Between a Book and a Hard Place (20 page)

“According to Nadine, Jett was planning to expose one of the town's heroes.”

I watched as a variety of emotions chased across my friend's face.

“How did she come to that conclusion?” Boone asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Because Jett demanded to see some super-secret papers about Colonel Underwood and threatened her if she didn't produce them.” I took a deep breath. Now for the hard part. “In fact, Noah and I spoke to Miss Ophelia, who is apparently the foremost authority on Shadow Bend's part in the Civil War.”

“Oh?” Boone mumbled noncommittally, clearly beginning to see where I was going.

“She told us that several of Shadow Bend's Civil War heroes might not be as wonderful as we were led to believe.” I licked my lips. “Although she didn't have any dirt on Colonel Underwood, she said Captain Sinclair claimed that the Union train that his unit had been sent to raid never showed up, but the speculation was that the Sinclairs were Union sympathizers.”

“Who else did she mention?” Boone asked, his brow wrinkling.

“Some folks thought it was odd that except for the final battle, Major Boone never fought with his men in the front lines and they claimed he was a coward.” I put my hand over Boone's. “But not being in the front lines wasn't unusual for officers.”

Boone froze for a solid minute, then abruptly shook off my fingers and shouted, “And you and Poppy are wondering if I killed your stepfather to keep that information out of the history books?”

“No!” I yelped. This was exactly what I was afraid would happen. “Did you even know about those rumors concerning your great-great-great-great-grandfather?”

“Of course I did. My parents told me about them when I did a paper on the major for a history class.” Boone slumped in his chair. “The rumors had surfaced before I was born, just about the time Mom was in the process of joining the CDM. However, there was no other evidence that the major had acted in a dishonorable manner, so the matter was dropped.” Boone narrowed his eyes at me and said, “Do you also suspect one of your relatives of trying to stop Jett's research? Your ancestor's name might be muddied, too.”

“Nope. None of the Sinclairs really ever cared about that stuff.” I twitched my shoulders. “Mom was the only one who gave a damn about joining the CDM. And she doesn't exactly have a Prada in that fashion show anymore.”

“That's true,” Poppy said. “And Nadine has an alibi.”

“And so do I,” Boone snapped. “I was over in the county seat in court during the TOD.” He looked at me and bared his teeth. “Are you satisfied, or do you want me to give you the judge's name so you can check?”

“No. Neither Poppy nor I ever suspected you. We just wanted to see what you had to say on the matter.” I could hear the pleading in my voice and didn't like it. “We thought maybe you knew about someone else who Jett might have antagonized with his research.”

“Well . . . Okay.” Boone sighed. “And no, I haven't heard anything about other families having issues with him investigating their ancestors.”

The three of us were silent as we processed the near hit to our friendship. A few seconds later, the timer beeped, and we all trooped into the kitchen for pizza. As we ate, the conversation turned to other subjects, and I hoped that Boone had truly forgiven us.

A
t nine o'clock, full of pizza and reassured that Boone had forgiven us, Poppy and I said good-bye. She sprinted down the front walk to her Hummer, blew a kiss at me, and hopped inside the giant SUV. Waving back at her, I headed toward my Z4 in the driveway.

Just as my hand touched the BMW's door handle, a shadowy figure moved toward me. I squealed and jumped back, half convinced that my stepfather's killer had decided to eliminate the whole family.

Before I could unglue my feet from the cement and make a run for safety, the would-be murderer emerged into the streetlamp's pool of light and said, “Sorry to startle you. It's just me.”

“Noah Underwood, don't you ever sneak up on me like that again.” Taking a deep breath, I waited for my heartbeat to slow before adding, “What in the world are you doing skulking around my car?”

“I am so sorry.” Noah wrapped his arms around me. “I didn't realize that it was too dark for you to recognize me until you screamed.”

Leaning back, I studied Noah's face. He seemed sad—no, that wasn't quite right. Dejected. Uh-uh. Maybe
discouraged
was the word I was searching for.
I noticed all this while I continued to yell at him for scaring me half to death.

Finally, once I'd calmed down enough to think, I said, “Has something happened?”

“I had dinner with my mother.” Noah continued to hold me loosely in the circle of his arms, but his expression was unreadable.

“Oh,” I said cautiously. Had Nadine finally persuaded Noah to dump me?

“She's drinking a lot more than I realized.” Noah rested his forehead against mine. “And I think her obsession with staying thin might be getting out of hand as well. She hardly ate anything, and when I texted her aide after I left, Janson reported that her appetite's been poor for the past few weeks.”

“Depression, even situational depression, could account for both the increased alcohol consumption and the decreased appetite,” I pointed out. As a doctor, Noah probably knew that better than I did, but when it's your parent, sometimes it's hard to have the emotional distance needed to make that kind of diagnosis.

