After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 95

“Thanks.”

As the flames started to crackle, a warm glow emanating through the glass door of the stove, he glanced over his shoulder and his gaze touched hers. In a quicksilver instant she remembered another time when they’d gone to the mountains, had secreted themselves into an isolated cabin where he’d lit a fire in a huge rock fireplace and they’d made love for hours in front of the rising flames. She swallowed hard and, as if he’d shared the same intimate memory, he straightened and cleared his throat.

She almost blurted out that she was sorry for how far they’d come from the time when they’d been so much in love, but before she could form the words, he said, “I’m gonna run outside, check on the stock. Be back in a few.”

Whistling to the dog once more, he headed for the front door.

She walked to the window, stared through the rain sliding down the panes, and was reminded of another night, not that long ago when she was looking outside her hospital room to the night beyond.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

And now she was here. Alone with Trent. Her marriage crumbling. Her sister still missing. One friend murdered, another nearly killed. She was too tired to make sense of it now, so she unzipped her bag and tossed her pajamas onto the couch. She dug past a makeup case for her toothbrush, which wasn’t in the usual pocket where she’d always kept it packed. Nor was her e-reader in its spot. Certain she’d just packed the items in one of the myriad pockets, she opened the case that held her laptop and there, on top of the slim computer, was a slick piece of paper with something attached to it.

“What the devil?” she said as she tugged on the laminated paper. It slid out and she found herself staring down at a warped picture of her sister. “Oh my God.” Her heart stilled and a newfound horror consumed her.

The photograph was hideous. Allie’s eyes had been cut out, as if they’d been gouged, but the face, even distorted, was recognizable as that of Jenna Hughes’s daughter. A thin strap of elastic was attached to the face in the back, as if the disturbing thing were a mask.

No! No! No! Cassie gasped and dropped the disfigured photo as if it burned her. As it fluttered to the floor it turned slightly to reveal the back where a horrid damning word, scribbled hastily in red, was visible:

Sister.

“What?” Horrified, she backed up, putting distance between herself and the evil, twisted image. Her heart was pounding, her mind whirling, her stomach churning. How had the horrid thing ended up in her bag? Who had planted it there? Why, oh, God, why? She was breathing rapidly, her heart pounding in her brain, her skin crawling at the thought that someone had actually been in her apartment, had gone through her things, had hidden the mask in her laptop case. She felt the world go dark and leaned against the wall. With an effort she forced a calm that was against her very nature. The intruder had come into her home to do this . . . whatever it was. A warning? A threat? The cat had followed him and been locked inside when he’d left. Who would be so heartless, so cruel, so insidious to do this?

A door opened and she jumped about a foot. Trent walked into the house, his dog tagging behind. He found her with a hand pressed to her chest, her heart a drum, a newfound fear congealing in her blood

“Cass?” he said, his brows furrowing. “Are you okay? I thought for sure that you’d already be asleep by now and—”

She launched herself at him. Without thinking she let out a broken sob and flung herself into his arms.

“Hey.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she refused to cry but she held on fast. Desperately attempting to find some equilibrium, some stability in her unstable life, she drank in the solid male scent of him, felt the strength of his body as he held her, his breath ruffling over her hair.

“What’s going on?” he asked. She shook her head but he must’ve looked over her head into the room and spied the mask because she heard his sharp intake of breath and felt him stiffen. A second passed and then he said, “What the hell is that?”

CHAPTER 21

She spent what was left of the early morning in Trent’s bed, lying in his arms, telling herself she was falling into a trap, surprised that he’d not tried to kiss or touch her other than to hold her close. She hadn’t undressed. The streaks of mud from Hud’s eager greeting had dried on her clothes, and she hadn’t given them a second thought. She’d struggled to fall asleep with Trent beside her, though, so it took till morning light was beginning to touch the bare windows before she’d drifted off. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw on the bedside clock it was nearly ten and Trent wasn’t with her, the sheets on the spot of the bed where he’d lain cool to her touch.