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  Jake began to laugh. “And then we hiked up to the top of the hill behind the trailer park.”

  “And put our tent up in a cow pasture,” Jackson added.

  “Only we didn’t know it was a cow pasture until we opened the tent flap the next day and we were surrounded.” Jake kept laughing.

  “I didn’t know you could run that fast,” Jackson said. He guffawed. “I still have this image of you running down the hill with black and white cows streaming along beside you.” A belly laugh left his throat.

  The waitress brought their burgers and set the plates in front of them. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Jackson scanned the back of the booth for catsup for his fries.

  “All good here.” He smiled at her.

  She nodded and whirled away.

  Jackson picked up his burger and began chowing down.

  “And then there was that time you decided to teach yourself how to bake using that old recipe book Mom left,” Jake said. He took a bite of his burger. Mirth shone in his eyes.

  “Oh, jeez, don’t remind me. I found flour and eggshells throughout the kitchen for months. And remember that little kitten you brought home?” Jackson took another bite of his burger.

  Jake shuddered. “The one with the demon eyes?”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said through a mouthful. “She’d sit on the kitchen counter and just stare at me when I did homework at the table… just stare and stare and stare. She gave me the heebie-jeebies. I sure hope she didn’t cast spells on the neighbor we gave her to…what was her name again?”

  “Mrs. Wilson. God. What a bitch. I hope she did cast spells.” Jake took another bite of his food.

  “I had to sleep with the lights on after we got rid of her. I kept thinking she’d haunt me for giving her away.” Jackson washed down the last of his burger with his now cold coffee. Then, he started in on the fries.

  By the end of the meal, Jackson’s spirits had lifted. They’d swapped more stories from the past and shared in the kind of brotherly camaraderie he didn’t realize he’d missed so much. They’d been tight growing up. Drugs and life had separated them. Now he looked forward to going camping with his brother.

  Outside of the restaurant, he clapped Jake on the back and said, “It’s heartwarming to see you looking so good, Jake. Keep up with the sobriety.”

  “Thanks. I will.” Jake cast his gaze at the asphalt parking lot. “And sorry to show up in a bad mood. It’s the withdrawal.”

  “I know. You’ve got this, Jake,” Jackson said, adding a few more pats on his brother’s back.

  “So, Jackson…”

  “What?” Jackson felt around his pockets for his keys.

  “Do you…you know…do you ever miss Dad?”

  Anger exploded in Jackson’s belly. “Miss the son of a bitch who abandoned his two kids and left them to fend for themselves? Hell, no, I don’t miss him.”

  Jake’s mouth turned down in a frown.

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. That’s not what’s bugging you, is it? You’re not trying to find Dad again, are you?”

  “What? Me? Why would you think that?” Jake said. His gaze slid toward the mountains. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re always thinking the worst of me, you know that?”

  Jackson sighed. He cocked his head and scrutinized his brother. “I’m sorry. I can see you’re trying to change. Why did you ask me that?”

  Jake shook his head. “No reason. I just wondered.”

  “Okay. You just wondered. I gave you my answer, not that it’s any surprise. Anyway, I’ve got to go.”

  “All right. Fine.”

  “Do you need a lift or anything?”

  “No,” Jake said, with a shake of his head. “I can manage. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

  Jackson blew out his breath. “I’ll see you next time, then.”

  He turned and strode toward his truck. As he sped away from Mountain Grub, he decided to stop by Hip, Hip, Hairay and say hi to Blaire. Maybe she would be between clients. She only had an hour to go until she was off, but he wanted to share his good news with her—his brother was getting sober.

  He flicked the car radio on and hummed along with “Body Like a Back Road,” by Sam Hunt as he drove. He cranked the steering wheel, turning the truck onto Sun-A-Do Avenue, where the salon was located. Then, he turned into the parking lot of the beauty shop. When he didn’t see her Honda anywhere, he frowned.

