“He stuck with you,” she argued, though the points Jonas was making were valid, if sharp enough to cut deep, make her reexamine her beliefs. Another curve as they headed downhill, the beams of her headlights reflecting on the swirling snow.
“Cuz no one else would have him. And it seems, because he was skimming from the estate. I shoulda known. Shit, I should never have trusted him.”
She didn’t like where this was going. “I thought you turned all religious, that you found God or something while you were in prison.”
He shot her a look in the mirror. “I did.”
“Doesn’t sound like it. You aren’t exactly turning the other cheek.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” he spat. “Twenty fucking years. You try that on for size.”
She wondered. Jonas seemed angry, tough and, yeah, scared. Like her after finding the body, but she saw nothing of the spiritual, calm man he was supposed to have become. She passed a sign warning of a steep downgrade and her palms began to sweat on the wheel. “How’d you get to Margrove’s?”
“A ride.”
“With who?”
He hesitated, then slashed her a dark look in the mirror, his features shadowed. “Mia.”
“Who’s . . . who’s Mia?” Jonas had a girlfriend?
“Someone who cares, okay?” He glared at her. “Unlike everyone else.”
She knew who everyone was. Not just her and Margrove. Jonas felt completely abandoned; she’d heard that from the attorney. His mother, Daddy’s second wife, Natalie, had fled the area after the murders and her only son’s arrest. Kara had no idea what had happened to her. As for Lacey Higgins, who had been Jonas’s girlfriend at the time of the massacre, the girl whom Jonas had supposedly found screwing around with Donner, she had testified against him and never spoken to him again. At least that’s what she’d heard Margrove say to his wife once when Kara had been staying at his house for a weekend. She’d snuck down to the kitchen for a soda, and Margrove and his wife Helen had been in the den, the TV on, a fire burning in the fireplace. “The kid feels completely alone. Even his own mother won’t visit. And that girlfriend of his?” Margrove had let out a disgusted sigh. “First, she screws his stepbrother, then that testimony.”
“It did sound bad,” his wife had admitted.
“I know, I know, but he was just an angry kid.”
“An angry kid who had trouble with the law before. And hadn’t he broken a kid’s arm in grade school, right, when they were wrestling?”
“That was an accident,” Margrove had snorted.
“Maybe, but hadn’t he gotten into a fight with Donner Robinson just the week before the massacre?”
He’d sighed. “Brothers.”
“Stepbrothers,” she had reminded him. “Full of raging hormones—too much testosterone. What do you always call it? ‘Piss and vinegar’？”
Silence.
“If you ask me—”
“I didn’t.”
“Too bad, you need to hear this. Jonas McIntyre took things to the next level. You know it. I know it. And the judge and jury knew it. I wouldn’t blame Lacey Higgins one bit for not wanting to hitch her wagon to him, if you know what I mean.”
Again Margrove had snorted and as he’d clicked the remote to up the volume on what appeared to be an episode of Law & Order, Kara had tiptoed up the stairs with her purloined bottle of Coke.
Now, though, she was driving through a damned blizzard, Jonas armed and definitely dangerous, his fury palpable, riding in the darkened contours of her Jeep. It was surreal driving through the darkness, trees towering overhead, the wind whistling over the steady thrum of the engine and Jonas glowering in the umbra.
Her fingers were clenched around the steering wheel. “So this Mia, the girl who supposedly cares about you,” Kara said, “she just dumped you in the woods in the middle of a blizzard?”
“That’s the way I wanted it,” Jonas insisted. “I told her to leave me. At the cabin. She wanted to stay, but I made her take off.” Under his breath he added, “Yeah, she’s not like Lacey!” He spat his ex-girlfriend’s name as if it tasted foul.
“Mia is your girlfriend?”
“Does it matter? For Christ’s sake, Kara. Did you not see Margrove? Someone butchered him. Who knows who’s next. Me? You?”
Looking into the mirror again, Kara thought she saw more than anger in his dark eyes, some deeper emotion reflecting in the glass, and with it came a prickle of apprehension that raised the hairs on the base of her scalp. What was Jonas really doing? How dangerous was he? What was he after?