River Road(15)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Annoyed. Irritated. But lucky for you, I am not yet mad. You’ve never seen me mad, and it’s probably best that way. But let’s get something straight here. You are not my personal secretary. I’m a big girl now. I can take care of my own business. I do not need anyone to schedule my life and my appointments while I’m in town. Are we very clear on that?”

Mason managed to look both crushed and bewildered. “I was just trying to do you a favor.”

She aimed a finger at him. “When I want a favor from you, I will request said favor. Do I make myself clear?”

“No favors.” He held up a hand, palm out. “No problem.”

Great. Now she had probably hurt his feelings. Or not. It was hard to tell with Mason Fletcher.

She smiled.

“I’m glad we have an understanding,” she said. “You can finish setting the table now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He completed the process with his usual efficient, competent ease. Memories of the night he had driven her home from Brinker’s last party floated through her mind. She remembered how in control he had been that night—not only of the old truck but of himself. And she remembered something her aunt had said about Mason. Someday that young man will either learn to bend or he will break.

Thus far it did not appear that Mason had done much bending, and he certainly was not broken. But she could see shadows deep in his eyes, not depression or despair—at least she did not think that was what she saw. It was more like a kind of world-weariness mixed with resignation, as if he had spent the past few years searching for something he wanted or needed and was now beginning to accept that he might never find it.

“What brought you back to Summer River?” she asked. “Was it something that happened on the job, or was it personal?”

He looked at her across the table. “You said you didn’t need an administrative assistant to organize your life. Fine. I don’t need a counselor.”

She flushed. “Right. Sorry.” She tossed the bok choy into the pan with the salmon. “I do have a couple of questions about the night of Brinker’s last party. Can I ask?”

“Ask,” he said.

“I’ve never been able to buy the story that you took me away just because you thought I couldn’t handle myself in a crowd of hard-partying teens.”

“It wasn’t a story,” Mason said.

“You really thought that I would get stupid drunk? I may have been sixteen, but I wasn’t into drinking or drugs.”

“Your aunt never told you the truth, did she?”

She looked at him. “Guess not, since her story remained the same as your own—that I was too young, in over my head, blah, blah, blah.”

Mason picked up his beer and propped one shoulder against the refrigerator. “Okay, then, seeing as how you’re all grown up, here’s the truth. On the evening of the party I heard a rumor that Brinker had plans to target you that night.”

“What?” She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. “I don’t understand.”

“What part about the word target don’t you get? He intended to drug you, rape you, film the rape scene and post the video online.”

“Good grief.” She leaned back against the counter and gripped the edges with both hands. Thunderstruck would not have been too strong a word to describe her reaction, she thought. “You knew that?”

“All I had to go on was the rumor, but I didn’t think it would be smart to take any chances. So, yeah, when I couldn’t get hold of your aunt, I went looking for you.”

“Every kid in town knew that I was going to be Brinker’s target that night?” she demanded, voice rising.

“I doubt it. Brinker kept his secrets close. But he did tell one person.”

“Who?”

“Jillian.”

“Jillian,” Lucy repeated, numb with the shock of it all. “I didn’t think she even knew who I was back in those days. She was the local prom queen and a cheerleader. I was just a kid from out of town who was spending the summer with her aunt.”

“She knew who you were, trust me.”

Lucy frowned, thinking it through. “Because she wanted Brinker, and Brinker wanted to target me.”

“Something like that. Whatever Brinker wanted, he got.”

“Why would he want me? I wasn’t his type. Jillian was his type.”

“It was just a horrible game to Brinker. The guy was a sociopath. If he’d lived, he probably would have become a serial ra**st or maybe a serial killer. Who can say? You represented what he could never be—a sweet, decent kid. So he wanted to destroy you.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s very . . . insightful of you.”

“You learn a few things about human nature when you track bad guys for a living.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

She suddenly smelled the bok choy and salmon. Seizing a hot pad, she whirled around and yanked the pan off the heat. For a moment she stood there, staring at the contents of the skillet.

“You were right,” she said. “I really do owe you my thanks for saving me that night.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She met his eyes. “If Brinker had succeeded with his evil act, I would have been seriously traumatized. My life would probably have gone in an entirely different direction, and it most likely would not have been a good direction. So . . . thanks.”

9

Lucy sat on the sofa, one leg curled under herself, and watched Mason take apart the wall of tiles that blocked the front of the big fireplace. It dawned on her that she liked to watch him, regardless of the task at hand—driving, flipping a wrench into the air, setting a table, removing tiles. She just liked to look at him.

It was weird to think that nothing had changed since he had dropped her off at her door the night of the party thirteen years ago. It wasn’t as if she’d spent the intervening years thinking about him or missing him. Her life had been fulfilling and, with the glaring exception of her love life, satisfying. She had a career she found interesting and challenging. She had good friends.

The point was that she had not been lonely since leaving Summer River and she had not been pining for Mason Fletcher. When she had thought about him at all, it had been with a mix of amusement and sympathy for the sixteen-year-old kid who’d had a crush on an older, out-of-reach male who, she now knew, had saved her from a vicious sociopath.