  Maybe she’s off already? I’ll check with Lola.

  He lowered out of the truck and strode toward the front door. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the salon.

  Lola stood behind an older female client, holding scissors over the client’s head and a comb full of the client’s hair in the other hand. Her eyes lifted to the mirror, regarding Jackson in the reflection.

  “Hey, Jackson. What can I do for you?”

  He stopped by the front counter. “I’m looking for Blaire. Did she finish early?”

  Lola lowered the scissors to her side. “Honey, Blaire isn’t working today.”

  “She’s not?” His mind began to whirl. “She said she had a busy day here today. She texted me this morning.”

  Lola shook her head. “She must be mixed up. She’s not scheduled until tomorrow.”

  Fingers of panic wrapped around his windpipe. “So, you haven’t seen her today?”

  “No, sugar. Haven’t seen her all day.” She lifted the scissors and began cutting her client’s hair. “Isn’t she at home?”

  “I didn’t check yet. She told me she’d be busy all day and…” His cheeks heated. “Maybe I misunderstood. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No problem,” Lola said.

  Jackson backed out of the salon and closed the door.

  Once he sat inside his truck, he tugged his phone free and read the message again.

  Busy day today. I probably won’t answer if you call. I’m fine. See you after I get off work at 3. XO, B.

  “She said she’d get off work at three,” he muttered.

  Dread tightened his rib cage. This couldn’t be good. She’d lied to him. And, the last time he had spoken to her, she’d been in a panic.

  Where had his Blaire gone?

  Chapter 21

  Jackson sped home from Lola’s, praying that Blaire’s car would be parked in the driveway. She hadn’t responded to the texts or phone calls he’d made on the drive home.

  When he spied his empty driveway, his heart sank. Where the fuck is she? Did she leave me? Is she in trouble? His head slumped against the steering wheel. It only took a second for his mind to launch back into the Port Coyote trailer park, age twelve, abandoned by the people he counted on. Abandoned by the people he loved.

  Hauling his head upright, he pulled himself together and exited the truck. The dogs barked their heads off from the back yard. It didn’t sound like their usual “hey, you’re home!” bark.

  “What the fuck?” He traipsed toward the back, unlocking the side gate and letting himself in.

  Potting soil had been strewn all over the yard. Bits of plastic and dirt covered part of the lawn.

  Fucking hell. I left them in the yard thinking they’d be prevented from digging under the garden and they got busy with Blaire’s soil amendments, instead.

  He lifted his gaze toward the dogs, forcing himself to stay calm.

  A raccoon perched at the top of their kennel, making a chittering noise, its masked face pointed in their direction.

  Maxine barked wildly but stayed on the ground. Midget kept jumping toward the raccoon.

  The raccoon seemed unconcerned.

  “Come on, girls. Get in the pen while I clean things up.” He opened the door and snapped his fingers.

  The dogs skulked inside.

  Next, Jackson turned his attention to the raccoon. “You! Get!”

  The raccoon lifted its front paws, whirled around, and clambered away.

  Jackson zigzagged through the yard, picking
up all the plastic he could find. Then, he strode to the garbage can sitting at the back fence, opened it, and prepared to shove all the debris inside. His eye caught flowers—lots and lots of flowers, along with broken glass. The plastic holder for a message stuck out at a sideways angle. A little card, its corners bent and crumpled, poked through the shards of glass and flower petals.

  “What the…?” Tipping the can, he fished out the card and read it.

  Para mi hermosa pequeña canción de pájaro. ¿Extrañarme?

  He plucked his phone from his jeans and typed the words into the language translate website. Oh, shit. Where did you get this? Blaire. My baby. You must be terrified. Where did you go?

  He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at his short locks. “Shit. Baby.”

  He tried to reach Blaire, tapping her number as fast as his shaking fingers could manage. Voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. Call me. I’m worried about you.”

  Next, he tapped Agent Vogel’s number. This, too, went straight to voicemail. He looked up the main number of the Seattle FBI and connected the number.

