Sing You Home by Ava Hunter
It’s been two weeks of Sal living with Luke. Two weeks of pure swoony bliss, readjusting, relearning her life with her husband.
The hot summer days come to Sal like driftwood on the sea. Stretched out before her, slow and lazy. She’s shared fourteen gorgeous mornings with Luke. Fifty cups of coffee. Kissed him approximately two hundred times. Hugged Seth and Lacey as they moved out. Driven into downtown Nashville by herself. Seen her therapist once. Watched their wedding video twice.
These last two weeks with Luke have done more for Sal’s brain and her health than anything else. Every day Luke finds another way to make her feel safe and secure. Every day another way for him to rope in her heart.
And though the migraines are still there, she hasn’t had a nightmare since she and Luke shared a bed. But it’s still not enough for her. She wants more. Wants to remember her job. Her husband. Herself.
Sure, she didn’t expect it to be easy, but she expected something. Wanted that little light inside of her to click on, rewind her right back to the past.
So now, Sal’s determined to jog her memory. Literally.
She sits on the front step of the porch, lacing her bright yellow tennis shoes. Determined to do something the old Sal would do.
Run.
She doesn’t know what she expects to happen. Maybe she’ll trip over a new brain while she’s out.
Yeah, that’d be helpful.
The crunch of gravel catches her attention. Smiling, Sal tilts her face to the morning sun. It’s Luke, walking across the yard, a bucket of feed under his arm. Her stomach warms at the sight of her strong, tall country man caring for their farm animals.
She’s falling for Luke.
Fast.
Falling for him over and over again. The way he wakes before the sun, the way he sings in the shower in a cheesy outlaw drawl, the way he looks at her like she’s his spotlight.
Sal thinks back to when she first met him, how there was a pull she hadn’t felt in a long time. A pull she didn’t know the meaning of. But now. Now she knows.
Soon, he’s in front of her, setting down the bucket in the gravel drive. Luke eyes her bare legs with appreciation, then lifts his gaze to her face. “Takin’ a run?”
She nods, tightening a lace. “Thought I’d try to jog my memory.”
Luke extends a hand. Sal slides her palm into his electric touch and he pulls her to standing. As he takes her in his arms, Sal shivers at Luke’s lean hands, running down her sides to palm the small of her back.
They move for each other’s lips at the same time.
Sal, standing on tiptoes. Luke, dipping his head. They kiss, warmth kindling in her body like a rising flame.
She pulls away with a breathless laugh. “If you’re trying to get me back in bed, this ain’t gonna work, Luke.”
His grin is wicked. “Just tryin’ to warm you up.” His hands drift to the waistband of her shorts, holding her tight against him.
Sal wiggles away and tosses him a look. “Uh-huh.”
She’s trying to focus on the task at hand. Luke pawing at her is so not helpful.
His mischievous look softens. Frown lines cut deep across his brow. “I don’t want you pushin’ yourself, Sal.”
“I know. I’m not.” Her lips curve as she feigns an exaggerated stretch. “Although, are you sure I really enjoyed this?”
“You always were the masochist,” he says with a laugh.
Sal squints her eyes in the direction of the forest, considering her route.
“You want directions?” There’s worry in Luke’s voice. Lifting a finger, he traces the road leading off into the forest. “You follow the ridge—”
“Nope,” Sal interjects. She’s waving off any and all of Luke’s attempts to help. She’ll let her legs lead her down the road she had so often traveled. Sixth-sense style. “No help. You worry about yourself,” she shoots back as she sidles off. “Go make music. Write. Do your country boy thing. Coffee’s on the stove.”
Luke’s raising a brow. His expression amused.
Sal blows him a kiss and turns.
She runs.
The crisp early-morning air tightens her lungs. Blood fills her veins, pumps her legs. Sal keeps to the ridgeline of thin trees that drops into a thicket of forest. Tall southern red oaks rise like skyscrapers above her.
