Page 2 of Deadly Sins: Lust
They were alone.
A sense of unease disturbed Marissa like a phone call in the middle of the night. The last time she’d felt that way she’d returned to her car after a movie with Nick and found a note taped to her windshield—a letter left by her jilted ex—lover, the third she’d received in a week. The note was a simple one.This isn’t over. We’re not over.We will talk about this.Stop avoiding me. She’d looked over her shoulder for weeks afterward, feeling guilty for the reason she’d broken things off with her ex—not because they didn’t have a future together like she’d said, but because she’d met someone else, Nick, a detective in Park City, Utah. She assumed it was the reason the notes had stopped.
Marissa wiped the sand from her hands onto her dress and walked away, keeping a close eye on the man as she did. For now, he made no movement. He just stood on the sidewalk as if frozen in place.
She shook her head and turned.Weirdo.
Footsteps slapped against the pavement, fast and hard: twenty feet, then fifteen, then ten. He was close. Too close. Instinct kicked in, and she broke into a sprint, but before she could make it out of the lagoon, the fabric on her dress was yanked from behind, ripping. He tackled her to the ground. She grabbed at her attacker, but his strength far exceeded hers. His hand clawed into the back of her head. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he plunged her face into the water, pressing down. Her muffled screams bubbled into the water. He held her there for a moment and then pulled her out, only to thrust her back down and pull her up again. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time she’d been jerked back out of the water that she realized her attacker was yelling.
And there it was again—familiarity. The answer to the question about what was happening and why. With her ears clogged with water, she couldn’t discern his voice, not entirely.
Through panicked tears Marissa managed to snap her head back, catching the face of her attacker for a split second before uttering the last words she’d ever say before her head was plummeted into the water one final time.
“I can’t believe ... it’s ... it’s you.”
CHAPTER 2
Jackson Hole, Wyoming
One hour later
It had been almost a year since Cade’s college—age daughter Shelby had died, and most days, the guilt I felt still consumed me like a bottomless pit I couldn’t escape. Some days I wondered if I’d always feel that way. Other days were better, filled with brief respite, moments of happiness mixed with a splash of calm. But those precious moments were few and fleeting, like a butterfly one tried to catch, but it always got away.
It wasn’t my fault that Shelby had died. It wasn’t me who’d pulled the trigger. But a selfish man I’d once loved long ago had, and living with the realization that she’d lost her life over his need for revenge hadn’t been easy.
My relationship with Cade had altered too. He was quieter now, wrapped up in thoughts and memories of Shelby that he didn’t always feel like talking about. I imagined he thought if he did, I’d feel even worse, and he was too good of a man to put me through it. And even though his love for me was without question, the lack of communication between us had created a gap I feared would never be filled.
I was sitting across from Elodie. She was my shrink, a woman I hadn’t seen in a long time. At present, she had one leg crossed over the other, her hands folded in her lap over her white pencil skirt, and a grin on her face the size of Manhattan.
“Sloane, did you hear me?” she asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What did you say again?”
“What brought you in to see me today?”
“I just thought it was ... you know ... time for us to catch up.”
“All right. Anything in particular you want to talk about?”
No. Yes. I don’t know.
In conversations like these, difficult and full of the retching of emotions, I stumbled over my words, often feeling suffocated when I tried to release them.
“I ... ahh ... yeah. Shelby.”
I pressed my sweaty hands onto my jeans and looked away, staring at the beige wall instead, anything to avoid eye contact. The last time I’d been there, the wall was barren. Now a rectangular black—and—white canvas print of tree branches took up almost the entire space. The branches looked bereft and hollow, the way I’d been feeling inside. The print seemed ill—suited for a shrink’s office, but I supposed she saw it differently than I did.
“I see,” Elodie said. “I saw Shelby perform violin once. She was a talented young woman.”
I liked Elodie. She was the kind of therapist who eased in and didn’t push. She let me say what I wanted to say and omit what I wanted to omit, which usually led to me saying more than I’d intended. It was part of her charm, an art form she’d perfected.
She waited.
I attempted to string together a simple sentence. “I’ve struggled to connect to Cade the way we used to before Shelby died.”
“What feels different to you?”
“I don’t know. Everything. I mean, things are okay. We’re still planning our wedding, and he treats me the same way he always has. But I feel like as long as we’re still here, waiting for his house to sell, everything is a constant reminder of the daughter he lost.”