Hot Southern Mess - Extended Edition: Possum Creek, #1

By Gen Griffin

Gracie Malone has made a lot of mistakes.

She didn't mean to be her parents' problem child.

She never intended for her stupid, silly fight with Cal to turn into their last fight.

She definitely never imagined he'd decide he wanted to marry someone other than her.

Running away from her problems seemed like an ideal solution until Gracie wound up 300 miles away from her hometown, alone and in even more trouble than she was in before she got to college.

After all, she certainly hadn't meant to kill the first guy to ask her out on a date after she and Cal split up.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This novel was originally split into two books at the advice of a publisher who I am no longer associated with. After much consideration, I have decided to discontinue selling the second half of this story, previously titled Hissy Fit, as a standalone novel and instead combined it back into Hot Southern Mess. The Extended Edition of Hot Southern Mess contains Hot Southern Mess + Hissy Fit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gen Griffin
• Release date: Mar 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386276517

Book preview

If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

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HOT SOUTHERN MESS

EXTENDED EDITION

A POSSUM CREEK NOVEL

Copyright © 2014 and 2019 by Gen Griffin

All rights reserved.

ASIN: B00T9MQX7Y

ISBN 10: 1507635745

ISBN 13: 9781507635742

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means — including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Permission is granted to copy or reprint portions for any noncommercial use except they may not be posted online without permission. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Also By Gen Griffin

The Possum Creek Series

Lord Have Mercy (Prequel Novella)

Hot Southern Mess

Hot Southern Nights

Pretty Is As Pretty Does

Give Me Some Sugar

If Pigs Could Fly

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After The Apocalypse

The Scavengers

Church of Chaos

False Idols

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

This novel was originally split into two books at the advice of a publisher who I am no longer associated with. After much consideration, I have decided to discontinue selling the second half of this story, previously titled Hissy Fit, as a standalone novel and instead combined it back into Hot Southern Mess. The Extended Edition of Hot Southern Mess contains Hot Southern Mess + Hissy Fit.

Prologue

Who did David kill for you?

Gracie narrowed her eyes at the only man who she had ever loved. David didn't kill anyone for me.

I'm not playing with you, Gracie, Cal spoke the words through gritted teeth. His thick, dark eyebrows were furrowed tightly with annoyance and worry. He was clenching the steering wheel of his truck so tightly that Gracie was starting to think the wheel might actually snap in two before this conversation was over. I know you're trying to protect him. I can't help unless you tell me the truth about what happened Friday night.

I already tried to tell you the truth. You wouldn't listen. Is there even a point in talking to you? Gracie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. You keep accusing me of having sex with David.

You were naked in his living room, Cal said. What else would the two of you have been doing naked in the living room?

I was not naked. Gracie felt incredibly tired and even more incredibly annoyed. I threw up on my shirt and so I took it off. I was still wearing my bra, my underwear, and my skirt.

That itty bitty scrap of fabric you had on was not a skirt, Cal said.

Yes, it was.

No way in hell. Too short.

Ugh. You don't get a say in what I wear, Calvin. You broke up with me. I'm free to go out wearing whatever I want. I had a date and the skirt was cute.

You went on a date with David? Cal's skepticism was clear.

No, you idiot. Gracie took a deep breath and tried to steel her nerves. I went on a date with the dead guy.

Cal stopped short of whatever he'd been about to say. His mouth was hanging slightly open as he visibly tried to process this new bit of information. You went on a date with the dead guy?

He wasn't dead when the date started, Gracie clarified.

I wasn't under the impression he had been. Cal leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Gracie, you need to tell me everything that happened. Everything.

Why? Gracie asked. You're just going to yell at me.

I'm trying to help.

If you truly wanted to help, you would have listened to what David and I were trying to tell you Friday night. You showed your ass when we tried to talk to you. Gracie blinked back an unexpected round of tears. Do you really think any of us wanted this to happen?

