Jill Sorenson: Crash Into Me

Now that she was free, unencumbered by the past and finished with her position at VICAP, she should feel as light as the ocean breeze that rifled through her hair as she walked toward Windansea Beach. Instead, she was stiff-limbed and awkward, her palms clammy and her pulse racing. Anxiety curled up in her belly like a lead ball.

Ben didn’t know she was coming.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t talked to him on the phone every night before she went to sleep. He’d told her how Carly was doing and given her updates on her half-brothers. James had enrolled in La Jolla Shores High School and Stephen had been staying clean, working on the Destiny and attending NA meetings.

Over the phone, things between them had been…friendly. Heated, even. But they hadn’t exchanged an “I love you” since that last tumultuous evening together.

The press had had a field day covering the case, and John Thomas Carver became America’s favorite new monster. He might have enjoyed the attention if he’d lived. Every detail of his past was exposed, including his father’s drug overdose and his mother’s sordid lifestyle.

Although JT rarely spoke of his mother, he’d given Ben the impression that Cheryl Carver, better known as Cherry, had been a B-movie actress. She was actually a porn star who’d been strangled by her boyfriend when JT was fourteen. Perhaps her death had been his breaking point, or maybe that time came years before, during the incident that had precipitated JT’s transfer from his mother’s care. When her house was raided for drugs, two uniformed officers found her ten-year-old son unconscious, tied to a bed, naked but for lipstick smudges and candle drippings. Apparently, a couple of Cherry’s doped-up girlfriends had made a game of him, and after they grew bored, they left him there, used up and forgotten.

The history of childhood abuse, and JT’s failure to maintain healthy relationships with women as an adult, were the only indications of his darker nature. On the outside, he was a party boy who lived the good life. No one suspected him of violence, including Ben. JT had hid his true self behind a very handsome, very charming façade.

Along with various trinkets and mementoes from his victims, JT kept a journal of the killings. The accounts were rich in description but completely devoid of emotion. He seemed to believe he was doing the world a favor by eliminating “predatory females.” The only person, besides his late father, he claimed to care about was Ben, who didn’t appreciate “the gift” JT had given him by murdering Olivia. Darrius O’Shea and Arlen Matthews had been nothing more than “convenient sacrifices for a greater cause.”

After the story broke, one of O’Shea’s comrades came forward with another sad tale. During his final tour of duty, O’Shea had been involved in a mission that had gone terribly wrong. An innocent had been gunned down. The veteran said he’d always wondered if O’Shea confessed to a crime he didn’t commit because he felt so guilty about the one he did.

Sonny wished she could have stayed in California and ridden out the aftermath of the scandal with Ben. His face had been all over the newspapers once again. He’d insisted on attending JT’s funeral, and the photos of him at the grave site were on every front page.

Now, three weeks later, the frenzy had finally died down.

She knew he’d be out on the water. It was another glorious winter day, sunny and cool, and judging by the number of wetsuits dotting the blue horizon, the surf was up. When she spotted Ben, her heart jumped. Weak-kneed and dry-mouthed, she watched him from the shore.

At first, he didn’t notice her. He was as steadfast as always, single-minded in his focus, unswerving in his intensity. But, to her surprise, his concentration broke, and he glanced toward her.

Her pulse pounded, rushing through her veins.

She told herself not to get too excited when he came out of the water. They hadn’t discussed future plans. He hadn’t made her any promises. Now that he’d had time to reflect, he might not want to have anything more to do with her.

As he dropped his surfboard in the sand, she swallowed dryly. “Hey, stranger,” she said in a hoarse voice.

All of her second thoughts evaporated like mist when he took her in his arms and he swept her off her feet. This was a man who knew what he wanted. This was real. Salt water soaked through her T-shirt and jeans everywhere her body touched his. His shoulders were hard as granite beneath her hands and his neck was cool and moist against her trembling lips.

“You’re getting me all wet,” she mumbled, deliriously happy to be here with him. He was squeezing her breathless, and she loved it.

He stepped back to look at her, drinking in her appearance. Smiling, he cupped his hand around her chin and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. “Are you here to stay?”

She blushed and nodded, covering his hand with hers. For the first time in her life, she wished she was beautiful. The dye had kind of ruined her hair, so she’d had it cropped short. At least it was back to its natural color.

“I’ll have to take you inside and warm you up,” he said, his eyes moving from her face to the front of her body, which was indecently revealed by her wet T-shirt.

She flushed again, but not with embarrassment. “I don’t expect us to just…take up where we left off,” she stuttered, feeling foolish. Thirty seconds in his presence, and she was already getting all hot and bothered. “I mean, our emotions were running high that night, so if you didn’t mean what you said…”

He tore his gaze from her chest, nonplussed. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, I meant it,” he asserted, daring her to dispute him. “I love you.”

Her heart melted. “I love you, too,” she said, tears pricking her eyes.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Does this mean we can go back to my place and get you out of those wet clothes?”

When she said yes, he took her in his arms again, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Laughter welled up inside her, overflowing. He kissed her tears away and tasted the happiness on her lips, smiling against her mouth, sharing her joy.

It was a perfect day.

Jill Sorenson’s family moved from a small town in Kansas to a suburb of San Diego when she was twelve. In the past twenty years, she hasn’t lost her appreciation for sunny weather, her fascination with the Pacific Ocean, or her love for Southern California culture. She still lives in San Diego with her husband, Chris, and their two children. Jill is happily working on her next novel.