“I need to spend more time with her.” The muscles in Noah's jaw were clenched. “But truthfully, we have so little to say to each other . . .” He trailed off, then admitted, “And she drives me nuts.”

“It seemed as if she was getting better after you hired Janson.” I smoothed the crease between his brows with my finger. “Right?”

“Yes.” Noah scrubbed his face with a fist. “She started seeing her friends again and stopped having those ‘spells' of hers.”

“So maybe the depression is related to Jett's research. It could be that she's afraid that whatever she's hiding about your father's
great-great-great-grandfather will come out and ruin your family name.” I cleared my throat. “Nadine is nothing if not proud.”

“That could be it.” Noah nodded, then told me about Jett's visit to Nadine, finishing with, “So I think he drugged her drink and photographed the documents.”

“Oh. My. God!”

“Yep, and I guess I'm about to find out what the big secret is.” Noah stared unseeingly over my shoulder. “Mom gave me the papers.”

“Even with the possibility that Jett saw them and made copies, I still never expected Nadine to hand those over without a fight,” I said warily. “How did you convince her to give them up?”

“Uh . . .” Noah hesitated, then muttered, “I said I wanted to fully understand my heritage so I could pass it along to my children.”

Children!
I met his gaze, then quickly looked away. We had never discussed kids.
No.
That wasn't true. When we'd dated in high school, we'd talked about having a boy and a girl. We'd even picked out names—Kyle for the boy and Danielle for the girl.

Breaking into my reminiscing, Noah said lightly, “Nothing like the promise of producing an heir to motivate Mom to cooperate.”

Chuckling, I asked, “Did Nadine demand to know the identity of your future kids' mother?”

“Not exactly.” Noah's cheeks turned red. He was silent until I raised a brow. Finally, he gritted his teeth and added, “But she did warn me not to count on you. Was it really necessary to bring Del Vecchio with you when you went to see her?”

“Sorry.” It hadn't crossed my mind that Nadine would use that against Noah, but it should have. The
woman didn't care whom she hurt. “It was just that it was
his
uncle who overheard her warning to Jett.”

“I understand.” Noah rubbed a weary hand over his eyes and sighed.

“You're tired.” I stepped away from him. “I should let you go.”

“Wait.” Noah grabbed both my hands and pulled me toward him.

“Why?” The smoldering heat I saw in his eyes startled me.

“Because . . .” He trailed off, dropping my fingers to cup my chin.

The feeling of his thumb caressing my jaw sent my pulse skittering. I had to draw in a breath of much-needed oxygen before I could ask, “Because why?”

“I am tired, but I know I'll never be able to fall asleep.” Noah stared into my eyes, and I could see the electricity arcing between us. “So. I either could go home and lift weights or . . .”

“Or?” I knew I sounded ridiculous repeating his words, but the intense attraction between us was making it hard to concentrate.

“We could go back to my place and look over the Underwood family documents.”

“Oh.” I must have looked disappointed, because he gave me a rueful smile. “Actually, I'd like to take you home and . . .” He whispered a suggestion that made me blush. “But I know you're determined to wait until you've made your choice, and I don't want to rush you.”

“Thank you.” I was barely able to squeeze out those two words as the sensual images of what he'd
just suggested we do to each other zoomed through my mind.

“Not that I wouldn't love to hustle you into my bed.” Noah drew me back into his arms—and then, with his mouth inches from mine, he said huskily, “But I want to make sure when we finally get to that point, you know you love me and don't have any regrets.”

His voice washed over me like honey, and my breath caught in my throat.

“Because”—his whisper was ragged as he stroked my cheek—“once we're together like that, I'll never be able to let you go.”

I could feel his heart thudding against my fingertips. There was such an incredible pull between us, but I knew I should leave now or we wouldn't be able to stop. Noah was right. Until I made a decision, this wasn't fair to either of us, or to Jake. But before I could force myself to move, I closed the gap between our lips.

His kiss felt like fire, and as I pressed closer to him, he licked into my mouth. When he wrapped his arms tighter around me, I admitted defeat.

I knew that with the murder and the situation with Jake, Noah and I shouldn't be doing this, but I had longed to be in his embrace for so many years that I couldn't stop myself from responding. When he pushed me back against my car, I could feel how much he wanted me. Then suddenly, a bright light blazed into my face, and I squinted in pain.

As I jerked my head in the direction of the street, it took me a long second to understand what had blinded me. When I did, I groaned. A car was backing into the driveway across the road, and Noah and
I had just been caught by Boone's neighbor necking like a couple of teenagers. I was sure Nadine would hear all about it in the morning.

A shudder traveled through me, and I forced myself to ease my hold on Noah and step away from him.

•   •   •

After the incident, as I liked to call it, there was no way I was going to sleep anytime soon, so I followed Noah to his house. He put on a pot of coffee, and we spread the contents of Nadine's file across the kitchen table. A part of me nagged that, considering what had almost happened, it was silly to be alone with Noah. But the mood had been broken for both of us, and discovering who had killed my stepfather would get me that much closer to figuring whether it was Jake or Noah whom I loved.

