Blood And Bone (27 page)

“Hey.”

At the sound of Des’s voice, she started and lifted her gaze. He stood at the top of the stairs dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and nothing else.

“I made breakfast,” he said. “Omelets. What’s that?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Should she tell him? He wouldn’t like the idea of her toying with the possibility his father
had
been innocent, but if she was going to demand complete honesty from him, she couldn’t very well keep anything from him.

“I started thinking about how desperate your grandmother is to keep me from writing this book, and Robert’s claim that he was innocent.”

Des’s expression remained bland. “You believe him now?”

“I’m not sure. Hiring a psychopath to do God knows what to me seems like a pretty strong reaction for someone who’s only concerned about her daughter’s memory. And Robert
was
murdered.”

“Heddi will do whatever it takes to get her way. Besides, you said yourself Robert could have been killed for any reason.”

“I know what I said, and I haven’t necessarily changed my mind, but something about all of this doesn’t make sense.”

He nodded at the stairs. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. And bring the envelope.”

Des sat opposite Shayne, flipping through the stack of papers from Robert’s envelope. He lifted his gaze to her as she popped another mouthful of egg into her mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. She looked beautiful, sitting across from him with the sun’s yellow rays playing across her sleep-mussed hair and golden skin. Like she belonged here, with him.

Things could have been so different today had Tic found her yesterday. Fear’s icy grip wrenched his insides, and he dropped his gaze to the pile of papers in his hand. The words blurred meaninglessly before him.

He’d awakened more than once during the night, panic nearly choking him, only to ease at the sight of her curled into his side, the heat of her body radiating into his.

“What’s wrong?” Shayne asked.

“I don’t know what Robert was trying to tell you with all of this.” No point in mentioning Tic. He didn’t want to hear she wasn’t his concern or responsibility again. Until Tic was behind bars, or she went home, Des would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

“I don’t know either,” she told him around a mouthful of bacon. “I’m still not sure. Everything he gave me described the common traits in men who commit familicide. Controlling, narcissistic, they view their families as possessions rather than individuals. What’s interesting—and maybe this was the point Robert was trying to make—no one I’ve spoken to ever described him that way. Your grandmother, on the other hand…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. He could have told her all of those traits applied to the woman who had made his life a living hell. “I see where you’re going with this, and it makes sense on one level, but why would Robert confess?”

“I don’t know, that’s the one part I can’t reconcile.” She eyed the half-eaten omelet and bacon still on his plate. “You’re not eating. Let’s stop talking about this until later and finish breakfast.”

He’d caught the hesitation in her expression when he’d first asked about the envelope upstairs. No matter how talking about his father’s possible innocence turned his stomach, he didn’t want her to think she had to keep anything from him. He was sure she would never put something in print that wasn’t the absolute truth, never use half-baked theories to forward her career. He trusted her, and he wanted her to trust him.

“I’m fine.” He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth to prove his point. The crispy meat tasted like cardboard. “I can’t believe Heddi murdered my mother. She talks about her like she was the Second Coming, and she hates Robert. I mean
hates
him. It’s not an act, she blames him for killing her daughter.”

Shayne nipped at her lip, considering what he said. “When your mother married your father, your grandmother lost control of her daughter for the first time ever. She would probably hold Robert responsible. Even if she caused your mother’s death, she might believe Robert forced her actions.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, still not convinced. “But I think you’re reaching.”

“A neighbor implied Heddra had been terrorizing your family and that your mother and Robert were planning to leave town. If she’d learned about their plan, that might have pushed her over the edge. Or maybe, Gwen and Christian’s deaths were part of a scare tactic gone wrong.”

“I might buy the last part. Kate mentioned something to me about Heddi’s making life difficult for my mother and Robert, but that still doesn’t explain why the man confessed.”

“I know. That’s the sticking point, isn’t it? What if he confessed to protect someone?”

Des snorted. “Well, that rules out Heddi. I doubt he’d have gone to jail for her. What you said about her makes sense, but so does the possibility my mother was going to leave Robert and go back to her old life. Didn’t you say something about her seeing another man?”