How the hell am I supposed to know what y'all wanted to happen? Cal demanded. Y'all don't tell me anything.

You want me to tell you something? Gracie practically shouted the words at him. I was scared to death when you saw me Friday night. I was crying. Sex was the last thing on my mind until you put it there. I'd just driven three hours in a stolen car while wondering how long Brett's body could stay in the BMW before it started to smell.

What? Cal frowned at her.

Gracie ignored him and kept talking. The entire time I was driving home to Possum Creek, I was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to how Brett wound up dead in the backseat of his own car. I kept worrying about what I would tell the cops if I got pulled over. I drove 55 miles an hour the whole way home because I was terrified of being stopped or wrecking. There was so much fog on the road, I could barely see 20 feet in front of the car when I was on highway 14.

Gracie-.

I was scared, Cal. More scared than I have ever been in my whole life. Brett's body was in the backseat because I wasn't strong enough to lift him into the trunk. The car smelled like blood and vomit. I had to roll all the windows down as far as they would go just so I could breathe.

Where was David? Cal asked. When you were driving down to Possum Creek with a body in the car, where was David? Why didn't he haul the body?

Why are you so fixated on David? Gracie countered.

Because he murdered someone for you, Cal sounded less certain than he had five minutes earlier.

No. He didn't, Gracie shook her head at him. Have you gone deaf or are you just so stubborn that you refuse to hear what I'm trying to tell you?

I'm waiting for you to talk to me. Cal threw his hands up into the air. What the hell has gone wrong between us, Gracie?

Everything, Gracie replied.

We've always been able to talk.

You quit listening, Gracie told him. You stopped listening to me a long time ago. We can talk all you want to, but what good does talking do when you don't listen?

I'm listening.

No, you're arguing. Gracie rolled her turquoise blue eyes at him. If you were listening, you'd be silent.

Cal opened his mouth and then closed it. He crossed his thick, muscular arms across his broad chest and waited. His annoyance was plain in the way he drummed the fingers of his right hand against the flesh of his left arm. If Gracie hadn't been so mad at him, she would have laughed.

Are you really going to listen to me?

Cal nodded. His lips were pressed tightly together.

Gracie took a deep breath. You said you wanted to know everything that happened, right?

He nodded again.

Gracie closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. She needed to be able to think coherently if she was going to be able to explain to Cal how her entire life had gone to hell in her Granny Pearl's proverbial hand-basket. I went on a date last Friday night. It didn't end well.

Cal raised one eyebrow at her skeptically. Didn't end well is kind of an understatement, don't you think?

I thought you were going to shut up and listen?

Fine. Fine. I'm listening. Tell me how your date wound up dead in the trunk of his own car.

Friday night, I went out on a date with this guy named Brett...

Chapter 1

Five Days Earlier

You're a real bitch, you know that? Brett Parker scowled at Gracie across the dimly lit interior of his overpriced BMW.

And? Gracie didn't feel the least bit sorry.

You didn't need to hit me. He stuck his fingertips in his mouth and sucked on them.

When a girl tells you to stop trying to stick your hand up her skirt, you should stop trying to stick your hand up her skirt. She wasn't surprised his hand hurt. Gracie's own thigh stung where she'd smacked her heavy leather purse down on top of Brett's creepy crawly fingers. He'd been trying to slip his hand under the hemline of her skirt without her noticing. Her reaction had been instinctive.

Tonight was supposed to be magical. You aren't letting the magic between us happen. Brett shot her another baleful, disapproving glare.

Magic? Gracie couldn't help laughing. We're at Take-A-Taco. In the drive-thru.

What's wrong with Take-A-Taco? Brett appeared genuinely insulted.