As the coffee perked, Noah told me about Janice St. Onge's part in stirring up Nadine regarding the alien invasion. Because I had a good relationship with Boone's mom, I offered to call her the next day to find out whether her interest in ET and the professor's arrival in town were linked.

With steaming mugs of motivation at our elbow, Noah and I sifted through the mountain of documents we had pulled out of the carton.

After a few minutes, I said, “It really is sweet of you to risk finding out something bad about your family in order to help me.”

“Not at all.” Noah shoved his fingers through his hair. “I'm sick of secrets. It's about time whatever skeleton is hidden in the Underwood closet comes out and gets a decent burial.”

I made a noncommittal noise. I was a firm believer that denial was often the best option. Still, I was glad Noah hadn't come to that conclusion, or I might never figure out who murdered Jett.

We spent the next hour sorting papers into three piles. Innocuous letters to family members. Boring military documents concerning supplies, lists of soldiers, as well as other everyday workings of the regiment. And half a dozen diaries. It seemed that Colonel Underwood had fancied himself quite the memoirist.

I arranged the journals chronologically, with Noah taking the last one and me starting with the first. I skimmed through the initial pages where Colonel Underwood described raising, organizing, and paying the meager salaries of Shadow Bend's regiment.

Evidently, the customary infantry regiment was comprised of ten companies consisting of a hundred men each. The companies were led by a captain. Which explained where my relative fit into the hierarchy.

Shadow Bend's regiment averaged only four hundred men, so there would have been only four captains. They would have answered to a major, who was Boone's ancestor, and the major would have been controlled by Noah's great-great-great-great-grandfather.

Now that I had the chain of command straight, I continued to scan Colonel Underwood's first diary, but found nothing irregular. As I put it aside and reached for the next volume, I noticed Noah scowling at the journal he was reading. He was furiously
flipping back and forth between the pages and muttering to himself.

Not wanting to interrupt him, I got up and poured another cup of coffee for us both. If my suspicions were correct, we were in for an all-nighter, and I reminded myself that I needed to be home in time for breakfast or Birdie would send out the National Guard to find me. And, as it was, we were already up to our necks in Civil War military and didn't need any more troops muddying the water.

I was about three-quarters of the way through volume two, when Noah said, “I think I might have something here. Most of it seems to be in some sort of picture or symbol encryption, but from what I can tell, Colonel Underwood, Major Boone, and Captain Sinclair conspired to hide something extremely valuable.”

“Yep, that would go under the scandal column, all right.” I pushed aside my empty coffee mug and held out my hand for the journal. “Especially since it's my understanding that by the end of the war, the people around these parts were penniless and starving.”

As I opened the diary, a memory flickered through my mind and I said, “Grandpa used to tell me a bedtime story about the Treasure of Shadow Bend. Before Captain Sinclair was killed in that last battle, he told his wife that no matter how the war turned out, they would be okay financially. His optimism turned out to be unfounded, as the family had a real struggle to survive.”

“Colonel Underwood, Major Boone, and Captain Sinclair all died that day.” Noah raised his brows. “Although they may have hinted to family members about the loot, obviously they didn't confide in
anyone where it was concealed. Which meant that after their death, there was no one left to retrieve whatever they'd hidden.”

“Wouldn't the colonel have confided in his wife?”

“I remember my father saying that his great-great-great-grandmother had a stroke when she heard her husband had been killed in battle and had difficulty communicating from then until her own death a few years later.”

“And Colonel Underwood's journals were probably boxed up and never really examined until much later,” I said, thinking out loud.

“Knowing my family”—Noah wrinkled his brow—“when the diaries were finally read, my ancestors were more concerned with keeping the colonel's less-than-honorable actions a secret than with finding any possible treasure.”

“Because your family regained its fortune pretty quickly after the war?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “And without those papers, neither Major Boone's nor Captain Sinclair's kin had any clue to the location of the treasure.”

Shaking my head at all the past errors in judgment, I began reading. Noah had flagged the relevant sections of the diary with Post-its, and I paged between them. Colonel Underwood had written about a wounded Union soldier who had been captured and held somewhere secret for interrogation. The soldier revealed that a Union train would be passing nearby carrying treasure vital to the war efforts. The young man had passed away from his injuries before revealing what exactly was being transported.

After that entry, the rest of the references to the incident were crude drawings. Frowning, I grabbed
a pen and one of the legal pads Noah had put on the table and painstakingly sketched each symbol and made a tally of how often they were used.

While I was doing that, Noah transcribed the whole segments. Then we both scanned the remaining journals for any other instances of the cipher. When we found none, we replaced all the diaries in the carton and put it aside. By the time we finished, it was nearly two a.m., and we were beat.