Shayne nodded. “I did, but I can’t find anything to even hint she was. Both your uncle and Gwen’s first husband made the implication, but neither had any proof the story was true. And anyone else I’ve spoken to claims your parents were very happy together, or at least appeared that way.”

Giving up any pretense of finishing his breakfast, Des stood and gathered the plates. “Do you really think Robert didn’t do it?”

“I don’t know, but he’s dead and Heddi is determined to see me shut down. And who are those bodies I found yesterday? Are they tied to this mess? I feel like I’m missing something.”

Shayne got to her feet and joined him at the counter as he filled the sink with hot, sudsy water. “It’s too bad Vivian outed me. I might have been able to pump them for more information.”

Shayne froze gripping the dish towel hanging over the oven handle, her gently arched brows pulling together. When she turned with the towel still gripped in her hand, the worn material slipped soundlessly from the handle. “What if we could convince them you were still on their side?”

His stomach jumped. “Why would I want to do that?”

“We could feed her small bits of information, just what we want her to know. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be the absolute truth. You can gauge her reaction and we might be able to get a better idea of whether or not we’re on the right track.”

Doing anything to stick it to Heddi made him happy, but poking at the old bitch was akin to poking an angry bear. God only knew what she’d do if she felt cornered. “There’s no way they’d believe I was willing to help them again. Yesterday, I had it out with Kate and told her if anything happened to you, I’d…let’s just say I made it clear whose side I’m on.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. After last night, and knowing you care about me, they might be more likely to believe you’d be willing to help them if they promised to keep Tic away.”

His insides churned. “I do care about you, Shayne. Heddi’s dangerous when she doesn’t feel threatened. If you’re right, and she was somehow involved in what happened to him, you could be painting an even bigger target on yourself.”

She stepped forward and gripped his arm. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”

Did he? What if the man he’d despised his entire life was innocent? The blood in his head trickled slowly to his shoes, leaving him a little dizzy.

“I’m not sure.” The words scraped from his throat in a raspy whisper.

“Then we leave it.” She turned, reached into the sink pulled out a plate and started to dry it.

“Will you write your book?”

“I’ll finish the research. If what I learn still points to Anderson as the killer, then yes. But if it doesn’t, I’ll move on to another project.”

And they’d both be left wondering. Could he go through the rest of his life never knowing?

“While I’m with Heddi, I want you to stay here. Keep the door locked and don’t go anywhere on your own until the police tell you they’ve picked up Tic.” She should be all right alone in his apartment. With Rose spying from her back window nearly 24-7, it was like having his own alarm system.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She watched him, gentle compassion bright in her gaze.

He nodded. “Yeah, I have to know, or I’ll always wonder.”

Des hesitated outside Heddi’s front door, his stomach knotted. What if he was about to make a fucked-up situation infinitely worse? So far, he’d found his maybe-murderer father with his head bashed in, his grandmother had set loose a psychopath on the woman he loved and he was toying with the idea Heddi might have murdered his mother, after all. How much worse could things get?

He lifted his fist and pounded on the heavy oak. The door opened and Hudson’s hulking frame filled the space. “She’s waiting for you in the library.”

Des nodded, moved past the huge man and started down the hall. His skin prickled beneath Hudson’s glare. The man was probably as eager to toss his ass out as Des was to leave.

He swallowed hard. How should he play this, angry or desperate? What would the old woman be most likely to believe? Maybe a combination of both.

He walked into the library and found Heddi buried beneath a pile of blankets on the chaise. That skeletal grin stretched across her face as her black eyes fixed on him. “Have you come to tell me all the ways you’re going to embarrass this family? Kate told me about your threats.”

So Kate had told her about his threat should anything happen to Shayne. And Heddi must have already heard about Shayne’s run-in with Tic. Not surprising. Avery probably couldn’t wait to let her know. Des wouldn’t be at all surprised if Shayne’s camera went missing from the evidence room, or the pictures of Tic’s trashing her car were mysteriously erased.

Heddi would also know Des had picked Shayne up from the station.