Nothing. Unless you think it’s magical. The only thing magical about a .29-cent taco special is that they managed to put any meat in the tortilla for that price. Gracie considered explaining her thoughts but then decided Brett Parker wasn't worth the effort. She twisted her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. She no longer cared if she messed up the delicate curls she'd spent two hours and a whole can of cheap hairspray creating. You promised to take me out for a nice dinner. Take-A-Taco is pretty much the opposite of a nice dinner.

You're just mad I asked you to pay for your own food. Brett reached for her arm and attempted to stroke her shoulder. She leaned closer to the door to avoid him. The car just wasn't wide enough. His fingers were clammy when they brushed against her arm. She didn't like the feel of his hands on her overexposed skin.

Gracie regretted letting Kelsey, her roommate, humiliate her into ditching her favorite tight jeans and paisley print halter top for the too short, too tight black skirt and silky black spaghetti strap top with a plunging neckline that left nothing about her b-cups to the imagination. Kelsey said Gracie needed to look sexy if she wanted to impress Brett. Gracie thought she looked like Hooker Barbie. Apparently, Brett thought so too. He had been shamelessly trying to grope her since they had left campus.

Refusing to pay for my taco definitely isn't helping your cause. The car inched forward through the drive-thru lane. Gracie shook Brett's caressing hand off of her arm and gritted her molars together.

I thought girls liked being viewed as equals? Brett asked. A lot of the girls I've met don't want me to open doors for them or pay for their food. You telling me you aren't one of those liberated chicks?

Not really, Gracie said. Asking a girl out to dinner and then telling her she has to pay for her own $3 meal is rude.

A lot of girls only want to date me because I have money. Brett admired his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. Making girls pay for their own shit is my way of weeding out all the gold diggers, you know?

I honestly just think you're a cheap pervert.

A pervert? Brett glared at her. Don't act like you're doing me a favor by being here. There are plenty of other girls on campus who would be more than willing to do anything I asked them to do. You didn't have to come out with me.

I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you if I had known that dinner and dancing at The Lounge would turn into driving in circles and Take-A-Taco. Gracie tried to remember why she had thought going on a date with State University's most notorious playboy would be fun.

What can I do to make you want me? Brett put his hand back on her thigh. His fingertips brushed against the hem of her skirt. Gracie picked his hand up and shoved it back into his own lap.

Nothing. Gracie had never actually wanted Brett. She'd agreed to go on a date with him because she knew it would make Kelsey stupidly jealous.

Calvin Walker was the only guy Gracie ever wanted. Cal could sit behind the wheel of his truck and give her that come-on-over-here grin he'd been using since Little League, knowing that she'd practically melt into the ripped cloth seats of his jacked-up Chevy 1500. Brett wasn't in Cal's league. He wasn't even playing in the same ballpark.

Nothing? Brett's car moved ahead in the drive-thru lane by a single car-length. He pulled his hand back off of her thigh and began fidgeting restlessly with the collar on his $350 baby blue golf shirt. His phone chimed in his pocket.

You're a liar and a pervert, Gracie said. Not to mention that the girlfriend you promised me you didn't have has been texting you all night.

You're a bitch. I'm thinking maybe I should give Susanna another chance. Brett smirked as he replied to the text message he'd just received.

Maybe that's a good idea. Gracie wrinkled her nose at him in disgust. It doesn't bother her you're a drug dealer?

Brett's head jerked up and he nearly dropped the phone. Hey, I am not-.

Save your breath. Gracie waved one hand in the air dismissively. I have ears. You promised to get someone a bottle of Lortabs and a two month supply of Viagra less than 10 minutes ago.

I have connections. Brett didn't have the decency to look ashamed of himself. It’s good pocket money.

I didn't think you needed the money? The smell of greasy meat wafting through the air was making Gracie vaguely nauseous.

You know, I can give you a little something to improve your mood, Brett told her with a bold smile. I have a bottle full of little white pills that will have you screaming my name in ecstasy before the end of the night.

Thanks, but no thanks. Gracie didn't try to hide her disgust. You can keep the date rape drugs to yourself. I'm done.

