Chapter Two

Rebekah

I took a breath and pushed out the back door of the casino into the humid Mississippi night after a long shift on my feet. I readjusted my purse on my shoulder and hustled across the dark employee parking lot on sore legs toward my grandpa’s truck, keys in hand, meager tips in my pocket, my heart in my throat.

I’d felt someone watching me all night. I couldn’t pinpoint who, or even what direction I felt the eyes coming from, but it was the creepiest sensation. I was half convinced it was my wild imagination and one too many horror movies, but someone had tampered with my locker in the breakroom tonight and gone through my stuff. When I’d reported it to my sleazy boss, Glenn, of course he said there was nothing he could do. Our shitty ass casino didn’t have functioning security cameras in the employee lounge areas. Those were only for the casino floors, and they weren’t about to check an entire shift’s worth of footage when nothing appeared to be stolen.

I spun at the sound of footsteps behind me, stumbling in my too-high heels, my blonde curls whipping into my eyes.

“Shit.” I righted myself and swiped my hair back, my heart racing.

Nobody was there. Not a soul.

FuckFuckFuck.

If I screamed, no one would even hear me over the pinging and ringing of those damned slot machines.

I took another step backward toward my truck, wishing I didn’t work so late, but that’s life for a cocktail waitress in the Mississippi Delta.

I turned and ran the rest of the way, diving into the truck then slamming and locking the door. I scanned the lot as I jammed the key into the ignition and roared the old engine to life. Nobody was out there. Could I really be losing it?

I put the truck in gear and sped out of the lot, keeping an eye in my rearview mirror, making sure I was the only one leaving. As my lone headlights hit the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief and my shoulders relaxed. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe it was nothing. I was exhausted. That had to be it. Grandpa’s failing health meant more than a few sleepless nights and a whole lot of worry, plus I was pulling nights at the casino and mornings at the diner to make ends meet—obviously all that combined was taking a toll.

A little while later, I pulled into the tiny, weed-lined driveway of our home and parked. Our neighbor, Mrs. Clancy, stayed with Grandpa when I had to work, and she’d left the porch light on for me. If I was really lucky, she’d also left some dinner.

I grabbed my purse and jogged up the rickety front steps. Inside, Mrs. Clancy was snoring softly in Grandpa’s recliner, the TV muted on an infomercial. I touched her shoulder softly and her eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” I whispered.

She smiled sleepily. “Did you have a good night at work?”

“It was fine. Thanks for staying.”

She rose on creaky knees. “You’re welcome, dear.” She shuffled toward the door with a yawn. “There’s chicken and dumplings in the fridge if you want some.”

“Thank you.” I set down my purse. “Did he eat?”

She paused and turned to me. “Not really.”

I nodded sadly. “Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

I waited until she left then kicked off my shoes and locked up behind her. I went to the kitchen, stuffed my tips into my hidden Mason jar then heated up a bowl of chicken and dumplings and inhaled it standing right over the sink, chasing it with a glass of tap water while I stared out the window at our darkened back yard, dreaming of the day I might escape this place, even as the idea showered me with guilt. This was my home. It was all I knew and Grandpa was all the family I had. I’d never leave him. Besides, where would I go? I had nothing and no one but him and this town.

I rinsed out my bowl and padded down the hall to check on my grandfather. He was sleeping soundly, his oxygen machine humming quietly beside his bed. In the dim lamplight, his skin was pale as usual, but he looked comfortable. I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer I’d have with him until the liver cancer ripped the last person I loved from my life. He still got up and around reasonably well, but the hospice nurses told me this disease was unpredictable and it could literally take a turn for the worse at any time and to be prepared . . . but how do you prepare for something like that?

You don’t, that’s how.

With a heavy sigh, I spun around to get ready for bed so I could begin another day.

~ ~

“Rebekah Anne!”

I snapped awake at my grandfather’s feeble voice calling from down the hall. I jumped out of bed and stumbled out my door.

“I’m here.” I belted my robe just as I made it to his room and found his smiling gaze on me.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, pretty girl.”

I wilted against the doorframe with a tired grin. “You scared me, Grandpa. What’s all the hollering about?”

“I wasn’t hollering.” He grimaced and shifted himself in the bed. “Just wanted to see my girl. Now help me up. I can’t laze around here all damn day.”

I didn’t bother arguing. We both knew it would be useless. He’d always been as stubborn as an old mule and liver cancer wasn’t about to change him now. I helped him pivot his legs over the edge of the bed then slide his slippers on. I adjusted his walker in front of him then waited patiently while he stood and took slow, shuffling steps toward the bathroom.

“Do you need help?”

He shot me a glare. “I think I can manage.”

“Fine. I’ll start breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat.”

