Hours later, after Luke has given his statement to the police, it’s Sal’s turn.
Her hospital room is chaos squared. Two patrolmen and a solemn-faced detective settle at the foot of her bed. The country boys are there too. Sal wants them there. She senses they won’t leave her for any reason. That they’re ready to protect her with all they have.
Jace stands near the door, quiet but observant, absently stroking his rusty-red muttonchops. He seems like he’s here to mediate. Mediate what, Sal isn’t yet sure.
Seth paces, his face warring between irritation and interest whenever the detective asks Sal a question.
They’re like steadfast sentries, Seth and Jace.
And Luke. Sal’s not sure what to make of him. This tall, bearded cowboy who came to her room only hours ago looking like he’d fight the world for her. Her heart went out to him. He seemed ... well, so lost.
Sal can relate.
Now, Luke sits beside her bed. Intense. Watchful. But not like a hawk lasered on her every move. Watchful like someone who cares. Who has been worrying a very long time about her. She’s not scared of him, but she feels shy around him. Curious, too. He’s her husband, after all. She must have married him for a reason.
One of which is extremely obvious.
Sal sneaks a quick sideways glance at Luke. He’s brutally handsome. Beautiful, if she really wants to admit it. He’s tall with broad shoulders and warm brown eyes like dark honey. She likes his long, chiseled fingers, his dark brown hair that kicks out in a cute cowlick. The way lean muscles rope his tan arms. Never has a man looked so strong, so steady. He looks like somebody she can trust. She needs that after Roy.
The only thing she’s unsure about is the beard. It’s strange. Why that is, she doesn’t know. It’s like he’s using it to hide his sadness, to hide away from the world.
The detective fires off questions like bullets. They are unflinching and unceasing, and they make Sal wince. They also make her rage. So she sits straight up in bed, rattling answers back at him, determined not to crack.
They ask about her memory. They write down the chain of events that got Sal here. They ask Sal what she remembers. They ask her about Roy Williams.
“He told me he was my husband,” Sal explains. “But he wasn’t.” She rubs her brow. “I don’t even know if that’s his real name.”
“Where does he work, Ms. Kincaid?” The detective looks like Porky Pig in a suit.
“At county corrections,” she says, weary. “He’s a guard there.”
The detective nods. He’s already done his research, vetting her, and Sal doesn’t like it. “There is a man who works there. Roy Williams.” He looks at the patrolman. “Let’s send someone down there to pick him up.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Sal shivers in disgust, thinking of Roy with his buzzed hair and pale face and endless black eyes like pits. She doesn’t tell this detective that she would have gladly killed him if she’d had the chance, but she didn’t think she had the strength to take a swing.
“We’ll question him. Decide if charges should be filed.”
“If,” Seth speaks up. His already deep voice has dropped several octaves and he’s shooting daggers at the detective. “What’s with the fuckin’ if?”
Even Jace, standing calmly all this time, bristles.
Luke leans forward in his chair. A muscle in his angular jaw jumps. “I want this guy in a jail cell.”
“I don’t dispute that, Mr. Kincaid.” Sighing, the detective levels a tired gaze at Sal. “Ma’am, did Mr. Williams ever say you couldn’t leave?”
“What?” Frowning, Sal looks at Luke in confusion. His stance has gone tense and she can tell he’s fighting to control his anger in front of her. She glances back at the detective. “I mean, not outright, but ...” She rubs her temple. Dizziness beckons, its long fingers wisping their way across the edges of her mind.
“I ask because if you were wounded when he took you from the crash site, force wasn’t used. We can prove a crime if, when you were conscious and aware, you asked to leave and he refused.”
“Are you serious?” Her hands are trembling so badly she wants to raise them to her face and let loose a frustrated scream. That this detective is asking her to prove her captivity, to prove her abuse, to prove that the last nine months were against her will, infuriates her.
“This is bullshit,” Seth mutters. He stares down his brother, who looks back at him, their faces dark, furious as something passes between them.
The room’s a surge of emotions. A palpable anger brews in the air.
Luke’s eyes flash with anger. “Don’t you goddamn dare ask my wife why she didn’t leave. That ain’t the right question. You find this guy and you ask him why he kept her there.” He blows out an irritated breath. “All this time we could have found her ... all this time we were thinkin’ she was dead.” He rips a hand through his hair and snarls, “So don’t you sell me that line of bullshit.”
The detective continues, whether oblivious to how much Luke wants to take a swing at him or just content being an asshole, Sal doesn’t know. “I understand, Mr. Kincaid. We want to get this guy as much as you. We just have to get it right so the charges stick.”