Done? Brett repeated the word as a question as he drummed his fingers against the custom leather steering wheel cover.

Done. She double checked her purse to make sure her wallet and keys hadn't spilled out during the drive.

You're not done until I say you're done. Brett reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Go to hell. She reached for the door handle as his phone chirped to announce the arrival of yet another text message.

I don't think you understand how this works. Brett's gaze flickered over her. She could see the irritation in his eyes as she reached for the handle on the door. He made another attempt to get hold of her wrist. You aren't in charge here.

Have a nice night, Brett. I'll find my own way back to the dorm from here. She tugged on the door handle. Nothing happened. It took her a minute to process that the car had automatically locking doors. She pressed the unlock button on the armrest. Nothing happened. She pressed the button again. Still nothing. She turned back to Brett. Why won't this door open?

It’s locked. The only one who locks and unlocks the doors on my car is me. Sorry. Brett didn't look at all sorry.

Not funny, Brett. Let me out. Gracie wondered if manually unlocking the door would override whatever he'd had done to keep her from being able to open it. She wished she didn't bite her nails as she examined the locking mechanism on the door.

I can't let you out here. This neighborhood isn't safe. You're going to get mugged and raped if you try to walk through this neighborhood alone at night. Brett rubbed her wrist as he pretended to genuinely care about her safety.

I'll take my chances. Gracie snatched her arm away from his manipulative caressing.

The car inched ahead in the drive-thru line on its own accord, nearly running into the bumper of the Ford truck ahead of them. Brett remembered to press the brake pedal with a quarter of an inch to spare.

His phone went off again. He looked down at the display on his phone and hurriedly put it back in his pocket.

Gracie wedged her fingers under the lock and pull it to the unlocked position. She tried the door handle again. Nothing happened.

You're not getting out unless I decide to let you out. Brett laughed.

Look, you have about thirty seconds to unlock this door. Gracie was beyond aggravated.

Or what? Brett taunted her.

Or I'm going to scream bloody murder and say I'm being kidnapped when you pull up to the window to pay for your food. She gestured at the window that was a mere two cars away. I'm sure your uncle's campaign manager would love to explain why the governor's nephew is kidnapping girls. That backpack full of pills in the back seat is perfectly legal, right?

Brett's hazy blue eyes got wide. You wouldn't.

Try and stick your hand up my skirt one more time. See if I don't. Gracie kept one hand on the door handle as she spoke. She fully intended to bolt the moment the door unlocked. She'd take her chances with the imaginary muggers and rapists on the streets.

The truck in front of them pulled up to the window to pay. Brett didn't follow it. Instead, he sat in the driver's seat staring daggers at her. The people in the truck in front of them received their food and pulled away from the drive-through window. Brett's BMW was now the only car in the line.

You want to go back to school? Brett glared at her furiously. You got it.

He hit the accelerator with enough force to knock Gracie backward into the passenger seat. He squealed his tires as he drove past the pick-up window without stopping to pay or picking up his food.

Gracie cursed under her breath as Brett's car slid sideways on the pavement and barreled out onto the main road, heading the opposite direction from campus.

Chapter 2

Kerry Longwood was nearly overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom as he stared at the short, squat brick building that was home to the Callahan County Sheriff's Department. A tarnished CCSD badge sat in his left hand like a lead weight.

I reckon it’s official. We get two weeks to prove ourselves, huh? Ian McIntyre leaned against the side of his battered S10 pickup truck and studied his own dull, second-hand sheriff's deputy's badge. He was rubbing at it with the hem of a Breedlove Automotive t-shirt in an attempt to knock some of the rust off.

Two weeks. Kerry glanced down at his cell phone to check the time. He wondered why he continued to pay the phone bill. No one had called Kerry in weeks.

I bet you ain't nervous. Ian raked his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair and shrugged his slim shoulders. You're way better qualified for this job than I am. You've got a bunch of degrees, right?