As Sal settles into her rhythm, she realizes one thing. She’s pretty damn fast. In fact, she’s damn good at this. It feels natural. Like breathing. Like something she’s done for a long time. As her legs respond, loose and limber, she tries to remember herself and how she used to be. The thoughts come to her like small pebbles, pattered against her brain. She ran to be fast, to be strong and healthy. Each morning, she drank a cup of coffee with Luke before leaving to beat her body, her legs into submission. Sal had to care for people, carry them, lift them. So it was easy to care for herself.
Is that right?
She doesn’t know.
She comes to a stop at a fork in the road. The right path leads down, deeper into the forest; the left leads up to Hellier Curve. The narrow dirt curve angling off the highway. She can see the stop sign marking the dividing intersection.
Sal makes a move in that direction but pauses. Her belly dips, a sickening, foreboding sensation.
After a second’s hesitation, she turns for the woods. Her feet pick up the pace as she runs across springy earth. Pine needles and loam and moss. Deeper she moves into the canopy of trees, getting thicker the further in she goes.
Sal’s mind drifts from Hellier Curve to Luke. To second chances. Second chances she might never have had because of . . .
Sal shudders.
It feels like a dream. Like a lifetime ago that she was anywhere other than here. That she was with Roy. A monster who broke her down, lied to her for months, who stole her memory and her health.
Sal squeezes her eyes shut. With a thrash of her head, she sprints for the forest.
No. No more Roy.
She won’t think of him, won’t give him another second of her breath. He took enough of her life. Never again will he take any more.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Luke scribbles a pen across the lined page of his lyric notebook, unable to stop the flood of words that pour from him. Ever since he and Sal made love, something uncorked inside of him. The mental cock block that happened after Sal’s death is no more.
His wife was what he needed to get his mind back onto the page, the words, the music, the lyrics. He always knew he lost it when he lost her. And now, with Sal back, he’s back. Just having her around, seeing her determination to recover her lost memories, has inspired him. Luke has nothing but fiery admiration for Sal. His wife’s been through hell and back, but she ain’t broken.
And though he told Mort no “Sal’s Song,” he’s still determined to finish it. It needs to be done because Sal deserves it. He started writing the song over a year ago, but with everything that happened, it took a back seat. Now back at it, Luke’s found the song’s taken a turn into something even more personal, more tender and reverent. It’s everything Sal is. Beautiful. Precious. Fierce as hell.
Luke’s brain turns to mush as Sal’s face floats into his mind. The last two weeks have been heaven. Better than their honeymoon. He didn’t think it possible, but he’s more in love with her than he’s ever been.
He grins, thinking about this morning. The sight of her in her short shorts. Those long runner’s legs. Her pillowy lips, begging for another kiss. Her big green eyes, teasing, bidding him closer . . .
A hard groan of frustrated arousal rumbles out of Luke, his thoughts taking a torturous road to blue ball town. All he can focus on is Sal. All he wants is her home so he can worship her in bed.
Luke sets the pencil down and glances out the window for Sal. A light breeze flutters the curtains.
Then, just as quickly as it came, Luke’s arousal dissipates and is replaced with a stab of worry.
“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he tells himself. She hasn’t even been gone an hour. He’s gotta stop worrying.
She’ll find the road home. She always did.
Luke turns back to the notepad. He closes his eyes, letting “Sal’s Song” float over him. A whisper of a tune, the lyrics forming and pushing themselves into something new. Something different, but better. Fiercer. Just how Sal does everything.
The life we live ain’t been perfect
But it’s been perfect with you
And where we’re goin’ may not be perfect too
But because it’s you and me
We got this darlin’, this song is ours
And everything else it’s meant to be . . .
The still quiet of the morning is interrupted by a sputtering engine. Luke glances out the window, his country morning view replaced by Lacey’s zippy Beetle.
Knowing his day’s about to be firebombed, Luke gives one last scribble, closes his notebook, and gets up to pour himself a cup of coffee. He’ll never get any work done now. Not while Lacey and her mouth are on a run.
