her. Then the driver—a dark-haired man from what she could see through the back window—leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Would you like a lift?” he called out.
Because she had no idea who this person was or what he might do to her, she almost waved him off. But this was Whiskey Creek; there wasn’t any violent crime here to speak of. As long as he wasn’t connected to the Mansfields, she should be okay. Not
everyone
in Whiskey Creek these days had been around when she lived here before. This could be a complete stranger, his offer the simple kindness it appeared to be.
Grateful that she wouldn’t have to continue the painful journey on foot, she hobbled to the truck. “Thank you. It’s so hot out today. And these darn sandals...”
As soon as she recognized him, she choked back the rest of her words. He wasn’t connected to Lori Mansfield—thank God. But he
was
connected to Riley. This was Kyle Houseman, one of the many friends who’d hung out with Riley all through school.
Phoenix didn’t want Riley to find out that Kyle had discovered her in such a pathetic state, so she backed away. “Actually, never mind. I just realized there’s no way we could be going to the same place. But thanks!”
She slammed the door, praying that would be the end of it. But he didn’t drive off. He reached over and opened the door again.
“You might not be aware of it yet, but you’re getting sunburned,” he said. “And it looks like we’re traveling in the same
direction
at least. I don’t mind going a little out of my way.”
If he knew who she was, he didn’t let on. But he would figure it out if she had him drop her anywhere close to her mother’s property. And getting close to her mother’s property was the whole point of accepting a ride. “I’m fine. Really. It’s not much farther.”
His eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. “Wait a second...you’re Phoenix.”
“Yes. Another reason you should go on your way.” After closing the door, she forced herself to walk without favoring either foot. But he lowered the window and rolled along beside her.
“I know where you live. Let me give you a ride.”
“I can walk a couple of miles,” she said.
“You seemed to be struggling when I came up behind you.”
He’d noticed? From so far away? “These sandals are new, that’s all. I’ll break them in.”
“So you don’t need a ride.”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on!” he argued. “I can’t leave a woman limping on the side of the road.”
“According to most folks around here, I’m not a regular woman.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m a murderer, remember? Surely, you can leave
me
.” Instantly regretting the harshness of those words, she glanced over and attempted a smile. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I just...I’d rather not trouble you.”
“But it’s no trouble!”
Refusing was making a bigger issue out of this than simply giving in. Besides, she couldn’t tolerate the pain of marching beside him anymore.
When she stopped, so did he. “Fine. I guess I will take that ride,” she said, and climbed in.
As she put on her seat belt, he studied her with avid curiosity, and she supposed that was the price of his help. She was a freak in this town—the one person more reprehensible than all the rest.
“I’m sure you’ve got a camera on your cell phone,” she said. “Go ahead and take a picture.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded a little abashed. “It’s hard not to stare. You look...different.”
So did he. Like Riley, he’d filled out, not that she cared. Anything that had to do with Riley—except Jacob, of course—was off-limits. She couldn’t even be friends with this man. “I’m nearly seventeen years older. Of course I look different.”
“What I mean is you look
good
,” he clarified. “You’ve aged better than the rest of us.”
He must not have noticed her scars. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
He leaned over to examine her