Kerry looked up at Ian in surprise. He hadn't expected the Sheriff's favorite job candidate to acknowledge his own credentials. I have a bachelor’s degree in Criminology and a master’s in Criminal Law. I've passed all the state police certifications as well as basic firefighter and EMT courses. If I were anywhere but Callahan County, the certificates might be worth more than the paper they're printed on.

What do you mean? Ian looked baffled.

I mean that it's total bullshit that the Sheriff has put us both on a two-week trial period. I've busted my butt educating myself to become a law enforcement officer. What qualifications do you have?

All I have is the basic law enforcement certificate from Callahan County Community College. Ian stared at his badge regretfully.

And yet, Sheriff Chasson considers us equal candidates for this job? Kerry could hear the bitter resignation in his own voice. I was halfway through law school when I had to move back to Possum Creek.

Yeah. I'd heard that. I'm sorry about your Dad. Ian kicked at the gravel in the parking lot. His scuffed, battered boots created a sharp contrast to Kerry's own stiff, shiny loafers.

Don't be, Kerry said. He was so drunk he probably never saw the bridge that killed him.

Still. He was your Dad. My Dad died when I was 15. I still miss him. Ian's sympathy appeared to be genuine but Kerry didn't want his competition's sympathy. You moved back to take care of your Mom, didn't you?

Didn't have a choice, Kerry admitted. Mom has been bedridden since I was eight. We tried to put her in a nursing home but she screamed until her throat bled every time her sedatives wore off. The psychiatrist says she's developed a phobia about leaving the house.

That's too bad. Ian probably meant it. Kerry's return to Possum Creek meant Ian didn't stand a prayer of hanging on to the badge he was holding.

It’s life. Kerry frowned down at the tassels on his loafers and fought the urge to tell Ian to go away. He didn't want to cause unnecessary hard feelings. Ian was the only member of the CCSD who treated him like a human being. He was going to have to work with Ian until the trial period ended and the Sheriff was left with no choice except to hire him. Kerry was, without question, the best qualified candidate for the single open deputy position.

I really need this job. Ian rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. I've been bagging groceries down at the Save 'N Shop since graduation.

Bagging groceries? Kerry clenched his badge more tightly in his hand.

Yeah. It was Frank's – Sheriff Chasson's idea for me to take the classes to become a deputy. Ian shrugged. He didn't know that you would be moving back to town right at the same time as the position finally opened up.

I was surprised when I saw it advertised. Kerry already suspected Sheriff Chasson had promised Ian the job well before the legally required advertisement had been published in the classifieds.

If Sheriff Chasson had been able to get away with chucking Kerry's application in the trash can and hiring Ian, he would have. Kerry had politely informed the Sheriff that he knew state law required the most qualified candidate for a public service job to be hired.

The Sheriff had responded by hiring both Kerry and Ian on with the department for a two-week trial period. Whichever one of them proved to be the better deputy would be hired on full time.

Kerry knew the Sheriff had meant it when he'd told him he'd be watching his every minute on the clock. Not that Kerry was too worried. He hadn't gone to all those classes for nothing. Kerry was confident that Ian's time in uniform was going to make for a very short two weeks. Especially considering that his competition had spent the last two or three years bagging groceries.

Not that it’s any of my business, but why do you want this job? Ian startled Kerry with the question.

I need something to keep me busy while I'm stuck in Callahan County. Kerry stared at the bumper on his car. Applying for the job with the Callahan County Sheriff’s Department had been Kerry's last ditch effort to keep from sinking fully into the bleak depression that had been overwhelming him since he'd left law school. Not that he thought working day-in and day-out with the same backwoods boys he'd fled Callahan County to get away from was going to be all that enjoyable of an experience. He just felt an overwhelming urge to be doing something with his life.

Oh, Ian frowned.