  “This is the Seattle FBI. How may I direct your call?”

  Jackson couldn’t tell if a woman or a man possessed that voice. “This is Jackson O’Halloran with the Clearfall County Fire Department. I’ve been trying to contact Agent Vogel for about a week and a half. Is he in?”

  “No, I’m sorry, Agent Vogel has been called away on business, and he’s out of the office. Can I direct you to another agent?”

  “Sure, sure, that would be helpful, thanks.”

  A few seconds later, a recorded message said, “This is Agent Gelles with the Seattle FBI. I’m sorry I’m away from my desk right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll be happy to return your call as soon as I am able.”

  “Fuck,” he said, at the same time as he pressed the disconnect button. He scanned his phone for the number Kowalski had hopefully texted him. Finding it, he tapped the connect icon to Police Chief Kitroeff and began to pace.

  The dogs whined in the background, not used to being kenneled when in his vicinity.

  “This is Kitroeff,” a booming voice said.

  “Chief Kitroeff, this is Jackson O’Halloran with the Clearfall County Fire Department.”

  “Mr. O’Halloran, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Kitroeff said, his tone lightening.

  “Yeah, I have a little problem,” Jackson began. He relayed as much as he knew about Karlos Rivera without implicating Blaire.

  As he spoke, he made his way into the house through the back door. His body felt jacked with adrenaline, the way it always did on a call. Only, he didn’t know how to successfully deal with the situation, something that prickled at his insides, like standing in a bed of thorns with no way to exit.

  “Hmmm,” Kitroeff said, once Jackson had finished his story. “Sounds like a real low life. You can come in and file a report so we can keep an eye out, but unless he’s making threats on her life or showing up at your doorstep, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do.”

  Jackson shuffled to the front room and slumped on the sofa.

  “I see. That’s the best you can do?” he said, through a clenched jaw.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “She’s terrified of this guy,” Jackson said. “Utterly terrified.”

  “Is there someplace she can go where she feels safe?”

  “That’s your best idea?” Jackson eyed the wall, wanting to bash his head against it.

  “I’m afraid so,” he repeated. “Why don’t you come on down to the precinct and have her make a statement? That way, we have a record in case something happens.”

  “Sure, will do,” Jackson said. Not. He disconnected the phone and let his head fall against the back of the sofa. “There’s got to be something I can do. All I keep hitting is dead ends.”

  Outside, tires crunched along the driveway.

  His head jerked up, and he bolted to his feet, training his attention out the front window. His legs nearly buckled as the sight of Blaire’s Honda came into view.

  His gaze settled on the driver. Behind the wheel sat someone he didn’t recognize—a short-haired, Mohawk-styled blonde woman.

  Frowning, he exited the house and powered toward the stranger.

  The blonde sat gripping the steering wheel, not budging.

  As he approached, Blaire’s familiar features became recognizable through the short-haired blonde’s face. “Blaire?”

  Her expression turned cold, hard like some other Blaire had taken his Blaire’s place. “Sure. It’s me. Who else would be driving my car?”

  “Baby, are you okay?” He gripped the edge of her open window.

  “Sure. I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” An odd expression stared back at him.

  Was it defiance? Belligerence? He couldn’t be sure.

  He stared at this new Blaire—the one with the shock of white-blonde hair on top of shaved-short dark brown sides. Her lovely long hair—the hair she trailed across his chest when she straddled him—was gone.

  A small gold hoop had been pierced into her lip.

  The whole effect made her look like an extra from a Mad Max movie, or maybe The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

  “What’s going on, Blaire? Why the tough girl look? Was it the flowers?” He lowered his head and peered into her eyes.

  Vivid blue eyes stared back at him instead of her usual violet.

  “Fucking flowers. Fucking Karlos.” She sneered—actually sneered at him. “I’d really like to get out of the car. I’ve had a long day.”

