Chapter 8: What Krista Gave Her

Rafe's laptop was twelve years old, and it took four minutes to wake up.

I sat at his kitchen table with the flash drive in my fist.

He stood behind my chair with a dish towel.

On the drive home I had told him only that Krista had pressed the flash drive into my hand.

I had not told him how loudly I'd spoken at the lodge, or that my voice had shaken.

He had not asked me about the meeting.

He had stood at the window for an hour when I got home, and then he had made soup.

"You don't have to watch this with me," I said.

"Yes, I do."

I plugged it in.

The drive held one folder, and the folder held one file, named TEXTS.

Boone's phone number was at the top.

Under it were six months of messages to a contact named K.

I read the first one.

It was dated in March, a Tuesday at eleven at night.

She'll never leave, Boone had written. Where would she go? She hasn't had a paycheck in fifteen years.

I kept reading.

He called me the old lady.

He called the baby the miracle and said it was good for the club, because people liked a family man.

On the fourth of June, he had written: Annie's sick again. I'll act worried till it's born, then I'm done.

Krista had written back a row of little hearts.

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Biker Who Drove Her Away from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.