Besides, too many innocent people around here get cheated when they deserve justice, Kerry said. No offense, but this is a small town. If you're not from around here, the law around here doesn't care about you.

What do you mean? Ian appeared genuinely puzzled.

Kerry closed his eyes as the familiar memory of a laughing 13-year-old-girl with dark hair and darker eyes sprung into his mind. He swallowed regretfully and pushed Casey's cheerful face out of his mind so he could focus on Ian. I'm talking about the kids who get beat up and bullied every day after school. The families who lose everything they care about because they make the wrong person mad. I'm talking about the rapes that don't get prosecuted because the victim is from a bad family and the rapist is from a good one.

You think that kind of stuff happens a lot around here?

Casey's face flashed before Kerry's eyes again. Do you remember a girl named Casey Black?

Ian, still leaning against his truck, blanched. Didn't she go missing a long time ago?

Sheriff Chasson decided she ran away. Kerry couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. Last time anyone saw her she was going into the woods behind David Breedlove's house.

Oh, Ian frowned at Kerry as he fingered the hem on his t-shirt again. A t-shirt that was advertising David Breedlove's mechanic shop. David didn't do nothing to Casey. Those were just rumors when people said he'd hurt her. I know him better than that. David wouldn't hurt no one.

David Breedlove is a dangerous and cruel son-of-a-bitch. Kerry held his badge up in the air. I've spent every waking minute since high school studying the law. Now that I'm back here, I'm going to put what I've learned to good use. I'm here for justice. Getting justice for Casey is the first thing I aim to do.

Chapter 3

Cal stared impassively out the front window of the diner, attentively not listening to Jo Beth’s incessant stream of chatter.

Aunt Heather called Rachelle yesterday and just plain out asked if Tate had really told her or if she was assuming it because of everything that had happened with Julia. She said, supposedly, that she heard it from Melissa Rae. My first question was, of course, how Melissa would know anything about what was going on with Tate, since everyone knows Tate hasn't talked to her since that whole family reunion ordeal... Jo Beth's plump, glossy pink lips opened and closed repeatedly, showing off flashes of straight, white teeth. Every so often, the stream of chatter would pause. She would turn her big liquid brown eyes on Cal, take a dainty little bite of her fried chicken salad, and wait for him to comment on whatever bit of gossip or trivial information he had been pretending to be paying attention to.

Kellie pointed out that Rachelle could only have done it when Ben was out of town, because otherwise it would have caused too much trouble with the driveway. At first we were like, that doesn’t make any sense, but the more I thought about it, well, it’s like I told Mom...

Cal was entertaining himself by staring at Main Street through the plate glass windows of the Possum Creek Diner. He was watching vehicles drive past and seeing how many of them he recognized. He hadn't missed one yet.

The plate glass was convenient because it superimposed his reflection over the view of the street, allowing him to watch traffic and Jo Beth at the same. Whenever she stopped talking and looked directly at him, he'd nod or grunt as a sign he was paying attention. She would go back to talking.

Two trucks passed by the diner window. Cal identified the first one as Jerry Dean's Dodge Dakota and the second as Ian McIntyre's S10. A 1980s model Camaro came down the street next, looking low and sleek in the dim light provided by the streetlights. Cal held his breath for a half a second, hoping against all logic or reason that it was Gracie's car. It wasn't. The car was a couple years too new and silver instead of hunter green. Alan Brown's mid-life crisis-mobile.

Cal forced his attention back to his girlfriend. He nodded without the slightest idea what he was nodding about when she paused her monologue just long enough to suck down a couple ounces of her sweet tea.

I was telling Rebecca that Ben probably doesn’t have anything to worry about with Rachelle. It would be completely impractical for her to have to deal with something like that. Not to mention that Melissa Rae doesn’t know a thing she’s talking about, but really, who can expect anything else from Melissa Rae? Well, I thought the whole situation was done with, but no. Yesterday Tate calls Mom and tells her that he doesn’t know why Rebecca is telling everyone that Ben and Rachelle are getting a new house. Can you believe that? Jo paused, looked directly at him and got no response. Cal?

