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Epilogue
There was a bloody man walking down the middle of the road.
India Sommers’s heart leaped into her throat the moment her headlights fell on the tall, lean figure. Had she been more familiar with the area, she might’ve come racing around the bend in her quiet Prius and accidentally mowed him down, but he didn’t seem to give a damn about the danger. He looked too angry to care. And judging by his rumpled clothes, she thought she could guess why. This guy had been in a fight.
He seemed determined to flag her down. But she’d seen enough violence to recognize that he was no helpless victim, which made her far less sympathetic to whatever he needed than she might otherwise have been.
She started to slow; she didn’t want to hit him. But neither was she willing to leave herself vulnerable. She was alone on a winding road in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and she’d moved to Gold Country only this week. She hadn’t had a chance to meet more than a handful of people. For all she knew, this man could be some kind of crazed lunatic who’d just committed murder!
He looked menacing, with his hands curled into fists and his jaw set as if he’d like to take another swing at someone.
Who had he tangled with already?
She edged to the right so she could squeeze past him. Once it seemed safe, she planned to punch the gas pedal and get out of there. Whatever he’d been involved in, she wanted no part of it. Since she’d been using GPS to get home from the art show she’d attended in another town, she had her cell phone in the passenger seat. She’d call the police as soon as she was well away, so she wouldn’t leave him stranded, and be done with this.
But the minute she slowed and he started to approach, she recognized him. It was her neighbor! She’d seen him out with his brothers, throwing a football the day she moved in. The three of them—all equally tall, dark and muscular—had even hauled her potter’s wheel into the screened-in porch at the back of her house, where she’d decided to work through the summer.
Although still a little reluctant to stop, she couldn’t just drive off, not if her neighbor needed help. So she stepped on the brake, and Rod—she remembered his name because he was the type of man a woman wouldn’t easily forget—came to the side of the car.
A chill ran through her as he waited for her to lower the window. Was she a fool for trusting him? Just because he lived next door didn’t make him safe, especially if he was high on something. And even if she could normally outrun him, which wasn’t likely, she was wearing a long dress and heels.
Cursing her desire to be helpful and polite, which occasionally overrode her good sense, she pressed the button.
“It’s you,” he said as soon as they no longer had a barrier of glass between them.
“Yes.” She wasn’t sure he remembered her name, so she added it. “India Sommers.”
“Right. My new neighbor. Listen, India, I need you to call the cops.”
He seemed quite matter-of-fact. She didn’t get the impression that he intended to drag her out of the driver’s seat and into the woods—or steal her purse or her Prius. But she’d been correct when she guessed he’d been in a fight. His knuckles were scraped.
“What happened?” she asked.
He wiped the drop of blood that was running from his mouth. “Some bastard got out of line.”
And Rod had put him back in line? Where was that bastard?
Butterflies danced in India’s belly as she squinted to see down the road, as far into the darkness as she could. “Where is this person?”
“Back that way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
The other guy hadn’t driven off? Why? “Is he seriously injured?”
Rod stretched his fingers, as if his hand hurt. “Probably not seriously, but he’s out cold.”
She still wasn’t clear on why he’d been walking in the road. This remote location wasn’t one you’d arrive at on foot. “So...why are you without transportation? Were you traveling together?”
“No. He wrecked my motorcycle when he came up from behind and ran me off the road. Now it’s undrivable. And somehow in the scuffle I lost my phone. I looked for his, but he doesn’t seem to have one on him.”
“It’s a miracle you’re alive!” she said as she reached for her cell. “What would make someone do what he did?”
Obviously irritated, Rod gestured as if too much had happened to explain. “It started before, at the bar. I should’ve kicked his ass then.”
“Oh, God.” Her hand shook as she dialed 911. She didn’t do well with violence; she’d seen too much of it. That was part of the reason she’d come to Whiskey Creek—to start over in a place that still felt innocent. Her past was littered with dangerous yet attractive rebels, men a lot like this neighbor of hers. The rough, outlaw type used to fill her with excitement, with desire. They made her feel...alive.
She’d learned a few lessons since then about what really mattered. It wasn’t a reckless disregard for the rules, or a handsome face and rock-hard abs. These days she understood that in more than a cognitive sense; it’d sunk deep into her emotional memory. But whether she’d learned her lesson or not, she was still paying a terrible price for having associated with the wrong people.
As she waited for the dispatcher to pick up, she eyed the tattoo—a snake slithering up a tree—that covered the sinewy contours of Rod’s right arm until it disappeared into the sleeve of his white T-shirt. Yep, this was exactly the kind of guy she would’ve liked once upon a time. She wouldn’t have cared that he could be volatile. She wouldn’t have cared that he probably didn’t have a college education or even a decent job. Physically, he was everything a woman dreamed about.
And he’d probably be good in bed—although she had no idea where that thought came from. Just the casual way he held himself, his lack of self-consciousness and natural confidence, she supposed. He stood out from other men. But the intimacy she’d shared with Charlie, who was nothing like this guy, had been sweet and fulfilling. What Charlie had brought to the rest of her life was even better. She needed to find another man like him—when she was ready.
“911. What is your emergency?”
At the sound of the operator’s voice, she snapped to attention. “Hello... I’m out on...” She looked up at Rod for help. She’d forgotten the name of the street. She wasn’t familiar with anything other than the few blocks that constituted the center of town and Gulliver Lane, which led from town to her place.
“Old Church Road,” he said.
She’d begun to repeat that when he took her phone and spoke into it himself. “There’s been an incident about a mile before you get to Sexy Sadie’s outside Whiskey Creek. A man’s down, so send an ambulance.”
The operator must’ve asked for more details, because he said, “I’m not a doctor. All I can tell you is that he’s not moving.”
“Sir? What caused his injuries? Are you still there? Can I get your name?”
India could hear those questions, since Rod was handing her the cell. “Um, just get someone here quick,” she told the dispatcher and disconnected.
“Would you mind giving me a ride back to my bike?” he asked.
India wasn’t sure she wanted him in her car. But he had to know she was