Page 104 of Bad Intentions

“Who?” The guy looked at me with interest.

“The young man who stayed here for the last several weeks.”

“Oh, him. He left. Got his deposit back two days ago and took off early this morning. He and his girl.”

Panic twisted in my stomach, making me sick. “What girl?”

He shrugged.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my mobile and called Derek again.

“The number you dialed is no longer in service,” the automated system said, smashing my dreams into a million sharp pieces.

I wanted to set this entire town on fire. I got in my car and cried, then drove around town, hoping to spot his car. Hoping he was still around. Hoping we could talk.

I don’t tell the last part to Josie Boots, the daughter of that bitch, Alysha. The daughter of the guy who’d promised me a future, then betrayed me. What happened to him serves him right, and she doesn’t get to twist my story.

Except, this, right now, isn’t going according to my plan. I need to find out what this moron in front of me did with Derek’s body.

57

MALLORY

“Why are you doing this?” Josie Boots asks meekly, like the mouse that she is.

I adjust the gun in my hand, the barrel still pointing in the girl’s direction. She needs to know who’s in charge, instead of throwing around accusations. All these mouth breathers nowadays who have no business judging others.

“Derek disappeared for twenty-five years,” I continue. “So imagine my surprise when several weeks ago, he walked into the gas station where I work. I froze on the spot. He’d barely changed. Older, sure, but still a full head of black hair. No wrinkles. Same confidence. For a second, a brief second, I thought he’d come back for me. Too late, but I still would’ve given him a chance.”

The sad thing is—and I don’t tell Josie Boots this, because it’s none of her business—he didn’t recognize me. That was what ticked me off. He was flirting with some local mom, twenty years his junior, right there, in front of me, as he was getting a six-pack of beer. And she laughed gaily, just like every girl had done decades ago in his presence. That was Derek’s charm. Still worked.

When he came over to the cash register to pay, I asked him for his driver’s license. He looked at me with interest. “What, you think I’m that young?” Same charming smile.

“Maybe?” I answered. Stupid, I know, but I wanted to see his name on the license. More than anything, I hoped that he’d hear my voice and recognize me.

James D Sickler, California, the license said. He lived in San Francisco, and I in Burnville.

Suddenly, I had a familiar itch. My body tingled all over. My hands, stomach, feet. A warmth spread all through it at the sight of him. He was back!

I stared at him, trying to bring back the memories in him. I should’ve washed my hair that morning. I should’ve dressed nicely.

“You from around here?” I asked.

“No, just visiting,” he said.

“Staying in the hotel? They are all pretty bad around here.” I was fishing for more information.

He narrowed his eyes on me. “No, just renting a place from old Kepner on Lauren Street.”

“Just as bad,” I murmured, and he smiled broadly, his gaze on me lingering for some time, giving me goose bumps. In twenty-five years, no man had had that effect on me but him.

When he left, I ran to the window, noted his car model and license plate. That very night, I dressed up, put on some makeup and perfume. Did my hair up like I used to back then. Drove to Lauren Street. His car was parked at one of the houses, so I knocked on the door.

He opened right away. “Can I help you?”

“It’s me,” I said.

He frowned. “From the gas station, right?”