Never Tell (Detective D.D. Warren #10) - Lisa Gardner Page 0,9
to “look like something worth coming home to.” My cheeks are sunken. My eyes bruised. Jacob had left me in the cheap motel days ago, maybe even a week. Nothing to eat. Only tap water to drink. In the beginning I’d expected him to return at any moment. By the end, I was curled up in a ball on the floor, half unconscious from sheer starvation.
Then: Jacob returned. Just like that. No bags of food in his arms. Just this awful dress and instructions that we were going out. Now. Time to clean the fuck up.
I rouse myself long enough to bang on the wobbly faucet. I’m still weak from hunger and definitely not firing on all cylinders, but when it comes to Jacob’s demands, failure is not an option.
I shimmy out of the micromini, do my best to rinse my bony arms and sweat-encrusted skin with a wet washcloth. I take a bar of soap to my stringy hair. There’s only a hand towel for drying off. Then I pull back on a dress only a hooker would wear.
This time when I exit the bathroom, Jacob grunts his approval. I follow him out the door.
I don’t know where we’re going, but anyplace has gotta be better than this.
Fresh popcorn. I smell it the moment we walk into the dimly lit bar, and my stomach growls. Fortunately, a jukebox blaring out Montgomery Gentry covers the sound. I’m not sure what town we’re in. Maybe someplace in Alabama? I’m only allowed out of my box at night, so I miss long stretches of the road. But we’re definitely someplace rural. The locals, clad in tight jeans, worn boots, and way more clothing than me, mill around pool tables, trading shots, guzzling beer, tossing back handfuls of free popcorn.
My stomach growls again. I press a hand to it self-consciously, but Jacob just laughs. His eyes are too bright. He’s definitely riding high on something, which only makes him more dangerous.
He didn’t bother to clean up. His thin hair is a greasy cap on his too-shiny face. The snaps of his western-style shirt strain around the bulge of his swollen stomach, made more obvious by his skinny arms and legs.
Once, I never knew men like Jacob Ness existed. Once, I thought life was fair and being good meant I would always be safe and secure and loved. Then I went on spring break, had a little too much fun slamming back shots at a Florida bar with my college friends. And now this.
Jacob finds us a spot at the bar, gesturing for me to take the seat, then standing behind me. Protectively, some might think. Possessively. He orders two beers. One for him, one for me. A rare treat.
I pick up my beer, sip nervously.
Popcorn. Delivered in a red-and-white-checkered container. My whole body clenches but I don’t make a single move; I glance at Jacob, knowing the rules by now.
He nods. I grab the first few kernels. Warm and salty. I want to devour the entire tray, dump the contents in my mouth. I catch myself just in time. If I act out, if I draw attention … I force myself to slow down. Couple of kernels here. Couple of kernels there.
Crunch, crunch. Salty goodness. My eyes close …
And for a moment, I could be a little girl again, sitting in my mother’s kitchen, swinging my legs, waiting for the air popper to complete our after-school snack: “Darwin, what are we gonna do today …”
When I open my eyes again, a guy has appeared beside Jacob, and he’s staring straight at me.
Jacob nods at the man, almost … congenial. He doesn’t even protest when the man pulls up the neighboring barstool and orders a beer.
I grab another handful of popcorn. Have to pace myself. I’ve learned by now that eating too fast after forced deprivation leads to vomiting. Jacob will kill me if I get sick in public. But the man sitting next to us continues to stare at me.
And Jacob continues to let him.
Something bad is about to happen. I know it, even if I don’t understand it.
Sip of beer. But only a sip. I’m on guard now, desperately trying to pay attention.
“Girlfriend’s a skinny thing,” the man says.
Jacob shrugs. “Chicks these days. Think if they’re any bigger than a shadow, they’re fat.”
Single popcorn kernel. Pick up. Chew, chew, chew.
“Come here often?” the man asks.
“Sure. I’m a regular,” Jacob says, and both men laugh, though I don’t understand the joke.