Page 35 of Bitter Truth
I wish I had her confidence about that, but I don’t. I’m worried that I might have irreparably damaged our relationship. Broken Jake’s trust. Driven a wedge between us that we’ll never be able to remove. And if that’s true, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.
It’s not only that without Jake I’m in this mess all alone. It’s that without him, what’s the point of fighting so hard to get out of it?
CHAPTER 18
I feel heavy, weighed down with remorse. Nausea coats my tongue with the thick fuzz of regret. I can’t focus. I can’t hold still. I can barely even breathe.
Jake still hasn’t responded to any of my calls or texts, and I can’t help thinking that maybe hecan’tanswer. That maybe something bad happened when he left last night and I’ll be forced to spend the rest of my life knowing that it’s all my fault. That the last words between us were angry ones.
I’m making myself ill over it. I know I can’t keep obsessing like this. I need to get away from this place, where everywhere I look I’m surrounded by memories that include Jake.
Carrying the raccoon back to her cage in the medical ward, I put her inside. The noise she makes as I close the door is enough to shred my already shattered heart into microscopic pieces. My molars grit even harder together as I rush from the room, practically jogging down the hall and out of the house.
Opening my car door, I feel my pocket before climbing inside, making sure I have the list of supplies I need to order from the feed store just outside of town. It’s a task that Jake usually handles, but I’m not sure if I can rely on him to do it anymore.
I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that the animals need to eat. As much as I’m trying to hold on to my hope that Jake will forgive me, it’s not fair to let them suffer for any reason, but especially not because I’m an idiot.
Reaching over, I turn the radio up a little louder, trying to drown out my thoughts. Scan the stations until I find one playing a song I used to love when I was in high school. Now it just sounds like noise. It’s an odd form of torture, one that blessedly does the trick as I find myself pulling into the Gator Glade Feed and Seed lot and parking beside the large step van they use for deliveries.
A bell tinkles as I enter the store. Walking over to the counter, I pull my list from my pocket and wait. After a couple of minutes, my impatience grows. It’s quickly replaced by worry.
Usually the owner, Donna, is perched on the stool behind the register. I’ve only seen her leave it when she’s showing a customer where to find something, which takes a lot less time than I’ve been waiting. An itchy feeling takes hold as a memory of the robbery at the pharmacy rises to the surface of my mind.
As I take my first few hesitant steps toward the rear of the building, my hand instinctively moves behind my back, pulling the hem of my T-shirt up and tucking it inside my waistband so it’s easier to access my concealed carry weapon. I keep my eyes wide, scanning my surroundings, looking for anything out of place as Icreep down an aisle.
I’ve almost reached the back of the store when a murmured voice reaches my ears, the emotion in it causing the hair on my arms to rise. It’s Donna’s. And it sounds like she’s crying.
Without hesitation I draw my pistol, quickening my steps until I reach the end of the row. Keeping the firearm concealed alongside my leg, I take a deep breath and step into the passage at the back of the store. Realize that my day just got infinitely worse as I quickly reholster the weapon.
“What’s going on?” I ask as I hurry to Donna’s side. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Sheriff Kingston responds with a single, sharp bark, his eyes narrowing.
At the same time, Donna turns her reddened eyes and puffy, tear-streaked face toward me and says, “No.” Her hands grasp my arm in an iron grip, her voice hitching and high-pitched. “My granddaughter’s gone missing.”
“Oh, Donna,” I say, my heart twisting into knots at the thought of what she’s going through. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“Now don’t going telling her your business,” Kingston warns. “This doesn’t involve her.” The sheriff points at me. “You remember that conversation we had the other day, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Well, this is what I was talking about.”
“Calm down, Lyle,” Donna says. “She just wants to help.”
“Trust me, you don’t need her kind of help.”
“Are you sure about that? Because you don’t seem to be doing very much to find my granddaughter.”
“Donna, I’m warning you. I won’t be held responsible for anything that happens because that girl interferes with my investigation.”
“That girlis an almost forty-year-old grown woman who’s spent the last decade and a half as an FBI agent,” I remind him.
Donna’s eyes widen at my words. Her fingers tighten on me until it feels like she’s crushing the bones beneath. “You’re an FBI agent?”
I nod, suddenly regretting not keeping a better hold on my temper and outing myself.
“I didn’t know.”
