Page 96 of Everything You Hate
“Ms. Crawford.” He pulls his cigar from his lips and blows the smoke into my face with each syllable of my name.
I step back. My shoulder blades hit rough bark. The shade tree behind me is an old maple, its trunk broad enough that I can’t slip around it. Even if I could, the gathering crowd blocks my escape on either side.
Jasper plants his hand on the trunk beside my head. His palm is big. Knuckles scarred.
God. He’s landed enough punches to scar his knuckles, and staring at them, all I can think is:his poor wife.
I’ve heard Mimi and her friends whisper about Catherine Merrick, who spends more time on the mainland than the island, and the speculations of spousal abuse. Now I don’t doubt the rumors are true.
“Give me the journal,” Jasper says. His voice is low, controlled, and carries more threat than a shout.
My heart slams against my ribs. I press harder into the tree bark, the rough texture biting through my sweater. The crowdswirls around us—tourists laughing, phones raised, the murmur of a hundred conversations blending into white noise. Nobody is looking at us. Nobody sees the man pinning me against a tree with his hand beside my head and violence radiating off him like heat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t insult me.” The cigar bobs between his lips. Ash falls onto the cobblestones near my foot. “The leather-bound journal with the brass clasp. Evangeline Merrick’s journal.” His cold blue eyes drill into mine. “You think I don’t know you’ve been carrying it everywhere?”
All at once, the realization hits me: Jasper.
It was Jasper in my room, going through my things, looking for the journal.
The violation of it flips my stomach. This man, in my space. His hands on my clothes. Had he stood over me while I slept, close enough to count my breaths?
I keep my face still. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing the revulsion crawling under my skin.
“It doesn’t belong to you,” I say.
“It belongs to my family.” His fingers press into the bark. “Everything on this island belongs to my family.” He leans closer, and the sourness of his breath washes over me. “You won’t leave this island with that journal, Ms. Crawford. Not in one piece. So be a good girl and give it to me, and tell me who put it in your hands.”
I think of grumpy Gus Pemberton. He’s tough, but also old. I shiver to think what Jasper would do to him if he finds out.
“Not real bright, are you? Threatening me in front of the police station.” I lift my chin and take a step into his space. “Back up, Mr. Merrick. Or I will take this whole matter straight to Chief McNamara and let him sort it out.”
To my surprise, he does, which tells me everything I need to know about the police chief. Jacob’s not someone the Merricks have been able to buy off.
Movement at the edge of the crowd catches my eye. Abel Merrick stands near the war memorial with a paper coffee cup in hand, his sun-bleached hair catching the light, his face the color of old newspaper. His hazel eyes are wide, fixed on his uncle with horror.
He’s heard everything.
His face flushes with what I can only guess is embarrassment. He turns away fast, and his coffee cup hits the cobblestones. Coffee splashes, brown against gray, and he’s gone, pushing through the crowd with his head down, his shoulders hunched, moving like a man fleeing a house on fire.
Poor Abel.
You can’t choose your family. I know exactly how he feels, because I wouldn’t have chosen the Crawfords for parents if given the opportunity.
Jasper doesn’t notice. His attention has shifted to something behind me, and his body changes—shoulders squaring, hand dropping from the tree, the mask of civility sliding into place so fast it’s almost graceful. He tilts his head at me. “Ms. Crawford.”
Then he melts away like the slimeball he is.
I turn to see what scared him off.
Dean.
His jaw is set. His eyes are locked on Jasper’s retreating back with a look acrid enough to strip paint. He’s moving fast, eating the distance between us in long strides, and the crowd parts for him.
When he reaches me, his hands find my shoulders. He scans my face, my body. “Did he hurt you?”
For a selfish moment, I want to say yes just so I can watch Dean beat the smugness off Jasper’s face. It would be so damn satisfying.
