Page 27 of Curves for the Mountain Man

“They found his DNA under your fingernails and a bite mark and bruises. I don’t want you to be scared the first time you look in the mirror. And they found his DNA elsewhere along with recent signs of trauma.”

“God, no,” I mutter, shaking my head.

She squeezes my hand again. “It’s okay, baby. The police have everything they need, and Vaughn explained why you were wearing the young man’s coat and boots.” She leans closer, whispering, “At first, you were under suspicion, too.”

I shake my head, my thoughts reeling.Under suspicion of what?

“Fortunately, we’ve caught everything early. So, if the assault leads to any … complications, we can terminate it before it becomes a problem.”

“Terminate it? You mean, like if I’m pregnant?” My voice fills the room, bordering on hysterical. “Never. I would never let anyone hurt our baby.”

She massages her temples with her hand. “The psychologist who came in yesterday said you might wake up like this … confused about everything. She had a name for the syndrome, but I can’t remember it now. Where the victim sympathizes with her assailant. I guess it’s pretty common in kidnappings. Would you like to speak with her? She’s very?—”

“You have it all wrong.” The words pour out of me, sizzling with outrage. I pull my hand from hers, crossing my arms.

“He’s a troubled man, Ginger. Former military, a wounded warrior, diagnosed with depression, severe PTSD, and suicidal ideation. His own family can’t vouch for him, saying he disappeared without a trace four years ago. Based on what detectives have pieced together so far, he kidnapped the young man, murdered him, and stole his Jeep and some clothing. It was that vehicle that he drove you to the hospital in?—”

“He drove me to the hospital,” I cut in, repeating her words with emphasis. “He drove me to the hospital. Do you really think a serial rapist and murderer would drive me to the hospital?”

Shaking her head, she counters, “He was shot and needed medical attention. Law enforcement alleges you lucked out by being with him.”

But her words don’t fit with the snippets of memory that wash over me. Of him holding me in the ER, stroking my face, and whispering reassuring words. Of him protesting when the staff separated us.

“He saved my life, Mama.” I bite my lower lip hard, tasting blood. “And not just once. We’re talking multiple times within my first few hours of knowing him. Without Roscoe, I wouldn’t be alive.”

“But what about the evidence? His skin under your fingernails, the corresponding scratches he has. The bite mark and bruises.” Her voice trembles.

I level my eyes on her. “He saved me, Mama. I’m sure you can figure out the rest.” This has to be the most embarrassing conversation of my life. But it’s nothing compared to what Roscoe must be enduring. I observe flatly, “The scratch marks weren’t on his face.”

She lets out an uncomfortable sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “But you’ve always been such a good girl.” She pauses, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’m getting too old for this… What about your roommates and that poor young man?”

“Poor nothing!” Fury pounds through me, stealing my speech.

Her eyebrows fly up to her hairline.

“Have they found any DNA evidence implicating Roscoe at my house?”

She shakes her head. “Investigators said he used condoms and covered his tracks thoroughly.”

“And then, he decided not to do the same thing with me?”

“Don’t be mad at me, Ginger,” she sniffles. “I’m only telling you what investigators have told me.”

Her words go straight to my heart, and I instantly regret berating her. “I’m sorry, Mama,” I apologize. “I’m just furious about how wrong everyone has this.”

But she’s only half listening as she searches her phone, holding up a picture for me. It’s a mugshot of Roscoe, and it steals the breath from my lungs.

The backs of my eyes smart as I stare at it. His face is wild and unkempt, my handsome, rugged mountain man. Only the media uses this image to frame him as a monster. The headline above the image reads:

Horror in the Woods: Lone, Ex-Military Mountain Man Charged in Triple Homicide, Assaults, & Kidnapping

“They have it all wrong,” I whisper, fighting a sob, and feeling like my head will explode. Seizing the phone from my mother, I stare at Roscoe, indulging in one moment of admiration.

My mother doesn’t miss this, her face shifting from disbelief to curiosity. Clearing her throat, she asks, exasperation edging her voice, “Then, who did this to you, Ginger?”

I flip down through the article until I reach the photos of the victims, tearing up at the sight of my roommates, Crystal and Tiffany. “They didn’t deserve this,” I say quietly, images of them dead in our kitchen flashing through my head. I scroll down further until I reach the picture I need. It causes such a visceral response that I drop the phone in my lap, my hands shaking.

My mother stands, grimacing as she grabs the cell, scrutinizing Asher’s photo.

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