The front door swings open.
High heels clack in the foyer.
Soon she’s in the doorway, her arms crossed and face pinched. “Looking more homey around here,” Lacey sniffs. “Less distraught widower.”
Luke eyes his sister-in-law warily. She’s long since moved out to the bed-and-breakfast down the road, but she’s still hanging around. Taking every opportunity to drop in without notice and grace Luke and Sal with her pain-in-the-ass presence.
“Work,” he says as Lacey enters the kitchen. “Don’t you have work, Lacey? A life back in LA?”
“It’s called telecommuting, Luke,” she snipes. Her eyes brush to his notebook, labeled “Sal.” A flicker of a smile kisses her lips, but it’s gone before Luke can make heads or tails of it. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?” She drapes her purse over a chair. “Besides, I’ll go back when my sister remembers everything.”
Her voice drops on the word everything.
Luke bristles.
Hell no. He ain’t letting Lacey bait him into a fight. The last thing Sal needs is to walk in and find them arguing like fucking children.
Lacey swivels her head. “Where is Sal anyway?”
“Running,” he says.
Her green eyes narrow. “Oh good. She’s gone.”
Leaning back against the counter, Luke cups the back of his neck, trying to will away his annoyance. “What do you want, Lacey?”
“I want to have a party for Sal.” She helps herself to a cup of coffee. After dumping in a healthy dollop of cream, she seats herself at the high bar. Noticing Luke’s wary gaze, she sighs. “For her birthday, Luke. It’s next week.”
“Yeah, I know it is,” Luke bites back, irritated that Lacey would think he’d forget.
How can he fucking forget? Every anniversary that’s ever drop-kicked Luke in the nuts is fast approaching. Sal’s birthday. The photo of him and Alabama. Her car accident. The plane crash. Just because his wife’s back doesn’t mean everything hurts less.
They lost their little boy; Luke’s pretty damn sure he’ll never forget that.
Lacey’s lips flatline.
Luke prepares himself for verbal flambé status. But surprisingly, her face, her voice soften. “You can’t keep people from her forever, Luke. They miss her. Her friends, her family want to see her. See that she’s okay. That—”
“You’re right,” Luke cuts in. “You don’t have to convince me, Lace.” He nods and sips his coffee. “It’s a good idea.”
Lacey blinks. She was expecting him to put up a fight.
Not today. Not about this.
Luke wants to give Sal a party. Wants her to feel loved and appreciated and meet her friends and family. He knows she’s going stir-crazy around here, fed up and frustrated by what she can’t remember. She’s been cooped up in this house for so long, and that ain’t his wife. Not by a long shot.
She deserves it. She deserves to live.
The front door clatters. Lacey and Luke both turn, expecting it to be Sal.
It’s Seth, wearing a smirk and dark sunglasses. Luke can tell by his giant swagger he stayed out all night at the bars.
Luke jerks his chin. “You’re late. Where’s Jace?”
“He’s late too,” Seth banters, raising his sunglasses.
Luke rolls his eyes.
Seth’s grinning like he knows how much Luke’s written this morning. Like he knows Luke’s come back to life. Barking orders, getting back into the music, taking the reins once again as frontman of the Brothers Kincaid.
Seth slings his fiddle case onto the table, his eyes metronoming between Lacey and Luke. “What’re we talkin’ about here? We draw first blood yet?”
Lacey’s eye roll matches Luke’s. “We’re throwing a birthday party for Sal.”
“A birthday party for Sal?” Seth settles beside Lacey on a stool. “What is she, five?”
Lacey gives him a nasty look.
Luke sighs. Seth’s deliberately goading Lacey. He knows as well as Luke that their house has always been the epicenter for happenings, for parties, for their country community to gather.
“We’ll have it here.” To Seth, Luke snaps, “Like we do every year, you know that, so leave Lacey alone.” He glances at Lacey. “BBQ, bonfire. You can plan the rest. I don’t care what else you do—but keep it to close friends and family only.”