“I do not.”

I lifted a brow. We’d had this argument every day for the past week. He hated to sit home alone because Mrs. Clancy couldn’t come over until after lunch, but I refused to take him to the diner with me unless he ate something for breakfast. He could eat here or at the diner, but he had to eat something. It was our deal.

“Fine,” he relented, shoving his walker into the bathroom. “One piece of toast.”

“Fine.” I spun away, fully intending to make him two.

After we ate, I helped him dress, then we loaded up and I got to work just in time to begin my shift, settling my grandfather into his usual corner booth with a cup of coffee that he may or may not sip on, and a newspaper. He liked to feel a part of things and he enjoyed visiting with people, and honestly, I liked being able to keep an eye on him while I worked. His sweet smiles when he caught my watchful glances warmed my heart and reminded me of how much I was going to lose when he was gone.

The morning was steady with a good number of customers flowing through the diner. I’d even managed to get my grandpa to eat half a bowl of oatmeal, so overall, I was feeling pretty good, when suddenly, every cell in my body stood at attention as if the air had flooded with electricity.

The sensation of being watched covered my skin like mist and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move, though nobody else around me seemed to notice a thing as life went on as normal. I bumped into the counter as I spun around, my hand catching old Mr. Grimes’s arm for support.

He glanced up at me with puzzled eyes as I scanned the diner for anything or anyone out of the ordinary. The coffeepot gurgled pleasantly behind me, scenting the air with Folgers. Byron flipped hotcakes on the griddle in the kitchen. Yolanda, the other waitress, took Mr. Patterson’s order at table thirteen. Outside, a city bus rolled by, followed by a couple of cars, nothing suspicious . . .

Then the front door opened and my heart jumped into my throat as the tall, muscular stranger ripped off his aviator sunglasses and surveyed the diner with cool precision in two seconds flat, his light amber eyes coming to rest on me as if he’d been searching for me all along.

A hot fission of awareness slithered up my spine as he took me in with a casual sweep from head to toe. I didn’t sense an immediate threat from him, but I somehow knew he was dangerous all the same, even as he offered me a small half-smile.

I forced myself to look away and yanked up the coffeepot to start my refill rounds.

Instead of waiting for a table, the stranger straddled a stool at the countertop like he was born to it.

Yolanda cornered me before I could step out and elbowed my ribs. “Who’s the hottie?”

I shrugged. “Probably just passing through on his way to Keesler.”

She wiggled her brows. “You’re right. Definitely military. Well, he’s in your section. Better get busy or I’m sharking him from you.”

“Have at him.”

She laughed. “Girl, I’ve got a man.” With that, she sauntered off, but not before shooting me a meaningful look from over his shoulder where he couldn’t see her.

I sighed and approached the black-haired stranger, slapping on a bright smile as I eased a menu in front of him. “Hi, I’m Rebekah. Can I get you something to drink?”

His eyes dipped to my nametag briefly then back up to my eyes. “Water would be great, Rebekah. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. I’ll go grab that while you look over the menu. If you’re interested, our breakfast special this morning is biscuits and sausage gravy with a side of hash browns.”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement and picked up the menu, but I got the distinct impression his attention was everywhere but on the food.

I moved away to get his water and refill some other customers’ coffees, still feeling his eyes on me. I glanced over my shoulder, but his gaze was trained on his menu. I’d never seen this guy around town before. Surely, this weird feeling I’d been having had nothing to do with him. A man who looked like that would have absolutely no reason to be following me around, much less rifling through my crappy casino locker. A girl like me wouldn’t even register on his radar. Talk about out of his league . . . honey, I wasn’t even mistress material. Not that I had low self-esteem. I didn’t. I knew I was pretty enough, curvy enough, smart enough. I just wasn’t ever . . . enough.

I’d also seen plenty of guys like him come through the casino with their glitzed-up girlfriends on their arms while their wives sat at home with the kids. Good-looking or rich or both, they were cocky as hell and they chewed up poor girls like me for dinner then spit us out to go home to the wives that had been groomed for them since birth.

No, thanks.

I eventually made my way back to the hot stranger and set down his water. “Did you decide what you’d like to eat or did you need a few more minutes?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but it was so hard with the way he stared as if we knew each other.

He pushed the menu aside with one finger. “I’m good. The special is fine with two eggs, over medium.”

I glanced up. That was my grandfather’s usual order when he had an appetite. “Um, sure thing. Anything else?”

He tilted his head and studied my face closely. “I have a question.”

I swallowed. “About the menu?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “No.”

“What?”

His hand darted out and caught the sugar container on the counter before I knocked it over as I leaned his way a fraction. His gaze dipped down then back up. “Are you from around here?”