Dead Certain - Mariah Stewart [77]
“I was lying,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Before. When I said I wasn’t afraid. That was a lie.” She opened her eyes and stared up at the sky. “I was afraid.”
“Well, it’s only normal to—”
“Not of him. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to fight. That I’d panic and not fight back. And if I couldn’t fight, it would mean that everything I thought I’d learned about myself, everything I thought I’d become, was a myth. That after all I’d done and all that I’d been through, I’d find out that deep inside, I was still that meek, helpless woman Archer Lowell had preyed on. And that the past sixteen months of my life hadn’t meant a damned thing.”
Sean tried hard to think of something to say that would make her understand that it was neither her strength nor her weakness that determined whether her life had meaning. But while he was searching for the words, she looked up at him and said, “But I did all right, didn’t I? I fought back. I beat this bastard, ran him off. This time, I won.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, one hand stroking her arm in reassurance. “You won this round.”
They sat close together on the bench for another ten minutes or so, until the last of his officers came back through the field shaking their heads.
“Nothing, Chief,” Dana told him. “Ground’s too hard and there’s too much underbrush to get a trail through the woods. It’s like he disappeared into thin air.”
“He couldn’t have gone too far, if he was hurt as badly as Amanda thinks he was.”
“I only landed one kick to his jaw,” she noted. “He must have been stunned, and he probably hurts like hell. But he’d have had no trouble getting through those woods by the time your other officers arrived.”
“Kicked him in the face, did you?” Dana asked.
“With every ounce of strength I had.” She smiled. “Kicked like a mule . . .”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Bitch kicked like a fucking mule.
Vince lay back against the pillow, the plastic bag filled with ice numbing the left side of his face. There’d be no partying down at Dolores’s apartment tonight, that’s for sure. He’d have to leave a message on her answering machine—as soon as he could work his jaw to talk, that is. Didn’t want her wondering where he was, coming to his room to look for him. Or worse, thinking he was dumping her, after last night. Damn, but that Dolores was one hot little tamale. Turned him inside out and all but ripped him to shreds. But that was fine. He liked it like that.
That little bauble he’d given her had been worth its weight in gold—he’d been right about that. It had turned her on like a Bunsen burner.
And here was a little bonus he hadn’t counted on. Any time he wanted to see it, it would be there, hanging around her neck. And every time he looked at it, he’d be reminded of Marian and how she had tried to scream. He’d found the experience of killing her unexpectedly sweet in retrospect, had found it thrilling to think back on how he’d plunged the knife in and out. In and out. In and out. Just like he’d plunged himself into Dolores over and over the night before. It had been the absolute best sex he’d ever had, hands down.
Well, it was just like he’d figured. Dolores was one of those women who just crumbled when she thought a straight-up guy like him was into her for the long haul. And he would be, relatively speaking. He liked this little town, liked the way things were going for him here. He could see himself hanging around for a bit. And he would, since he did not intend to do anything stupid that would attract attention. Nope, as far as everyone around here was concerned, Vinnie Daniels was a stand-up guy. Salt of the earth, and all that.
That’s what his mother used to say when she described someone she really admired. “He’s the salt of the earth, Vince,” she’d say, and nod her head, her mouth set in an approving line. It was her