  Jackson pulled his hands away from the window frame and backed away.

  She emerged from the Honda wearing a sleeveless black hoodie, low slung black pants and badass black leather boots much like his firefighter boots.

  He blinked, trying to match the woman he’d fallen in love with who loved to dress in slinky, feminine clothes and had an appealing softness to her with the biker bitch who stood before him.

  “What?” she said. She turned around and bent to retrieve her purse from the passenger seat. In the process, she stuck her lovely round butt in the air at him. She shifted her balance back and forth, causing her rump to switch back and forth like an invitation.

  The sight was so provocative, so alluring, he sucked in a breath.

  When she stood, purse in hand, she sashayed toward the front door without saying a word to him.

  He followed, too stunned to speak.

  Her hand reached for the front door. She twisted the doorknob and kicked the door open, like a caricature of a superhero might do.

  He almost laughed at the absurdity of her actions. The other day when he’d mentioned something about falling in love with one version of her and another version storming in, he’d had no idea how accurate he’d been.

  She swaggered into the front room and swung her purse toward one of the side tables.

  It slid across the smooth surface and fell to the floor, scattering its contents.

  “Shit. God fucking damn,” she said.

  Jackson eyed a pack of cigarettes among the lipsticks, wallet, and keys. “So, you smoke now?”

  Instead of answering him, she crouched, spreading her thighs, wide, and stuffed everything back into her roomy handbag. Then, still crouching, she spun around. She duck-walked toward him, seized both of his legs, and proceeded to unzip his fly.

  He stilled her hand with his. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m giving you a blow job, J-baby,” she said, looking up at him with a cold, seductive expression—the kind a hooker might possess. “Isn’t that what men want?”

  “J-baby?”

  His dick stirred despite his repulsion at this new Blaire, and his grip on her hand relaxed. He hadn’t fallen in love with a biker bitch. Those were the kind of girls he might have fucked in high school, behind the bleachers, but those relationships never went anywhere. He couldn’t let them go anywhere. They only served to temporarily calm the tempestuous assault
of teenage hormones. No, the Blaire he’d fallen in love with hadn’t been anything like the kind of cheap flings he allowed when he was seventeen.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she purred.

  The rasp of his zipper met his ears. She pulled his rapidly hardening cock from the slit in his boxers and sucked it into her mouth.

  His hands cupped her skull. Everything felt different between his palms and not merely the haircut. It was as if he held someone new…someone so not Blaire.

  He swallowed, unsure whether to push this Blaire away, or yield to her sweet, warm mouth. His dick grew rigid, letting him know the answer had been made. His pants slid to the ground, meeting the hardwood floor with a noisy clang of his belt buckle.

  She worked him with her mouth, her fingers, and her tongue until he felt like he might explode.

  “Stop,” he hissed.

  “Hmph mm,” she said through her ministrations, indicating a no.

  His fingers gripped her scalp, and he forced her to cease moving. “I said, no. I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

  Or, anywhere for that matter. I don’t know who you are.

  She slid his cock out of her mouth and then stood, brushing against him. She brought her lips to his. She tasted of cigarettes, vodka, and breath mints. Not like the Blaire he’d fallen in love with who tasted sweet, like heaven and honey.

  His cock rubbed against the rough fabric of her trousers. He grabbed her shoulders, intending to ease her away, but his goddamned cock throbbed with need.

  She kissed him with a ferocious hunger like she couldn’t get enough of him. It stoked his libido to matching intensity.

  Releasing the kiss, she put her fingertips on his chest and shoved. He stumbled backward with his pants wrapped around his ankles.

  He thudded against the sofa and fell onto it.

  She pushed again, and he collapsed onto his back. With swift precision, she placed her hands underneath her waistband and slid her pants and panties to her ankles. Still clad in her bomber boots, she managed to straddle him. Her ankles stayed bound by the pants. The metal eyelets of her boots dug into his calves. She fit his cock into her slit.