Page 11 of Under His Control

Officer Brent looks like he’s in his thirties. He has brown eyes and dirty blonde hair that’s shaved in a high fade on both sides.

He’s been warm and supportive the whole night as expected from a small town police officer. But his tone just now doesn’t sit right with me.

It was too casual. The expectant look on his face makes me uneasy too. It’s as if he’s holding his breath, silently willing me to accept his offer.

No way.

But what’s my alternative? Jacob told me to go away and don’t come back. He won’t like that I disobeyed his order only a few hours later.

My shoulders slump. Looks like I have to pick between two terrible options again. Spend the night with a total stranger, or beg for shelter from a man who hates me?

Better the devil I know.

5

Jacob

Shave and a haircut, two bits.

I pause drying a pot at the knock on my front door and look over my shoulder.

Ten months of peace and quiet, then three unexpected visits in one night. Which god did I piss off?

If my car wasn’t outside and the lights weren’t on, I could’ve pretended I wasn’t home. I still want to do it. The stove’s clock says it’s my bedtime at fifteen past ten. A late night knock on the door hardly ever brings good news.

Could be Ruth needing more help with Wayne.

I set down the pot and towel and start toward the door. Use the camera. I pause and take out my phone. Reporters haven’t hounded me in years, but I’ll never forget my experience with those vultures during the lowest point of my life.

The app loads the screens for all four exterior cameras. I squeeze my phone. There’s a cop standing on the porch and Penelope is beside him.

My heart beats faster. It’s happening again. She’s trying to set me up because she didn’t get what she wanted from me. Just like her mother did.

She could try but she’ll fail.

The cameras will show she never came near the house even though she tried. It’ll be quicker to prove this time that her accusations against me are all lies.

I stride to the door, interrupting another knock when I open it. The cop lowers his hand as the wind shoves against the door and sweeps snow inside. Penelope squeezes herself in a tight hug, an anxious expression on her face.

“Good night, sir. I’m Officer Keith Brent. What’s your name?”

I ignore his question, scowling at the both of them.

“Why are you here?”

Officer Brent glances at Penelope before meeting my gaze with a frown.

“Miss Greene was in an accident tonight. She asked me to bring her to this address.”

Greene?

I sweep my gaze over her, seeing no indication she’s been hurt. She does look pretty exhausted.

“What kind of accident?”

“I rolled my car trying to avoid hitting a moose,” she says quietly.

Jesus. Concern starts to rise, but it’s tempered by suspicion. This is probably all part of her ruse because it’s too convenient. I told her to don’t come back, and she gets into an “accident.” Another perfect sob story.