“Well, duh,” Lacey says. “And here I thought I’d invite the queen of England.”
Luke arches a brow. “Did you just make a joke?”
A hint of a real smile curves Lacey’s lips. She pairs it with a coy shrug. “Beats me.”
But then Lacey stiffens in her seat. She sees them first, and she reaches out to pat Seth’s shoulder. His eyes follow hers and he rises sharply, his face darkening. “Luke.”
Wondering, Luke turns to the window. Police cruisers. Two stony-faced cops exiting. Luke’s heart flatlines in his chest.
Sal.
It’s Luke’s first thought. His only one.
Whip-quick, Luke rushes to the front door. Lacey and Seth on his heels.
He’s swinging it open before a knock can even sound.
Two police officers stand on the porch.
“Can I help you?” Luke asks gruffly.
“Luke Kincaid?”
“That’s me.”
One of the cops, sporting a beer belly and a grizzled ginger beard, eyes Lacey, not unkindly. “Are you Sal Kincaid?”
Lacey clutches at the end of her long braid, clutches Seth’s shoulder. “That’s my sister.”
“Is something wrong, Officer?” Luke grits out, wanting them to get to the goddamn point.
Luke listens in disbelief as the cops tell him that Roy’s escaped. Roy’s no longer in Florida. Roy’s believed to be on his way to Sal.
Luke’s heart seizes, an aching, familiar fear bubbling inside him.
Seth shoots Luke a look of panic.
But Luke’s already moving for his keys. “I’m gonna take the truck down into the holler, see if I can find her.” He points at Seth. “You double back on the logging road.” Then Lacey. “Stay here. Call us if she comes back.”
As Luke rushes out the front door, his heart pounding double-time in his ears, fear has his vision going blurry. All he can think about is getting to Sal.
She’s out there somewhere.
Roy’s out there too.
Wind in her hair. Sun on her back. Sal feels freer than she has in a long time. In fact, she’s decided she likes running. She hasn’t remembered anything yet—hell, she knew it was a long shot, but it’s there. She can feel it. Memories percolating. Like some forgotten song she used to know.
But now it’s time to turn back, her body telling her that’s enough for the day. Sal’s legs are as wobbly as cooked noodles. Her mind a fog of dizziness, the slow encroachment of a migraine breaching her brain.
In the middle of the path, Sal stops. She doubles over and breathes hard at the pain in her side. Then, giving a quick exhale and taking a pace, Sal looks around to get her bearings. She’s gotten turned around a few times, but nothing she can’t handle. It’s ten degrees cooler in the woods, the sun higher in the sky than it was when she left the farm. She can hear traffic rushing to her right, which means there lies the road and Hellier Curve. Water on her left, which is the river. Which means straight ahead is the farm. Even if she can’t yet see it.
She tilts her face to the trees, letting the sunlight flicker across her face.
Somewhere, behind her, a stick cracks.
She tenses, listening.
Chickenshit. You’re a chickenshit,that’s all, she tells herself. It’s a bird, a fox, a rabbit.
Still, Sal strains her ears, listening. Then, far off, but not far enough, a slow shuffling. The almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.
The hair on the back of her neck pricks up. Her heart’s in her throat. There’s a tug in her stomach, her sixth sense finding her, telling her to go, go, go.
Sal runs, rushing headlong through the forest in a clumsy zigzag pattern. Long branches scratch her arms, her shins. She stumbles once, tripping over roots, nicking her palms, but pushes herself back up.
Behind her, she hears it, she swears she does, a fast-paced, panting herky-jerky movement. Lumbering. Too big to be an animal. Something else. Someone else.
Someone close.
Propelling herself faster and faster, Sal descends a sloped hill. Her breath rattles out like a tin can. She splashes through a mud puddle. Climbs her way back up the steep hill.
Here, the trees have thinned. The light brighter. Sal pushes her way out of the grove of trees, nearly laughing in sheer relief as she sees the farm. Thirty feet away.
