brody.” The corners of Hank’s mouth went tight and he glanced at the clock. “If he isn’t here soon, I’m calling him. I’ve got work of my own to get done and …”
They both heard the roar of an engine.
Turning their heads, they watched as a beat-up, busted-up truck turned off the highway and headed toward their house.
His dad was frowning. “Who is that?” He sighed and muttered, “I don’t have time for this.”
Brody barely heard him. He stared at that truck, blood roaring in his ears. Remy didn’t own a truck … but Ezra King did. His gut went to water. Locking his knees, he tried not to let his legs tremble. Told himself to keep his cool.
Pasting a bored expression on his face, he reached into the fridge and grabbed a Coke. King could suspect whatever in the hell he wanted. And maybe he didn’t suspect anything. Maybe he didn’t know anything. He took a deep gulp of the fizzy, cold drink and managed to ease some of the nerves pitching in his gut.
But then the truck stopped, and Ezra King wasn’t the only one who climbed out.
When Brody saw Uncle Remy, his heart almost stopped. Fuck. Yeah. Remy was coming, with King. This wasn’t good.
For some reason, he found himself thinking about all those dumb cop shows his dad liked to watch. Found himself remembering how he always wondered why inthe hell people tried to run. They’d get caught. They almost always did.
Right then, Brody wanted to run.
More than anything, he wanted to run.
Tightening his hand around the drink, he squeezed and didn’t even realize it until the cold liquid bubbled up onto his hand.
“He’s going to rabbit,” Ezra muttered, glimpsing Brody through the window as he parked his truck alongside the house. Grimacing, he rubbed his thigh and wondered if he was up to chasing down a scared, desperate kid.
“He
Holding out her wrists, she lifted her eyes and stared at Law.
“This,”
she snarled. “I didn’t do it. Damn it to hell, I didn’t do it.”
“Hope …”
“Don’t talk to me in that placating,
Oh, it will be all right
tone, Law. Would you just fucking
think
? You were lying there—hurt, bleeding—you’re the one person who matters to me, you really think I could just merrily slit my wrists?” Tears—angry tears, hurt tears, scared tears—blinded her, rolled out of her eyes. Furious, she swiped them away and glared at him. “Just
think
, Law.”
For long, long seconds, he stared at her … and then comprehension dawned, and abruptly he snarled,
“Son of a bitch.”
He spun around and planted his left fist into the wall so hard, the plaster split.
Staring at the second hand of the clock, Brody tried not to let it show that he felt like he was coming out of his skin.
So his uncle had called his dad. Told the old man he needed to talk to the two of them. So the fuck what?
Glancing at his dad, he tried to get an idea if the old man had any idea what was going on, but his dad couldn’t have looked less interested. His eyes, blue like Brody’s, blue like Remy’s, had that vague, spaced look as he stared at the screen of his computer—answering e-mail, no doubt. Although how many fucking e-mails could the mayor of a small town have on a daily basis?
Dad spent more time being the
mayor
than he spent being
Dad
. After all, he had the whole town of Ash, Kentucky, population 8,312, depending on him … Mayor Henry “Hank” Jennings didn’t want to let those people down … he just forgot about his son.
He let his son down every fucking day.
It had been like that since Mom died.
Brody no longer existed.
Not for anybody …
Feeling the sting of tears in the back of his eyes, he shoved back from the table.
His dad looked up.
Storming over to the refrigerator, Brody said, “Did Uncle Remy say how long he’d be? How long this would take? I got shit to do, ya know.”
“No, he didn’t say. And stop swearing, Brody.” The corners of Hank’s mouth went tight and he glanced at the clock. “If he isn’t here soon, I’m calling him. I’ve got work of my own to get done and …”
They both heard the roar of an engine.
Turning their heads, they watched as a beat-up, busted-up truck turned off the highway and headed toward their house.
His dad was frowning. “Who is that?” He sighed and muttered, “I don’t have time for this.”
Brody barely heard him. He stared at that truck, blood roaring in his ears. Remy didn’t own a truck … but Ezra King did. His gut went to water. Locking his knees, he tried not to let his legs tremble. Told himself to keep his cool.
Pasting a bored expression on his face, he reached into the fridge and grabbed a Coke. King could suspect whatever in the hell he wanted. And maybe he didn’t suspect anything. Maybe he didn’t know anything. He took a deep gulp of the fizzy, cold drink and managed to ease some of the nerves pitching in his gut.
But then the truck stopped, and Ezra King wasn’t the only one who climbed out.
When Brody saw Uncle Remy, his heart almost stopped. Fuck. Yeah. Remy was coming, with King. This wasn’t good.
For some reason, he found himself thinking about all those dumb cop shows his dad liked to watch. Found himself remembering how he always wondered why inthe hell people tried to run. They’d get caught. They almost always did.
Right then, Brody wanted to run.
More than anything, he wanted to run.
Tightening his hand around the drink, he squeezed and didn’t even realize it until the cold liquid bubbled up onto his hand.
“He’s going to rabbit,” Ezra muttered, glimpsing Brody through the window as he parked his truck alongside the house. Grimacing, he rubbed his thigh and wondered if he was up to chasing down a scared, desperate kid.
“He
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