The Truth About Love (13 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

L
andon stopped in the entryway of Ace’s, his body rebelling against the thick smell of smoke that hit him even before he’d gotten in the door. As much as he hated this place—this icon of his father’s drunkenness—he had to confront his dad. Had to find some answers to what he’d found out from Gina tonight at Carmine’s.

“How’s it going?” He nodded to the same bartender who’d been working the last time he’d been here.

“He’s over there.” The other man jabbed a thumb toward the back of the dimly lit bar. A haze gathered around the neon beer sign over the pool table where his dad was playing.

“You’re becoming quite a regular around here.” The cigarette in his dad’s mouth bobbed as Landon approached.

“Why weren’t Mama and I living with you when she was killed?”

His dad’s gaze slid to Landon’s, then back to the pool table where he was bent over for his next shot. He didn’t say anything.

Landon felt the heat rise in his face. A table full of bikers sat in the back of the bar, but at this point, he didn’t care who overheard them. “You were a district manager for Davidson Automotive.”

“Yep.” The cue ball smacked against the three ball, sending it ricocheting around the table.

“You could have afforded to have us with you. At least put a roof over our heads. She didn’t have to be working in that place at all, raising her kid in the back room.” He waved his arm behind him, as if gesturing toward the place he’d spent so many of his early years.

His dad walked toward him, the cigarette still clinging to his lips. “Where’s all this coming from? You just now find this out?”

“I’m finding out a lot of things now that Morgan’s Ladder is looking at the case.”

“Are you going to barge in here and yell at me every time you find out something new?” His dad walked to a nearby table and chugged what was left of a mug of beer.

“So how come you didn’t rescue us, Dad? Were you not paying child support? How come she had to be there?”

“Are you telling me”—he squinted as a trail of smoke snaked toward his eyes—“that if any girl you ever screwed had gotten pregnant, you’d have married her? What about that redhead I met the other night?”

“I would never
screw
her.” Make love to her, sure
.
Revel in her soft curves. If things were different between them, he’d savor that beautiful body all day, every day. But Gina wasn’t the type of girl you screwed.

His father grinned. “Hit a little nerve there, did I?”

“What do you know about me, anyway?” He charged toward Martin with his fists balled. “It’s not like you were ever around to talk to me about . . . sex . . . or condoms . . . or other things dads talk to their sons about.”

Martin’s gaze held steady. “I wasn’t going to marry a woman I wasn’t in love with. That would only be piling one mistake on top of another.”

“And you didn’t want to talk to your son? To see if maybe you could stop him from making the same mistake you made?”

“You gotten any girls pregnant?”

Landon’s shoulders dropped. The son of a bitch wasn’t getting the point. “Not that I know of.”

“Guess you didn’t need me, then.”

Landon shook his head and decided to take another approach. “What happened to you? What happened to your job?”

“That was twenty years ago. I don’t see any reason to hash over old news.”

Landon glared, wondering for the billionth time why he cared so much. Why he’d always had this driving need to get closer to the man who’d disowned him. “You’re not going to tell me what you were like back then?”

His father’s eyes challenged him. “I was the same simple guy, son. The one who’s never good enough for you.”

Landon stepped back from his father and thought about what his dad had said. Had he been this guy—with the scraggly hair and untucked shirt—when he’d shipped Landon off to live with his aunt and uncle? Or maybe the murder had caused him to start drinking more than he had before? On the other hand, maybe he’d been a regular, go-to-work-every-day kind of guy, who only later started the downward decline? Landon wasn’t sure which was worse. All he knew was that he needed to get the hell out of there. “I’ll see you later.”

His dad grunted and turned to take another cigarette out of the pack on the table behind him.

Landon headed toward the front of the bar. Another thought struck him as he reached the entrance. He thrust the door open, not wanting the thought to settle in.

Maybe his dad had started drinking more because
he’d
been the murderer.

Landon stumbled out onto the sidewalk, jolted by the thought. No—his father had an alibi. He couldn’t have done it.

So why was he so damned evasive?

Damn Dad.

Damn liquor.

Damn Gina.

Dealing with his dad was bad enough, but at least he’d had years to get used to being the son of a drunk.

Then she’d swept into town for the summer, just long enough to disrupt his life. To change everything he’d thought about Mama’s murder case, reexposing the part of his life that he’d worked so hard to have everyone else forget. Making him contemplate things he’d never wanted to think about.

She thought she was helping him by telling him his dad had been a district manager.

But he didn’t need her help. He didn’t need
her
. He’d been just fine before she came along.

He walked a few feet to his truck and got in, then slammed the door shut, mad about the truth he had to admit.

She’d brought bad news and heartache into his life.

But that had nothing to do with why he couldn’t get her off his mind.

Gina wasn’t sure why Landon wanted to see her this evening. He’d called midday to ask if he could come to her apartment after work. His voice had sounded empty. Apathetic. Resigned to some fate that was out of his control.

It had been two days since she’d divulged the fact that his dad had been a district manager for Davidson Automotive at the time of the murder, and she still wished she hadn’t told him.