“I may have overreacted,” he ground out, as if he had to force each word from his mouth. Under normal circumstances he would have. “I want to know if our agreement is completely dead.”

Heddi’s grin widened, exposing more short, yellowed teeth, and she let out a rusty cackle. “But I thought you cared for this woman.”

He swallowed hard, and shifted his gaze to the river. Heavy gray clouds had blotted out the sunshine from earlier this morning. The black waters looked like slow-chugging tar. “I don’t want her hurt.”

“Do you expect me to believe she would trust you with anything?”

He turned and met her gaze, careful to keep his expression blank. “She and I had a conversation over breakfast the details of which you would find very interesting. Is our deal dead or not?”

Her black eyes gleamed. “Tell me.”

“Call off Tic.”

“Done.”

“How can I trust you?”

“Won’t you take me at my word?” Her saccharine tone, filled with malicious humor, made his skin crawl. God, he hated her.

“I don’t think so.”

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” She leaned forward, her grin turning feral. “But I’m the one holding the cards. If you want your writer safe, you’ll tell me what she knows.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, fear’s bony fingers curling in his gut. But his growing fear had little to do with Heddi’s attempt to appear menacing. In her day, she’d been imposing, vicious and strong. The sound of her footsteps in the hall had made him cringe in terror as a child, but that woman had long been abandoned to the shriveled husk before him. No, the swell of fear building inside him had nothing to do with the threat Heddi posed to him and everything to do with the possibility Shayne had been right.

He eased into the chair next to Heddi’s, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “Not quite. I have the trump card. I have what you want.”

Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed, and any trace of humor slid from her features. She never liked to be bested, but she hated having it rubbed in her face even more. Des struggled to quell the dark pleasure burning inside him.

“Tell me,” she demanded, furious.

“I don’t think so,” he said, unable to stop the hard smirk from pulling at his mouth. “You see, we both have some issues with trust that need to be ironed out first. You don’t trust me to do the job, and I don’t trust you at all. This is what I’m going to do. I’ll give you a little now, and if you can behave, I’ll tell you the rest later.”

“You dare bargain with me?” Despite the illness turning her body frail, her booming voice filled the room. Cancer might be wreaking havoc with her insides, but even the disease might have bitten off more than it could chew with Heddi. Pure mean would keep her alive.

Des didn’t move, merely continued to watch her with his bland expression fixed in place. “Yup.”

Her eyes burned like tiny black coals as she stared at him unblinkingly. He didn’t flinch.

“I’ll pay Tic off, and if you succeed, you will be free of your sister’s debt.”

Des nodded. “Shayne is beginning to question Robert’s guilt. She even has couple of potential suspects.”

Heddi leaned forward, practically salivating. “Who?”

“You.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“The second most-common perpetrators of family murder are adolescent males.”

—excerpt from
Blood and Bone
by Shayne Reynolds

Heddi leapt from the chair as if something sharp had poked her backside. A rage-filled shriek tore free from her lips. She snatched the cup from the table and winged it across the room. Des ducked as the china exploded off the bookshelf behind him.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Hudson’s hulking frame filled the doorway.

As if her temper tantrum had sapped her strength, Heddi collapsed onto the chaise. She looked shrunken and ancient, already dead.

She raised a trembling, bony hand and waved Hudson away. “Go.” Her voice was whispery. The big man moved back, but no doubt hovered nearby, listening to every word that passed between him and his grandmother. “You have to stop her, Des. I will not allow Robert Anderson to be known as anything but the killer he was.”

“When Shayne interviewed him, he claimed he was innocent. Why would he do that after serving twenty-five years in prison?”

“How would I know how his sick mind worked? When he confessed, it was the only time in his pathetic life he did right by my daughter. She was brilliant, and she could have been so much more than just another woman with three screaming brats clinging to her legs. He took everything she could have been and destroyed it when he planted you inside her womb like a cancer.” Tears welled, turned her eyes glassy and trickled down her papery cheeks. “Robert Anderson might have been the one to murder my daughter, but you stole her life.”