He had a Sig Sauer in the gun safe that was bolted inside his closet. His Colt AR-15 rifle was disassembled beside it. Ammunition for both was stacked in a plastic box. Will worked the rifle in his mind—magazine, bolt catch, trigger guard. Winchester 55-grain full metal jacket.
No. The Sig would be better. Closer. Muzzle to the head. Finger on the trigger. Will would see the terror in his father’s eyes, then the glassy, vacant stare of a dead man.
Sara stirred. Her hand snaked back and stroked the side of his face. Her fingernails lightly scratched the skin. She breathed a contented sigh.
Just like that, Will felt the anger start to drain away. Again, it was similar to what had happened at the morgue, but instead of feeling empty, he felt full. A calmness took over. The clamp around his chest started to loosen.
Sara leaned back into him. Her hand pulled him closer. Will’s body was much more responsive this time. He pressed his mouth to her neck. The fine hairs stood at attention. He could feel her flesh prickle under his tongue.
Sara turned her head to look at him. She gave a sleepy smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I was hoping that was you.”
He kissed her mouth. She turned to face him. She was still smiling. Will could feel the curve of her lips against his mouth. Her hair was tangled underneath her. He shifted and felt a sharp pain in his leg. It wasn’t a pulled muscle. It was Angie’s ring. He still had it in his pocket.
Sara mistook his reaction for a recurrence of his earlier problem. She said, “Let’s play a game.”
Will didn’t need a game. He needed to get Angie out of his head, but that wasn’t exactly news he could share.
She held out her hand. “I’m Sara.”
“I know.”
“No.” She still had her hand out. “I’m Sara Linton.”
And apparently, Will was a moron. He shook her hand. “Will Trent.”
“What do you do for a living, Will Trent?”
“I’m a …” He glanced around for an idea. “I’m a monster-truck driver.”
She looked at the TV and laughed. “That’s creative.”
“What are you?”
“A stripper.” She laughed again, as if she’d shocked herself. “I’m only doing it to pay my way through college.”
If Will’s stupid wedding ring wasn’t in his front pocket, he could’ve invited Sara to slip her hand inside to get some money for a lap dance. Instead, he had to settle on telling her, “That’s commendable.” He shifted onto his side, freeing up his hand. “What are you studying?”
“Umm …” She grinned. “Monster-truck repair.”
He trailed his finger between her breasts. The dress was low-cut, designed in such a way that it opened with little effort. Will realized she had worn it for him. Just like she’d let her hair down. Just like she’d squeezed her feet into a pair of high-heel shoes that could probably break her toes.
Just like she’d been at the autopsy. Just like she was here now.
He said, “I’m actually not a monster-truck driver.”
“No?” Her breath caught as he tickled his fingers down her bare stomach. “What are you?”
“I’m an ex-con.”
“Oh, I like that,” she said. “Jewel thief or bank robber?”
“Petty theft. Destruction of private property. Four-year suspended sentence.”
Her laughter stopped. She could tell he wasn’t playing anymore.
Will took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. He was doing this now. There was no going back. “I was arrested for stealing food.” He had to clear his throat so the words could get out. “It happened when I was eighteen.”
She put her hand over his.
“I aged out of the system.” Mrs. Flannigan had died the summer Will’s eighteenth birthday rolled around. The new guy who ran the home had given Will a hundred dollars and a map to the homeless shelter. “I ended up at the downtown mission. Some of the guys there were all right. Most of them were older and—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Sara could easily guess why a teenager didn’t feel safe there. “I lived on the streets …” Again, he let his voice trail off. “I hung out at the hardware store on Highland. Contractors used to go there in the mornings to pick up day workers.”
She used her thumb to stroke the back of his hand. “Is that where you learned how to fix things?”
“Yeah.” He’d never really thought about it, but it was true. “I made good money, but I didn’t know how to spend it. I should’ve saved up for an apartment. Or a car. Or something. But I spent it on candy and a Walkman and tapes.” Will had never had money in his pocket before. There was no such thing as an allowance when he was growing up. “I was sleeping on Peachtree where the library used to be. This group of older guys rolled me. They beat me down. Broke my nose, some of my fingers. Took everything I had. I guess I’m lucky that’s all they did.”
Sara’s grip tightened around his hand.
“I couldn’t work. My clothes were filthy. I didn’t have anywhere to bathe. I tried to beg for money but people were scared of me. I guess I looked like a junkie.” He told Sara, “I wasn’t, though. I never did drugs. I never did any of those things.”
She nodded.
“But I was so hungry. My stomach hurt all the time. I was dizzy from it. Sick. Afraid to go to sleep. Afraid I’d get rolled again. I went into this all-night pharmacy that used to be on Ponce de Leon. Plaza Drugs, right beside the movie theater?” Sara nodded. “I walked straight in and started taking food off the shelves. Little Debbies. Moon Pies. Anything with a wrapper. I tore it open with my teeth and shoved it into my mouth.” He swallowed, his throat feeling raw. “They called the cops.”
“They arrested you?”
“They tried.” He felt shame welling up in his throat. “I started swinging my fists, trying to hit anything. They stopped me real fast.”
Sara stroked back his hair with her fingers.
“They handcuffed me. Took me to jail. And then—” He shook his head. “My caseworker came in. I hadn’t seen her in six, maybe seven months. She said she’d been looking for me.”
“Why?”
“Because Mrs. Flannigan left me some money.” Will still remembered his shock when he heard the news. “I was only allowed to use it for college. So—” He shrugged. “I went to the first college that would take me. Lived in the dorm. Ate in the cafeteria. Worked a part-time job on the grounds. And then I got recruited into the GBI, and that was it.”
Sara was quiet, probably trying to absorb it all. “How did you pass the background check?”
“The judge said she would expunge my record if I graduated from college.” Fortunately, the woman hadn’t specified anything about his grades. “So I did and she did.”
Sara was quiet again.
“I know it’s bad.” He laughed at the irony. “I guess in the scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing you’ve heard about me today.”
“You were lucky you got arrested.”
“I guess.”
“And I’m lucky that you got into the GBI, because I never would’ve met you otherwise.”
“I’m sorry, Sara. I’m sorry I brought all this down on you. I don’t—” He felt the words getting jumbled up in his mouth. “I don’t want you to be scared of me. I don’t want you to think that I’m anything like him.”
“Of course you’re not.” She wrapped her hand around his. “Don’t you know that I’m in awe of you?”
Will could only look at her.
“What you’ve been through. What you’ve endured. The man you’ve become.” She placed his hand over her heart. “You chose to be a good person. You chose to help other people. It would’ve been so easy to go down the wrong path, but at every step, you chose to do the right thing.”
“Not always.”
“Often enough,” she said. “Often enough so that when I look at you, all I can think about is how good you are. How much I want you—need you—in my life.”