Page 7 of Traces Of You

He played the part of the doting boyfriend perfectly. Sweet words, thoughtful gestures, the illusion of love. But it never lasted. The moment life didn’t go his way, the mask slipped, and the version of him she feared always came rushing back.

Like today.

She couldn’t live like this anymore. The writing was on the wall and something was going to happen to her soon. Something worse than what already had.

Her gut was screaming at her to get away. She’d learned to listen over the years. It told her when to run, when to hide and when to talk her way out of something she didn’t do.

“Do you want another burger?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, handing his plate over. “And make sure you finish yours. You’re getting too skinny again.”

She stood up and carried both plates to the kitchen, breaking half of hers off and dumping it in the trash. He wouldn’t realize it and think she ate it.

“Here you go,” she said a minute later, then sat on the end of the couch away from him.

He was done with his second burger and rice by the time she finished what was left of hers. She hadn’t touched the rice.

“Here,” he said. He threw the plate at her, knocking hers out of her hand, but she caught it before it ended up on the floor. “Go clean up and don’t miss any spots. I’m going to relax. It’s been a long day.”

His sleeping pills normally took effect in thirty minutes. It’d been fifteen and he was yawning already.

Shit.

He’d had a few beers.

And she’d doubled his dosage.

It was probably for the best.

It was too late to turn back now.

She carried the plates to the kitchen, drew in a shaky breath, and forced her hands to steady. If he noticed her nerves, it’d be over before it began. With a smile that felt too tight on her face, she walked into the living room.

“I’m going to change.”

Something she always did when she got out of work. Nothing about today was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again.

She found her most comfortable favorite pair of shorts, a yellow T-shirt, and her sandals, then walked downstairs and saw Oliver’s eyes shut.

Heavy steps past him didn’t cause a flinch.

Banging around in the kitchen didn’t stir him either.

Oh my God, was this actually going to work?!

The kitchen was messier now than it was when she got home. She picked up her plate and dropped it to the floor, the remaining rice on it scattering everywhere.

Her head shifted to see if he woke. Nope, out cold.

She took the deepest breath of her life, let it out, then took another and closed her eyes. Steady. She’d come too far to turn back now. If he figured out what she’d done, if he realized she’d drugged him, he’d kill her.

She picked up a knife and returned to the living room.

2

CROSSING THROUGH

“Morning, Sheriff.”