Home to Whiskey Creek. Brenda Novak

      “True, but our paths won’t cross.”

      She didn’t know that. She’d only been back a few days, and one of those had been spent in the mine. Their paths could cross. For whatever reason, she didn’t want them to. “I think I can afford to buy you a burger.”

      After ordering two double cheeseburgers, two fries and two shakes, he idled forward to wait for the food. “Have you been in touch with anyone from Whiskey Creek since you left?”

      “Besides Gran and Darlene? No.”

      That didn’t sound as though she’d been particularly close to the people she’d mentioned. “Do your friends know you’re back?”

      “Not yet. I’m not here to socialize. I’m here to help.”

      So she’d said, but wouldn’t most people automatically do both?

      He slung his arm over the steering wheel. “I could go to my father for you. He’s the mayor these days. Once he retired, he decided, out of the blue, to go into politics. Shocked us all. But the point is, he now has some pull with the police. If I tell him what happened, I know he’d have Chief Stacy look into the situation...discreetly. Would that make a difference?”

      She shook her head, a resolute no.

      “He’ll see to it,” he pressed. “And no one will be the wiser. Trust me.”

      “No! Please. I don’t want your father to know anything about this.”

      “Why not?”

      “I’d rather go on about my business. Why does it matter to you whether I report what happened?”

      “Okay, I get it.” And yet he hated feeling so...out of control when there was something he wanted to control. “It’s just...beyond me to let this go,” he explained. “Whoever did it deserves to be punished.”

      “That’s not up to you.”

      She had a point there.

      The girl working the drive-through pushed open the window to collect his money—and gave him a thousand-watt smile the moment she recognized him. “Hey, Noah!”

      He was tempted to roll his eyes at her enthusiasm. She was maybe seventeen. “Hi, Cindy.”

      “What are you up to tonight?” A calculated dimple appeared in her cheek. She didn’t live in Whiskey Creek, but he saw her when she came to visit her married sister, who happened to be his closest neighbor.

      “Just got back from a ride. How’s school going?” He hoped that would remind her of her age.

      “Fine. Can I get you anything else?”

      As he’d promised, she hadn’t realized he had company. The way Adelaide hugged her door kept her completely in shadow. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a woman sit so far away from him in his truck. He could only assume that, after what she’d been through, she was afraid of men. “No, thanks.”

      Cindy counted out his change and passed him his receipt with the sack. “Well, if you’d like something later, you know where to find me.”

      Embarrassed by the innuendo in her voice, he pretended not to notice. “Thanks.”

      He handed the food to Adelaide as he drove off. Had she picked up on the offer he’d just received? He hoped not. He knew it wouldn’t reflect well on him.

      Why he cared, he couldn’t say.

      Addy stretched her legs as she sat up, and he cranked the heat again so she’d be comfortable.

      “If you won’t go to the police, what will you tell Milly?” he asked.

      “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

      “I really think you should come forward.”

      “That changes everything.”

      The sarcasm in her response took him by surprise. “Pardon me?”

      She lifted her chin, revealing her unwillingness to bend on this issue. “I can’t, okay? If I come forward, whoever did this will hurt Gran. He told me so.”

      “Why would anyone want to hurt either of you?”

      She didn’t answer.

      “Are you not going to respond?”

      “It’s just a freak thing that happened. If I put it behind me and forget, it won’t happen again.”

      “You hope.”

      She didn’t answer.

      “What if Milly already filed a missing-person report?”

      Obviously not enchanted by that idea, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would Chief Stacy allow her to? It’s only been one day. Doesn’t it take, like...three days for the police to consider a missing adult as a criminal case?”

      “Depends on the circumstances.”

      “Right.” She slumped over, as if her chances of having the ordeal go unnoticed weren’t as good as she’d hoped. “I was taken from my bed.”

      “How’d that happen?”

      “There’s a door to the outside in my bedroom, where the porch wraps around the house. I left it open to get some air, and he cut through the screen door.”

      “Then it’s not like you drove off with him. I’m guessing the police are already involved.”

      She stuck a French fry in her mouth. “So...I’ll just tell everyone the same thing I told you.”

      “That you must’ve been sleepwalking.”

      She had to roll back the sleeves of his sweatshirt; they were too big to stay pushed up on her long, thin arms. “Why not?”

      The marks on her wrists suggested she’d been bound, which upset him more than any of it.

      “Because no one will believe you.” Especially once they saw what he did.

      “That part doesn’t matter.”

      “It only matters that they not learn the truth. Is that it?”

      She’d been shoveling the food down pretty fast, but at this she slowed. “Basically.”

      He stopped at the light where he needed to turn to go to Whiskey Creek. “You’re not making sense,” he said in frustration. But then something occurred to him that he should’ve thought of before. “Wait a second. He didn’t...rape you, did he?”

      She’d had her panties on, and they’d been intact. Her shirt hadn’t been torn off, either. But those marks on her wrists...

      “No, he didn’t,” she said, but she’d spoken too quickly and the tears that welled up called her a liar.

      Shit! He was an idiot for not catching on sooner. She’d been beaten but his sweatshirt had covered her wrists until she started eating. And the way she’d responded when he questioned her led him to believe she knew the person who’d hurt her and was even trying to protect him. That screamed domestic violence, not rape—at least, not stranger rape.

      If she’d been sexually assaulted, maybe she was refusing to go to the hospital because she didn’t want anyone to find out, didn’t want to go through the humiliation.

      Or she had no confidence it would make any difference.

      “Adelaide, please,” he said, “let me take you to the hospital. I know it’ll be degrading and...terrible but...I don’t think you should make this decision in your current, uh, condition.”

      A tear crested her lashes and ran down her cheek as she shoved the rest of the food away. “You don’t know anything.”

      A car honked behind them. The light