A full-size 4x4 Ford truck was pulling into the diner's narrow parking lot. It was slate gray with a light bar on the roof and a heavy metal, police-issue brush guard with a winch bumper. The driver pulled straight up in front of the window where they were sitting and flashed the set of day-lighter aftermarket headlights that were mounted on the beefy brush guard.

Cal? Jo Beth was looking at him expectantly, completely oblivious to the Ford outside the window.

Addison's here. He gestured out the window as the truck impatiently flashed its lights again.

Lovely. Just the person I didn't want to see. He's not eating with us. Jo blinked in annoyance as Addy flashed his lights a third time. Why is he doing that?

I don't think he's here to eat. He probably just wants to talk.

Hasn't he ever heard of a cell phone? Jo glared in Addy's direction. She looked just as happy as she would have if she had unexpectedly been sprayed by a skunk. You did tell him that Friday night is our date night, right?

He knows. Cal stood up and tugged his wallet out of his back pocket. I'm going to go see what he wants before he blinds us.

Cal, remember that we already have plans, Jo's voice had a warning tone to it.

I haven't forgotten. He flipped his debit card out and laid it on top of the ticket the waitress had left on the table. He heard Jo's voice echo out behind him as he headed out the front door.

I take it this means we're done with dinner?

Chapter 4

You better be taking me back to school. Gracie was scared but she tried not to let it show as Brett screeched his expensive car through sharp turn after sharp turn.

I'll take you wherever I want to take you. The busy, well lit roads of town were rapidly being replaced by rural two lanes and dirt. The speedometer needle was bouncing back and forth between 85 and 90 miles per hour. The last speed limit sign Gracie had seen labeled the road they were on as a 45 mph zone.

Like hell you will. Gracie yanked on the door handle again. It still didn't budge. Stop this car and let me out.

You're a whiny little bitch. You know that? Brett turned the car onto a darker, less populated road. He showed no sign of the flirty charm he'd used to entice Gracie to go out with him in the first place.

You're a creep. Gracie used her anger to hide the ever growing fear she felt. She wished that she'd never left Possum Creek to come to State University. Brett wouldn't have dared treat Gracie this way back home. No one treated any girl this way. Not if they wanted to live.

The last guy who had called Gracie a bitch had spent the next hour picking his teeth up out of the Gas 'N Go parking lot courtesy of her older brother's right hook.

I bet this is the only date you've ever been on. Brett was sweating despite the chilly night air that was blasting through his open window. You're dressed like a whore but act like you think you're too fucking good for me.

A whore? Gracie's head was filled with white hot fury. I guess you're just too stupid to understand the difference between looking sexy and dressing like a slut. I've been on plenty of dates. Believe me.

Going up to the interstate in Billy Bob's truck to eat at the Waffle House doesn't count as dating. Brett mashed down on the accelerator.

Gracie blinked and tried not to let it show how much that last barb stung. She'd been teased mercilessly about how thick her Southern accent was ever since she'd come to State University. Kelsey mocked her because her favorite outfit consisted of worn soft blue jeans and flip-flops. It didn't help that she could drink Jack Daniels straight from the bottle but nearly threw up a chocolate martini.

We aren't going the right direction to get back to school. Gracie forced herself to focus on the situation at hand as she blinked back unexpected tears.

Will you shut up already? Brett was staring straight ahead and clutching the steering wheel with both hands. We're going the back way.

There is no back way, Gracie gestured out the window at the acres of trees they were passing. There were almost no houses to be seen on the rural country road. Main campus is in the center of town. You're driving us straight into the middle of nowhere. I grew up in the middle of nowhere. I know what it looks like.

You're not getting scared are you? Brett was clearly pleased with the slight tremble in her voice.