She never stops running.
Fear has her fleeing. And she makes a mad dash for the house.
The front door rockets open. Seth launches himself down the steps, his eyes wild with worry and relief.
They make for each other Sal not even bothering to slow her pace. Seth sees it, and his hands come out to brace her as she flies into his arms.
“Thank God,” Seth murmurs, gripping her tight. His blue eyes search her face. “You okay?” He gives her a shake when she doesn’t respond. “Sal?”
Before she can tell him about the woods, she frowns. Cop cars. Luke’s truck—gone. Lacey at the screen door, red-eyed.
Sal stares up at Seth. His face spooked and unnervingly pale. “What’s happening? What is it?”
Seth’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “It’s Roy.”
Sal would have fallen over if Seth hadn’t already been holding her up.
Sal sits on the couch, numb, barely breathing, as she listens to the two detectives tell her that Roy Williams has escaped while in transit from the courthouse to the jail. They toss around terrifying words like fugitive and custody and prisoner.
Beside Sal, Luke keeps a firm arm wrapped around her waist as she leans into him for support. Lacey sits on the other side of her. Seth, at the window, paces.
The big detective’s voice rises sharply as he speaks. Clipped and businesslike. “We have reason to believe that Roy could be on his way to you.”
Sal licks her lips. “What reason is that?”
“In his cell, there were . . . uh, articles. Clippings about you. And a, uh, note to a, uh . . .” The agent checks his notes. “Jenny.”
Luke winces.
Across the room, Seth makes a sound of disgust.
“Can I see it?” Sal asks, summoning her strength.
The thin detective with the ever-sympathetic face passes her the note. It’s in a plastic bag. The room falls silent as she reads it. Luke’s body goes as solid as cement.
See you soon, Jenny, sweet Jenny.
Sal squeezes her eyes shut tight at the mention of her old name, of what that monster used to call her.
The words are familiar, and instantly, Sal’s reminded of the diner. How she tried to escape and even then she wasn’t free. How Roy’s doughy hands wrapped around her throat like they never would let go.
Slowly, Sal shakes her head. She keeps her voice steady as she asks, “Why is he doing this? I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”
The detectives look at each other, then Sal. The grizzled, beer-bellied detective says, “We believe he’s done this before. We found a record of Roy Williams being married to a Jenny Williams ten years ago. She passed away due to an unknown medical condition. Then, a few years later, another woman went missing. A Lydia Voycheck. People recall seeing her with Roy. Recall her answering to the name of Jenny. But when questioned, she never said anything. And she was never seen again.
“We believe, with your memory loss, that he saw you as the perfect Jenny. That he could take you from your family”—Luke winces, heartbreak and sorrow clouding his eyes—“and you would be none the wiser.”
Clearing his throat, the thin detective says, “We think he’s been doing this for a while. Abducting women and keeping them in a prison until they love him.”
Sal finishes the sentence. “And if they don’t, he kills them.”
A horrified whisper comes from Lacey. “Oh my God.”
Sal squeezes her sister’s hand.
The thin detective nods. “That’s right. We were able to excavate his backyard and we found the graves of several women. We’re working on identifying them as we speak.”
A sharp ringing starts in Sal’s ears, an alarm, a siren. “What happened to them?”
Luke and Seth turn to her at the exact same time, their voices sharp as they both say her name, trying to stop her, trying to call her back from the edge of some grim abyss.
Yet she ignores them. Gathering herself, straightening her spine, she leans forward, bull’s-eyeing the grizzled detective in her sharp gaze. “I want to know.”
She needs to know.
These women were her.
The detective meets her eyes. “They were strangled to death.”
A gasp works its way out of Sal’s throat. All the strength leaves her. She feels faint, shaky as a leaf.
“Enough,” Luke snaps. But not at her. He’s angry at the detectives, the investigation. His fury’s been on a low simmer ever since he got back to the house. Sal had never seen anyone’s face so panicked and crazed before. When he saw her standing on the porch, he rushed for her and held her in his arms like it was the end of the world.
