“Well…I don’t know about that.” Randall checked his watch and Carter hitched his chin toward the parking lot, suggesting the psychologist look through the window to the parking space where Jenna, seated at the wheel of her Jeep was waiting, the rig’s engine idling in the hot afternoon air.
“Things are working out for you, I see,” Randall observed with the tiniest of smiles. “Maybe winter isn’t so bad after all.”
“Maybe, and yeah, things are working out, but Jenna, she’s still got connections in L.A. and there are rumors that her ex is going to try and produce a story that sounds a helluva lot like yours.”
“Is that so?” Randall’s humorless eyes met his gaze and Carter noticed it then, that hint of superiority, the look of soft disdain for those less intelligent than Dean M. Randall, Ph.D. At least he hadn’t lied and denied it.
“I just thought you should know that I suspect you might have taped all my sessions with you.”
Randall frowned. “I taped your sessions?”
Again the non-lie. “And if there is anything, just a whiff of what I told you in confidence finding its way into your book, I’ll sue.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Of course not,” Carter said, allowing his mouth to stretch into its most disarming country-boy smile. “But I just want to forewarn you.”
With that, Carter left. He walked through the door, down the stairs and outside where late summer was giving way to the first vestiges of autumn. The parking lot was dry, a few dry leaves scattered over the pavement. Falls Crossing had survived the coldest winter in nearly a century and though there were some scars remaining, Randall was right, things had worked out.
It had taken some time for the police to locate the bodies of the women Seth Whitaker had abducted. They’d been wrapped in tarps and hidden on his property, their frozen bodies naked and waiting for permanent disposal. Sonja Hatchell, Roxie Olmstead, and Lynnetta Swaggert, their heads shaved, their teeth filed down, had been located. The police had found Sonja’s car hidden in an old shed and, locked in a drawer, dental appliances shaped from a mold stolen from the set of White Out. A way for Seth to give all of his mannequins Jenna’s spectacular smile. The crime scene team, FBI psychologists, and of course, the press had all had a field day with the case.
Carter had been elevated to the status of local hero, a position he wasn’t sure he deserved or wanted. He and Jenna had hardly left each other’s side. They were talking about living together, perhaps getting married, though still taking things slowly.
Her kids, after spending last Christmas with their father, had returned to Falls Crossing. Allie had outwardly bounced back and puppy-dogged after Carter whenever he was at their house. He’d taken her and her friend Dani Settler riding, fishing and hiking in the woods before school started again. Allie seemed to be flourishing, coming out of her shell, though Cassie was still working through some of the trauma of her ordeal at Whitaker’s hand.
Carter’s jaw clenched when he thought of the bastard. In Carter’s opinion, there wasn’t a hell hot enough for Seth Whitaker.
Cassie’s healing would take time. Probably years.
Her hair was growing out but she wasn’t satisfied with it and, to make a point, she’d dyed the short strands a deep shade of magenta, which, surprisingly didn’t look as bad as it sounded, until she used enough gel to make the short clumps stand out in weird spikes.
Despite her mother’s counseling, Cassie was still struggling in school and hanging out with the wrong crowd, which, unfortunately, included BJ’s daughter, Megan. However, Carter noticed progress in the girl…she was softening toward her mother, trying harder with her classes and, if somewhat warily, accepting Carter and Jenna’s relationship.
“Get your message across to Randall?” Jenna asked as Carter slid into the passenger seat.
“Not quite.”
“No?”
“Maybe I should add something for emphasis.”
“Like what?”
Carter noticed Randall emerge from the building, adjust his tie, then hurry toward the parking lot. “Oh, like this,” he said and wrapped his arms around her, dragging her hard against him. He pressed his mouth over hers and kissed her as if he didn’t want to stop. Which, of course, he didn’t. Her lips were warm and pliant, the little giggle and gasp that she had emitted when he’d grabbed her, melting away as the kiss intensified.
By the time he lifted his head, she was breathless and his crotch was definitely tight.
“Oh, my, Sheriff,” she teased.
Smiling, he glanced over her shoulder, out the window, and observed Randall’s look of surprise.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Just making a point.” He winked at her.
“Did you make it?”
“Pretty sure. Let’s go.”