No. Gracie tried to hide the goosebumps that were cropping up on her exposed flesh. She was tempted to go for her phone, but she didn't have anyone to call for help who was within 200 miles of State University. Gracie Malone was on her own without anyone to save her. It wasn't a particularly comforting feeling as she watched the last house on the side of the road gradually fade into nothing but rows and rows of trees.

Gracie desperately wished someone would come save her. Correction, she wished Cal would come save her. Right this moment she would be willing to deal with Cal's absolute fury if it meant never seeing Brett again as long as she lived. She'd give anything to be curled up in the middle seat of Cal's truck with his arm around her, just driving through the woods. Or up to the Cracker Barrel by the interstate for dinner. Or anywhere. Just as long as she was back with him and far, far away from Brett Parker and State University.

Gracie fought the panic that was bubbling up into her throat. She dug her fingers into her purse and searched quietly for her phone. If she had to call 911 in order to get out of this mess, then she would. She had just brushed her fingertips across the top of the cool plastic case when Brett unexpectedly hit the brakes. He snatched the car sideways onto a small, dark narrow side road.

She slid into the passenger's side door of the car with an oomph! The side of her head hit the glass in the window and the impact brought tears to her eyes.

Brett sped up as he straightened the front wheels on the pavement.

Chapter 5

You just wrecked any chance I had of getting laid tonight. Cal walked towards the parking space where Addison was leaning on the hood of his county-issued truck. He was wearing a stained, wrinkled game warden's uniform and smoking a Marlboro Red.

Cal held out his hand and gestured for the pack of cigarettes before Addy opened his mouth. The box immediately landed in his palm. He pulled a lighter that was shaped like a naked woman's torso out of the cellophane wrapper and lit a forbidden cigarette. The burn of the smoke felt good as he pulled it into his lungs.

Thought you were quitting. Addison shot Cal a smug smile as he laid the rest of the pack of cigarettes on the hood of the gray truck.

She's already got something to be mad about tonight. What's a cigarette gonna hurt? Cal leaned back against the Ford, staring up at the first couple of stars to appear in the clear night sky.

Date night, isn't it? Addison didn't try to look sorry as Cal nodded. You ought to be thanking me. I did you a favor. He gestured through the window. They watched as Jo Beth scooped up the check and Cal's debit card. She toted them to the register while keeping up a solid stream of conversation with the petite brunette waitress. The waitress glanced back through the window. She caught sight of Addison and grinned, waving cheerily when Jo wasn't looking. You need to trade that one in on a less bitchy model.

It doesn't work like that. Cal took another deep drag of the cigarette. He coughed slightly as the smoke saturated his lungs and burned there. Jo was right. He needed to quit. Are you here for a reason or did you just show up for the sheer pleasure of ruining my night?

It's a sad day when seeing your best friend ruins your night. Addison made a tsk-tsking noise at him. Does the name Kerry Longwood mean anything to you?

Should it? Cal tried to remember who Kerry was. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't put a face with it.

Ian said everyone used to call him Crybaby Kerry, Addison offered with a shrug. He also mentioned that David beat the hell out of him on a regular basis when y'all were in high school. I figured you might remember the guy. You were normally the one pulling David off of people in high school.

Okay, yeah. I know who you're talking about. I always felt sorry for him, Cal said with a nod. The memories were coming back to him from middle school and high school. David had some anger management issues back then. Kerry was a scrawny kid with a big mouth and a twitchy eye. I think the twitch was David's fault.

David still has anger management issues. Addison frowned and took a deep breath. Kerry just came back to Possum Creek with a Master’s Degree in Criminal Justice and a burning desire for revenge against everyone who ever looked at him funny. He's applied for the open deputy position with the Sheriffs' Department. Uncle Frank thinks Kerry is going to try to run for Sheriff come the next election.

Why the hell would Kerry want to be the Sheriff of Callahan County? Cal was genuinely baffled.

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