“This is fucking bullshit. He should be locked up.” Luke cradles Sal’s hand in his lap, his other hand covering it protectively. “He should be in a fucking jail cell, and he escapes. I don’t goddamn believe this. How the hell does this happen?”
“I don’t believe it either,” Lacey butts in impatiently. “When are you going to get him? What are you doing to keep my sister safe?”
For once, Lacey and Luke are on the same side. Both pairs of eyes boring holes into the detectives. Seth, listening, stands off to the side, watching out the window for Roy. A fact Sal doesn’t like one bit.
“Mr. Kincaid, Ms. Sutton, I understand your concern—”
Luke shakes his head, his expression growing darker each time the detectives open their mouths. “No, you don’t understand my concern. My concern is this guy, who’s out there, waitin’ on Sal. Tell me what you’re gonna do, and tell me now,” he demands, his voice cold as steel.
The thin detective nods. “We’ve issued an APB here and in other states. We’re planning to post a surveillance team to keep watch on your home.”
Sal shoots a pleading look at Luke. The last thing she wants is cops swarming her little place of peace and paradise.
“No,” Sal says, adamant.
Luke’s lips thin out.
“No, Luke.” She squeezes his arm, looks at the detectives. “You’ll find him before he gets here, right?”
Silence.
“What?” she asks, her heart hammering. Both detectives’ eyes have fallen to the floor. “What is it?”
“We, uh, have reason to believe he’s already here,” the fat detective says in a brusque tone. “A stolen car with Florida plates was found deserted ten miles from your farm.”
Sal’s heart plummets. Here. Already here.
Her mind veers to an hour earlier. Holy shit, the woods. The snapping of twigs. The shuffle of footsteps. That was Roy. He was after her, so close he could’ve caught her. He could’ve taken her back to her awful life. He could’ve killed her.
Her stomach lurches, and so does Sal.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she says, slapping a hand across her mouth.
Luke leaps up, letting her pass as she rushes for the bathroom.
She barely has enough time to slam the bathroom door shut before she collapses.
A wave of dizziness washes over her as she doubles over and wretches into the toilet. Cold scrambled eggs and black coffee. Groaning, Sal dips her head to wretch one last time.
As she hangs on to cold porcelain, her memory stretches, long, backtracking. Vaguely, it comes to her: this same position, Sal gripping tight to the toilet bowl, violently heaving. Luke, at her side, brushing her hair back, holding her strong and tight and protected.
Sal frowns, trying to process the memory, but her attention’s taken. Luke’s voice cuts through the closed bathroom door.
With a groan, Sal uncurls herself from the toilet. She flops back against the tub, wiping her mouth. Outside the door, hushed whispers float. There’s a soft tap and then the door’s opening.
Luke’s worried face appears. “Darlin’, you okay?” he asks, scooting into the bathroom to sit beside her.
She can’t even lift her eyes to look at Luke. Hopelessness fills her like a balloon.
She had barely begun to get over Roy. She had just gotten her life back. With the start of therapy. With Luke. And now . . . now what chance does she have?
None.
She’ll never be free. Not as long as Roy is out there.
Sal takes a shuddery breath, forcing herself to admit what she already knows.
“It was him. In the woods today.”
Luke’s jaw flexes, his eyes blazing with rage. “What?”
When all she can do is shake her head, Luke pulls her body toward him. He clutches her close as she sags in his arms. Her entire body is trembling. “Sal.” His voice is powerful. Fury filled and determined to protect her. “Tell me what happened.”
“Someone followed me when I was running,” she whispers. “It was Roy. I know it was. He wanted to—”
The thought’s so awful, tears well up in her eyes and she lets out a desperate sob.
Luke gathers Sal to him, cursing viciously.
Sal quietly weeps into her husband’s chest, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if her life depends on it. She continues to shake her head, continues to sob at the one fact she knows to be true.
