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TWENTY-ONE
Eden sat behind the wheel of a decked-out vehicle that had become her new mobile grooming salon. It had been a week since the fire, and she’d decided that was more than enough time for her to find a way to see her clients until the salon could be reopened. She and Chandler agreed it wouldn’t be a good idea to have clients come to his house, and she still didn’t trust that her own place was safe. She’d tried going to clients’ houses, but none of them had quite the setup she needed to make sure the animals were safe and comfortable while she worked on them.
No, a van was definitely the best option. And so, she’d gotten one—a used mobile grooming van being offered for a very reasonable price. It was still a bit more than she could afford immediately out of pocket, but the seller agreed to let her make a down payment and pay the rest off in installments.
Today had been her first day in operation with it. It was pretty awesome, she had to admit. The minivan was fitted with a forty-eight-inch tub, fifty-gallon clean water tank, thirty-gallon gray water tank, two pumps, a water heat exchanger, six batteries to run all her equipment with solar panels on the roof to recharge them all. Her clients seemed to like the convenience, too, of her coming to them now instead of the reverse. Most importantly, though, it boosted her morale and confidence that her life wouldn’t be totally derailed by some asshole who hated her just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Chandler had ridden along with her most of the day, but he’d gotten a call from his admin assistant at the security office saying the accountant was there asking to speak to him personally about a payroll tax issue. Chandler had tried to handle the issue over the phone, but the problem wasn’t resolving. Eden insisted he go take care of it. She’d assured him that she’d be fine on her own for an hour or so, especially given that she only had one more client to see—a playful, goofy husky named Walt who was a longtime client. She’d meet him at home later. He’d reluctantly agreed but insisted she call him at the first sign of anything suspicious.
The appointment had gone well and now, driving back to Chandler’s, she noticed her tank was running low. The guy she’d bought the van from had warned her with these kinds of vehicles you never wanted to let the gas get too low. It would mess up the fuel injectors or something. So, she pulled into the first station she saw, not realizing until she was already parked at the pump that it was the same station where she’d witnessed the shooting.
Crap.
Being there made her feel antsy and anxious, but she tried to ignore it as she popped the latch for the gas tank, dug her debit card out of her purse, and got out to fill her tank.
Her mind wandered to what they should have for dinner. She and Chandler had been cooking a lot, which was nice, but maybe takeout would be a pleasant change. They’d both worked hard all day, so a relaxing night would be good for them. Things were going well between them. He was kind, loyal, funny, sweet, smart. Pretty much everything she’d ever wanted in a partner. And their chemistry was off the charts.
While they weren’t talking about forever at this point—both of them were gun shy there—it felt to her like this was something lasting. Something she might want to stay and settle in with for a good long bit. Which was surprising, and more than a little scary, to an independent girl like her. And yet Chandler made it so easy to forget—
Bang!
The explosive sound of a car backfiring nearby had everyone at the pumps ducking, including Eden. Startled, she slowly straightened as her gas pump clicked off with the tank full, only to have to reach out and grip the van because her head was swimming with images. Of this same gas station on a different night about three months prior.
Dizzy and nauseous, Eden closed her eyes, trying to steady herself against the tidal wave of horror washing over her. She could see, clear as day, Jeff Ross’s face, cold and cruel, as he pulled the trigger and shot the clerk in the forehead. The smell of gunpowder after the weapon fired. The weird way the clerk just stood there, motionless for a beat, a charred black dot between his stunned eyes, before his body dropped heavily to the floor. Feeling hot and cold and shaky and sick, Eden had stood there staring in disbelief, not trusting what she was seeing. The clerk couldn’t be dead. Ross couldn’t have shot him.
The spatter of bright crimson blood and other things staining the wall behind the clerk said otherwise. She’d stayed in place, frozen, barely even realizing when Ross left the store. It had been the scent that had finally triggered her into motion: the coppery smell of blood hitting her like a hammer and making her stomach roil. She’d torn out of the store and barely made it to her car before she puked on her tires. Afterward, she’d wiped her mouth on her sleeve and clambered inside, fumbling for her phone to call the police. Her heart felt like it would beat out of her chest and her temples throbbed with adrenaline. Heat clawed up her neck and cheeks despite the chilly breeze. Eden sucked in a breath past her constricted throat as her vision began to tunnel…
“Ma’am,” an older gentleman at the next pump said. “Are you okay?”
His voice, and the insistent beeping of the pump behind her, helped bring her back from the awful abyss of those memories. She was okay. It was still daylight. She wasn’t stuck in that night anymore. She was safe. Chandler had promised to keep her safe.
Chandler.
She needed to tell Chandler what had happened. That she’d remembered. Finally.
The older man was still looking at her, his expression concerned. As she turned to get her receipt, Eden forced a trembling smile for him. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I just spaced out for a minute. Long day.”
He hesitated a second, like he didn’t quite believe her, but finally he nodded and slowly went back to his pump. “Drive carefully.”
“Thanks, I will,” she said, climbing back inside the van and plopping down in the driver’s seat before pulling out her phone. Eden hit speed dial, transferring the call to the van’s Bluetooth as she pulled away from the station.
Chandler answered on the third ring. “Hey. Where are you? Done for the day?”
“Yep. I just stopped and bought gas,” she said, pulling into the turn lane and waiting for the red light. “At the station where the shooting happened.”
“Oh. Wow. Did it bring up anything for you?” he asked.
“Everything.”
“No shit?” Chandler sounded as surprised as she felt.
“No shit.” She told him about the backfire and how it seemed to have jarred her memories loose. She still had blank spots in her memory—for instance, she didn’t remember much from the car accident—but Dr. Srirani had told her that wasn’t uncommon and not to push it. Most people didn’t remember details surrounding traumatic injuries.
But everything else that had been fuzzy from the past year was now clear. By the time she was done explaining, she’d left the station far behind and was well on her way to Chandler’s place. Eden glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. That was when she saw a dark blue sedan behind her, inching up on her tail.
Whoever was driving it could just go around her, but nope, they just stayed right behind her. Jerk.
Eden sped up a little, thinking she’d put some distance between her and the idiot behind her, but they sped up too. Her heart dropped. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but after everything else going on, she didn’t want to take any chances. She sped up again…and so did the person behind her, this time getting close enough that they actually tapped her back bumper, sending the minivan fishtailing slightly before Eden got it under control again.
