Page 3 of Colt
“Do it.” I sank into my chair at the table, suddenly exhausted. “But keep it quiet for now. I don’t want her knowing we’re watching.”
Dutch stood and moved to the bar, pouring two fingers of whiskey and sliding it toward me. “Whatever you need, brother. She’s in our territory now. That means she plays by our rules.”
I took the whiskey and downed it in one burning swallow. It didn’t help. Nothing was going to help except answers.
The woman who’d destroyed me was back. And she’d looked at me like our entire relationship had meant nothing.
Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe I’d been a fool to ever think she loved me.
But I kept coming back to her face when I’d said her name. She’d always been a terrible liar—it was one of the things I’d loved about her. So why had she been so convincing today?
I pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. Whatever game she was playing, I was going to figure it out. And then I was going to make her pay for every single day of the last seven years.
Chapter 2
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— Lilac —
I’d managed to hold it together through the checkout line, smiling at the cashier and making small talk about the weather while my heart hammered against my ribs. I’d loaded the groceries into the car with steady enough movements, buckled the boys into their booster seats, and driven the fifteen minutes home without running a single red light.
But now, standing in Betty’s kitchen with a bag of tomatoes I couldn’t remember buying, the trembling had taken over completely.
“Mama?” Knox’s voice drifted in from the living room. “Can we have a snack?”
“In a minute, baby.” I set the tomatoes down before I dropped them and gripped the edge of the counter, forcing myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The way the therapist had taught me years ago, back when the panic attacks were constant instead of occasional.
Who was he?
The question circled through my mind. That man—that huge, terrifying man with the leather vest and the green eyes—had looked at me like I’d personally destroyed his life. Had called me by name. Had accused me of walking out on him, of getting pregnant by someone else. Like we shared some history I couldn’t remember.
But I would remember someone like him. Wouldn’t I?
“Lilac? Sweetheart?”
Betty appeared in the kitchen doorway, her reading glasses pushed up into her silver hair and worry carved into every line of her face. She’d been napping when we got home, but the boys must have woken her.
“The boys said something happened at the store.” She crossed to me immediately, her nurse’s instincts kicking in as she took my hands and felt my pulse. “Your heart is racing. What’s wrong?”
“There was a man.” The words came out thin, reedy. “He knew my name. He said—Betty, he said I was his wife. That I walked out on him seven years ago.”
Betty’s face went white.
Not confused. Not dismissive. White.
“What did he look like?” Her voice was careful now, controlled in a way that made my stomach clench. “This man who said he knew you?”
“Tall. Really tall, with broad shoulders. Dark hair, green eyes. He was wearing one of those motorcycle vests with patches all over it.” I searched her face, looking for reassurance, for the gentle dismissal I expected. “Betty, he was crazy, right? He had me confused with someone else, right?”
She didn’t answer. Just stood there with her hands still wrapped around mine.
My mind raced, grasping for explanations. “Maybe—maybe I have a twin? A doppelganger?” The words tumbled out faster now. “They say everyone has a twin out there, right? Someone who looks just like them? He must have confused me with her. With whoever this woman is who left him.” I could hear the desperation in my own voice, the need to make this make sense. “Betty?”
“Sit down, sweetheart.” She guided me to one of the kitchen chairs and sank into the one across from me. Her hands were trembling now too. “I need to tell you something.”
“You know him.” It wasn’t a question. I could see it in her face. “You know who he is.”
Betty nodded slowly, her eyes distant for a moment. “I believe I do. Assuming it’s the same man.” She seemed to be talking to herself now, her voice barely above a whisper. “It sounds like him. The description matches.” Then she turned to face me fully, her grip tightening on my hands. “His name is Cliff Spencer. Most people call him Colt.” She took a breath. “And, yes, before you came to me… he was your husband.”
