“Mom,” I whispered, eyes narrowing.
A look of innocence crossed her face, and I took a deep breath, turned around, and saw the police officer. My jaw unhinged once again.
Surprise flickered over the cop’s face on his approach. His steps slowed as my heart lurched in my chest. The cop . . . he looked so much like the boy from econ class—the guy who my mom had referenced only a few seconds before.
It couldn’t be him, but . . .
The resemblance was uncanny.
Same light brown hair buzzed close to the skull on the sides of the head and styled into a trimmed fade. Broad shoulders—door-busting shoulders. Even with the dark blue uniform and vest, I knew there was a defined chest hidden underneath. Same exact build, down to the tapered waist and muscular thighs.
The similarity went beyond the body. Those eyes—oh my God—those pale blue eyes were a blast from the past and the square jaw was only a little gentler.
He looked so much like Cole Landis.
I took a step back as my heart kicked around in my chest. I almost couldn’t do it—couldn’t look at him, because all I saw was Cole.
But it wasn’t him. This cop was too young, and Cole had been two years older than me when we met at the tail end of my freshman year. He had to be thirty-two now, and this guy was barely pushing twenty-five.
The police officer glanced at the car as he walked past it. “Mrs. Keeton?”
“That would be me.” Mom stepped forward, smiling as she let go of her cardigan. “I was the one who called this morning, but the car belongs to my daughter, Sasha.”
Confirmation replaced the look on the officer’s handsome face. “Sasha Keeton?”
I stiffened as if invisible strings grabbed my spine. I now understood the surprised expression he wore. Even though this cop had to have been in high school when everything had gone down, everyone in this town who was breathing back then knew who I was.
Because I was the one, the only one, who’d escaped.
Panic blossomed in the pit of my belly, rising through me so swiftly acid churned in my stomach. Newspaper headlines flashed before me. The Bride Who Lived. The One Who Brought Down the Groom.
I shouldn’t have come back here.
Instinct kicked in, and instead of spinning around and hiding in my room like I wanted to, I took a deep breath like my therapist had instructed many, many times before. Pushing the panic down, I lifted my chin. I was not going to run. I had nothing to hide. Not when I’d spent the last ten years hiding and losing all this time with my mom.
I could do this.
Second by second, the panic eased off, relaxing the vise circling my neck until I was able to speak. “Guess you know who I am, but you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know who you are.”
The officer opened his mouth and then closed it. A moment passed. “I’m Officer Derek Bradshaw,” he said, turning his chin to the right. “And I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you didn’t do this to your car.”
Some of the tension seeped out of my shoulders as I shook my head. “Nah. I sort of liked the windows in my car.”
“Understandable.” He twisted sideways as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small notebook.
The door to the inn opened. Mr. Adams stepped out onto the porch, one half of the elderly couple. “Mrs. Keeton? I’m sorry to interrupt, but the TV in our room isn’t working. We tried calling the front desk, but there was no answer.”
“I’ll be right there,” Mom yelled and then turned back to me. “I’m sorry, but I have to take care of this.” She paused, winking at Officer Bradshaw. I closed my eyes briefly and started counting again. “Even though I’m sure the TV just isn’t plugged in,” my mom added in a hushed voice.
Officer Bradshaw chuckled, and again, I was hit with a weird sense of familiarity. He laughed like Cole. A deep, sexy chuckle. “That’s okay.”
I felt like I needed to thank God for the interruption. I waved my mom off as I focused on the officer.
He was bent at the waist, looking inside the car. “Did you notice anything stolen, Miss Keeton?” He turned his head toward me. “It is miss, right?”
I nodded. “Not married.”
“Interesting,” he murmured.
My brows flew up. Interesting? There was nothing remotely interesting about that. I crept closer to the car. “I honestly haven’t checked. I found it this way this morning—oh!” Remembering why I’d come out in the morning, I walked around the back of the car. “I left a tote in the car last night and I’d come out this morning to get it. That’s when I noticed the windows broken out.” Bending over, I peered in the car. Surprise shot through me. “It’s in there! My bag. Right on the backseat. There’s no missing that.”
“Yeah, you can’t miss it. Even in the dark, I’m sure the fuchsia would stand out,” he commented dryly as he peered over my shoulder.
I started to reach for the car, but stopped. “Can I open the door?”
He nodded. “I’m going to be honest, for something like this, we probably won’t be dusting for prints unless something major was stolen out of the car.”
I wasn’t insulted by the honesty. It was just a car and no one was injured. Opening the door, I reached in and carefully grabbed the straps of the tote. Glass pinged off the seat as I lifted the bag and stepped back from the car.
As Officer Bradshaw walked around the front of the car and along the other side, I opened the tote, hoping no one had stolen my makeup. If I had to make a trip to Ulta to replenish my stock, I’d be leaving with at least two hundred more dollars’ worth of makeup than what was stolen.
Biting down on my lower lip, I pried the tote open. “What the . . . ?”
“Yes?” Officer Bradshaw straightened and looked at me over the roof of the car.
“My MacBook is in here! With my makeup. I left both of them in the car.” Stunned, I touched the laptop just to make sure it was in there. Then I touched the makeup bag.
Officer Bradshaw headed my way. “Anything else that was left in the car?”
Shaking my head, I stared in the bag. “I forgot I’d even left that in here,” I murmured, lowering the tote. I turned to him. “Why would someone break into my car but not steal a laptop? The makeup bag I understand, but the laptop?”
“That is fairly uncommon.” He scribbled in his little notebook as static crackled from his radio. “But that’s usually a sign that the vehicle wasn’t broken into.”
I lifted a hand and gestured at the car. “Uh . . . ?”
“If there is damage but nothing stolen, especially valuable goods, then it’s usually a case of vandalism.” His pale blue eyes met mine. “You just arrived yesterday, right?”
A wiggly feeling returned to my stomach. “Yes.”
“And you’ve been gone about ten years?”
The stiffness started to seep back into me. “Yeah. Just about.”