Page 35 of Blackwood

The image of him running through the woods like a predator spoke to the darker parts of my soul, the ones I’d never explored for fear of enjoying what I found there. What had I gotten myself into?

I tried to seem nonchalant. “And once you catch her?”

He knelt down and wet a washcloth with alcohol. “You saw.” Glancing to the knife in my hand, he asked, “Could you put that down? This is going to hurt, and I don’t want to die by my own kitchen knife.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but dropped the blade on the bed.

“Thanks. Brace yourself.”

When he touched my bloody calf, I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle the scream.

“I’m sorry.”

When I could finally breathe again, I asked, “Does that turn you on?”

He shook his head. “Not even a little. The kind of pain I give is wanted. And there’s always a reward.” He glanced up at me, the dark depths of his eyes making my stomach clench.

My mind whirled around the thought of the “reward.”Fuck. “So this pain is…”

“Different.” He wiped again, and this time I couldn’t keep the sound inside.

“You have a great scream, though.” He lifted my calf and inspected the wounds. “It’s close, but I don’t think you need more stitches. The separations aren’t consistent. I think they’ll sew themselves back up after you rest it for a while.”

I didn’t make it past his initial comment. “A great scream?”

“Never mind that.” He began to place gauze on the bad spots, his dark hair falling along either side of his face. “Now that you’ve questioned me, I have something I’d like to ask you.”

“What?” I wanted to push his hair back so I could see his face, but I kept my hands in my lap.

He turned his face to mine, his stare cold. “Why are you really here?”

Chapter Fifteen

My heart droppedintomy stomach acid. Surely he wasn’t asking what I thought he was asking. Did he suspect something? I’d covered my tracks, or at least I thought I had.

Maybe I’d misheard him. “What?”

He taped the gauze in place. “I did a little digging of my own, pardon the pun, and found out your mother died a few months ago and your father, Vince Gallant, was a longtime resident of Browerton. He disappeared a few years ago. Last place he was seen?” He glanced up. “Millbrook County, with my sister.”

I stuttered, and my mind blanked as he pressed the gauze onto a particularly tender spot.

He continued, “So that begs the question of what you are really doing out here. Seems like you would have mentioned your connection to Browerton first thing—to the sheriff, or me; hell, even Bonnie. But you didn’t. Why is that?”

“It didn’t really matter.”Oh, shit. “I’m here to dig for Choctaw artifacts, that’s all. My parents have nothing to do with it.”

He stopped taping my leg and sat back, his gaze settling on mine and locking. “You’re good at a lot of things—getting into trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and getting under my skin—but one thing you’re not good at?” He shook his head. “Lying.”

He unspooled a length of tape and bit it off before returning to my leg. I didn’t respond, only watched as he kept working, steadily patching me up. What could I tell him? That I suspected him or his family to have had something to do with my father’s death? I almost laughed at the thought. I’m sure that would go over almost as well as his “I like to chase chicks through the woods and fuck them” explanation.

“I’ve met him. You know that?”

I twitched as he finished taping me up. “Who?”

“Still playing dumb, I see.” He sat all the way back, planting his ass on the floor and staring up at me with an openness I’d never thought I’d see on him. It was as if telling me his dark secret freed a part of him. “Your dad. I met your dad.”

“What?” I leaned forward, my need to know sparking to life. “When? Where?”

“Red, maybe if you’d just asked me right off, I would have told you. No sneaking around needed.”

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