It was the apathy that bothered her most. She’d seen the passion in his eyes on many occasions. During his playing days. That night they’d first kissed on the deck at the Twilight Pub. The day he’d barged into Morgan’s Ladder because he thought she’d known who he was the night before. He was a man filled with passion, so the apathy was out of place. Like he’d given up.

Was that what she heard in Landon’s voice? Was he giving up? Was she the one responsible for driving that passion from his eyes?

She busied herself straightening the apartment, glancing every few seconds out the front window to see if his truck had pulled up out front. Finally, he arrived.

She greeted him on the stoop at the top of her stairs.

“Hi,” she said, trying to study the expression on his face. “Come in.”

He glanced back to the road before he entered. She flinched inwardly. She was responsible for his concern. Her interview with Donna Crocker had made his life worse than it had to be.

She stood aside and he stepped into her living room. He looked more rugged today than usual, which was a hard thing to do. His dark khaki cargo shorts were wrinkled. His black T-shirt looked custom-made to perfectly encase those round, hard biceps.

“I went to see my father a couple of days ago,” he said.

“And hello to you, too.” She wished he hadn’t gotten down to business so quickly. Wished he’d . . . what did she wish for? That he’d come to visit her on a social call? That he came to her apartment for a reason that wasn’t related to the case or the task force or the senator’s reprimand? That they had a relationship beyond Cyrus Alexander? A pang of regret sliced through her.

“I want to be quick. I don’t want your neighbors seeing my truck out there.”

She wished for the Landon who’d invited her for a beer after their meeting in the senator’s office. “My neighbors have an average age of about eighty-seven and a half years old.”

“So they’ve got nothing better to do than to peer out their windows.”

“Good point.” She shrugged. “So what did you and your dad talk about?”

He squared to face her, as if he wanted her full attention. “I want my DNA tested.” His gaze bored into her. Resolute. Defiant.

His words drove into her like a gust of strong winter wind. “What? Why?”

“I don’t trust him. He’s too evasive.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“My DNA would show we’re relatives, right?”

She nodded, hesitant. Unsure of where he was headed.

“Then the DNA on my mom’s clothes would say whether or not a relative of mine was the murderer.”

A cold chill sliced down Gina’s back. This was the first time Landon had confided this to her. “You think your dad might have done it?” Her words came out in a whisper.

He slumped against the door frame leading into her kitchen. “I think he’s a son of a bitch.” He scrubbed his hand down his face. “But I don’t know if he’s a murderer.”

She reached out and took his other hand before she realized what she was doing. “But you want to find out.” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement.

“Yeah.” He drew in a long breath and heaved it out. “I want to find out.”

Her thumb caressed his hand where she held it. They stood there for several seconds, their eyes locked as both contemplated the weight of his decision.

“I can help you do that,” she finally said.

“Any way to keep it confidential? I don’t want the media to find out.”

“Can I ask Suzanne about that?” Her boss would know her way around these things more than Gina would. “This must have been done before, and I bet she’ll know how not to mark the specimen before it goes to the lab.”

He nodded slowly.

“This must have been a tough decision to come to.” She stepped closer and slid her arm up his back, offering comfort.

He stepped away, out of her reach. “You’ll let me know what Suzanne says?” His retreat stung. All she’d wanted to do was comfort him. He was alone. He’d just taken the first step toward perhaps believing his father had committed murder, despite the alibi. He’d opened his heart to the possibility that his father might have killed his mother.

This was big stuff.

Huge.

And yet he’d stepped away from her.

He hadn’t wanted her to comfort him.

He’d rather be alone than with her.

She pressed her lips together to hide her emotion and moved to open the door for him. Maybe the whole “I don’t want your neighbors to see my truck” had been a setup for a quick departure.

“Let me know what you find out from your boss,” he said.

She nodded. “I will.” Her voice squeaked out. She wished he would leave before he realized how his retreat had hurt her.

Before he realized that he could get to her like that.

Before he realized this was about much more than the Cyrus Alexander case.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Landon slammed an open palm against the steering wheel as he gunned his truck away from the curb in front of Gina’s apartment.

Why the hell had he stepped away when she’d tried to console him? Why did he always act like he had something to prove whenever he was around her?

He should dig his phone out of his pocket and apologize to her. He needed her help. She was the only one he knew who was plugged into people who might be able to have his DNA tested privately. The only one he felt comfortable going to about it. Sure, he could call that DA from Pascaloosa County. The guy who’d first told him that Morgan’s Ladder was working on Cyrus Alexander’s case. But—despite how he and Gina had started out against each other—he trusted that she wanted the same thing he did: to know who had murdered Mama.

So why had he pulled away? After all her talk about not wanting to risk her job, she’d reached out to him. She’d touched him in a way that wasn’t businesslike.

Why hadn’t he let her console him when every part of him had wanted to receive her comfort? He’d seen the hurt in her eyes when he’d stepped away. Knew that his action had hurt her.

And yet he’d done nothing to mend it.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled to her number. Should he call her to apologize? What would he say? What if he’d read her actions wrong and she really didn’t care about him?