“He won’t let me go, Luke. He won’t.”
Luke glances up as Seth’s frame darkens the living room. He’s on the couch, Sal asleep on top of him. Seeing them curled up together, Seth says nothing, only raises his eyebrows to signal he wants to speak to his brother.
Grudgingly, Luke untangles himself from Sal. Careful not to wake her, he covers her with a blanket. Before he goes to his brother, he studies his wife’s face. She’s finally settled down after the visit from the cops. Now, she sleeps, although not easy. Her brow’s pulled into a small furrow. Her fragile face graced by shadows.
She’s worried.
Hell, they’re all worried.
Luke follows Seth into the brightly lit foyer. His brother keeps his voice low. “She okay?”
After Sal fell apart in the bathroom, it took both Luke and Lacey to coax her into getting some rest.
“No, she ain’t okay,” Luke says flatly. He slicks a hand through his hair and decides to be honest with Seth. “Sal was finally feelin’ alright and now this.”
Slowly, surely, she was coming back to herself. Eating again, putting on weight, remembering small things, growing closer to Luke, to her family.
What this could do . . . it could break her. And it most definitely put the brakes on Luke telling her anything about the past, about the baby they lost.
Seth glances out the window where, across the street, two cops are stationed. Luke doesn’t like it any more than Sal does. Their family being watched, under surveillance.
The police searched the woods but came up empty-handed. The knowledge that someone is after Sal, watching her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, fills Luke with blind fury.
“What do we do, Luke?” Seth asks.
Luke wants to hug the hell out of his brother. The way he includes himself in their problems means the world to him.
“We keep things normal,” Luke finally tells him. “We have to or it’ll be too much for her.”
Luke glances over his shoulder. As he stares at Sal, he’s reminded of the promise he made. To not let anything happen to her. To protect her. And he’ll damn well do just that.
He looks at his brother. “I’ll tell you one thing, though—I’ll put that son of a bitch in the fucking grave if he comes after her.”
Seth’s face is as cold as his. “You’re goddamn right.”
“Seth?”
A quiet voice has them turning their heads. Lacey, her purse in her hands, hangs back in the hallway anxiously, abnormally subdued. She’s shook up by this afternoon’s events.
Seth slides his hand over Luke’s shoulder, squeezes. “I’m gonna make sure Lacey gets back to her place okay.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Luke follows them out onto the porch, watching, waiting until they make it safely out of the drive.
Letting out a breath, Luke braces his arms on the railing.
The evening air is warm, the last day of June. The sun dances, descending into flares of light purple, orange, pink.
Luke bristles at a noise behind him. He’s turning, his fists reflexively clenching, when he feels Sal’s hands, as small and light as sparrows, land on his shoulders. He relaxes at her touch.
“Sal,” he murmurs, twisting slightly to take her in his arms. She lets out a sleepy little sigh and curls against his chest. He rests his chin on top of her dark head.
For a long quiet minute, they stand there, entwined.
Then Luke tightens his embrace. Sal’s trembling in his arms. “You cold, darlin’?”
“No.” She pulls back and looks at him. Her green eyes flash. “I’m angry. I’m so goddamn angry.”
He sees it. Her slender frame shaking with rage. Pure cold-blooded fury.
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry this is all happenin’. I’d do anything to fix it.”
She hugs him fiercely. “It’s not your fault.”
“I want to take you away from here,” he admits. “Protect you.”
She smiles. “I hear Hawaii’s nice this time of year.”
A grin quirks his lips. “As long as we can get there by bus.”
Sal allows herself a brief laugh before her face hardens again. She holds his forearm, staring deep into his eyes. “I won’t run, Luke. We live our life. Roy thinks he can control me. And he can’t. I won’t let him. I won’t sit my life out. Not anymore.”
As Sal speaks, steel, strength in her voice, Luke’s reminded that she is more than a victim. She’s a survivor and he’s damn proud to be her husband.
And he knows one thing. He’ll protect her with everything he has.