Close To The Edge (Westen #2) (24 page)

Parked in front of the porch that covered the front of the house from one side to another was one very familiar brown Toyota.

“At least her car’s okay,” he muttered, pulling in behind it.

He climbed out of the truck and stood perfectly still. Slowly he counted to ten. Then counted again.

Even though they’d spent the night together, Bobby wasn’t his responsibility. She was a grown woman, with the right to put herself in danger if she wanted.

He was full of shit.

Anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. And knowing that scared him as much as anything.

Taking a deep breath, he started up to the porch. As he neared the other car, a feminine arm reached out dangling a brown paper bag.

“Don’t worry, Cleetus. He just pulled up.” She peeked out the car window at him and grinned, disconnecting her call. “I brought your lunch with me.”

“You want to explain to me
why
I shouldn’t haul you back to town, lock you in a cell and throw away the key?”

The pallor that crept over her face at the mention of the cell took some of the starch out of his anger. But he wasn’t ready to let her off the hook yet. He leaned his hip against the hood of the car, took the sandwich from the bag and sank his teeth into the sourdough, turkey and swiss combo.

The car door opened and Bobby stepped out.

He let his gaze start at her feet and the red lacquer-tipped toes peeking out of her open-toed sandals. He slid it up over her jean-clad legs that had wrapped around him the night before. As his gaze continued upward, he stared hungrily at her rounded hips and the sweater clinging to the breasts that had filled his hands. Finally, he focused on her lips that he’d feasted on the night before. All he could think about was stripping her naked and repeating every moment.

“I know I didn’t stay physically in Cleetus’ presence, but I did stay in touch with him.” She wiggled her phone in front of his face. “Besides, you don’t want to lock me up.”

“I don’t?”

She held a paper cup just out of his reach. “Nope. I remembered to bring you a cup of Lorna’s sweet tea, too,” she said with a grin.

Her sass was back. Good. He’d only been half teasing about locking her up, but after her reaction he doubted he really could do that to her again. Hell, he never should’ve done it in the first place.

Lifting one eyebrow to warn her not to press her luck, he held out his hand for the drink. She’d remembered how much he liked his drink sweet. Three years of marriage to Moira and he doubted she’d even known he liked tea, much less go to the effort of bringing him some of his favorite kind.

“So what was so important you had to risk your life coming out here now instead of waiting for me?”

“I knew you’d be mad that I left town without someone to act as bodyguard. It’s why I kept Cleetus on the phone the whole time,” she said as she rested her butt against the car’s hood right next to his.

He slashed her a skeptical look. She had the sense to blush at his censure, lifting her shoulders in a little shrug.

“I had the choice of waiting for you or dragging Cleetus out here. Frankly, I’d rather have you help me search this house.”

She trusted him to protect her. That felt right. He
wanted
to protect her. “I won’t tell Cleetus you said that.”

Her lips lifted in a half smile. “I’d appreciate that.” Their gazes locked for a minute and another blush filled her cheeks.

“The reason we’re here?” he prompted and took another bite of the sandwich.

“Tunnels.”

Cleetus had told him she’d eaten lunch with the mayor. Another fact that had sent his anger up another notch.

“Tobias told you the old rumors that there are tunnels beneath the old Byrd place and you believed him? Instead of the two of us sitting in the bank getting some real answers about the property lien and possibly Harley’s death, you drag us out here to see if some town myth might be true?”

“The bank and their employees will be there tomorrow.” Bobby rolled her eyes at him and pursed out her lips a moment. She waved a hand at the house. “But just think about it. What if the rumors are true? Tobias said Gilbert Byrd was a near recluse, something his nephew said too, and wouldn’t let anyone on his property. What if there are secret rooms and tunnels beneath this place? What better place for your missing tweaker to hide?”

Okay, she had a point.

He finished his sandwich and drank the last of the tea. Pushing himself away from the car, he stretched a moment. “I always wanted to see what Gil kept hidden inside this place.”

“Let’s go, then.” She took one step toward the house, and he grabbed her arm to stop her. “What?”

“If Rusty is in here, he may be very dangerous.” Removing his sunglasses, he slipped them into his shirt pocket and fixed his most serious expression on her. He wanted her to know he meant business. “We do this my way. You follow me. I tell you to stay put or to get out of the house, you do exactly that. No questions. No arguments.”

She nodded.

“Good. Wait here a second.”

He went to his truck and retrieved both the heavy-duty flashlights he kept in the backseat for emergencies and his gun from the lock box under his front seat. He wasn’t taking any chances. Checking the lights, he walked back to her and handed her a flashlight. “You take one and bring your cell phone, just in case.”

“Do you think the gun is necessary?” She lifted her brows, her head cocked to one side as she stared at his weapon.

“Normally, in Westen, I’d say no. But after these past few days I figured I’d best be prepared for anything.” He slipped the gun into the back of his jeans and led the way up the porch.

“At least you didn’t say it was all my fault this time,” she muttered from behind him.

He bit back a grin, forcing himself to concentrate on the search and not the woman behind him. The doorknob didn’t twist under his hand. Taking out his wallet, he pulled out a credit card, slipped it into the door and jimmied it lose. With a little shove the door opened.

The musty stale air hung around them like dragon’s breath as they entered the house.

“If someone’s hiding in here, they certainly haven’t aired the place out,” Bobby said mere inches behind his left shoulder.

He glanced over at her. If she was this nervous walking into this huge house, wonder how she was going to handle the cramp dark confines of a basement or even a tunnel if they should find one? He didn’t want to get caught with her having some sort of panic attack. One word from her and they’d leave now.

“You going to be okay?”

“This doesn’t smell nearly as bad as Harley’s place the other night.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory then nodded. “Lead on, Sherlock.”

To let her know he admired her spunk, he winked at her and eased further into the paneled foyer. She followed him so close, the beam of her flashlight shining on the floor in front of them, he could feel her body's heat against his back.

“Doesn’t look much like Harley’s either,” she whispered behind him. Her warm breath sent heat straight down his body and his mind to things other than their surroundings.

Somehow he needed to get control of his reactions to her. Before either of them got hurt.

Flashing his light into the front room, he saw stacks of old newspapers and magazines lining the back wall, books lay piled about the floor and in tiers on every surface.

“Seems Gil was a bit of a collector.”

“More like a hoarder. You know I read an article not long ago that said hoarding was a sign of depression. Maybe Gilbert’s reclusion was less about wanting to be alone and more about mental illness. That would explain why he had no contact with his family. Maybe he was paranoid as well as depressed.”

Maybe her babbling was a way to keep from thinking how scared she was. He reached behind him and took her cold, clammy hand in his.

“Gil’s been dead a year. Don’t think he needs psychoanalyzing, do you?” With a squeeze to her hand he led her through the house. “Keep your eyes open for any sign someone a little less dead might’ve been in here recently.”

Her light beamed up the walls to the ceiling of the hall way and down into the dining room. She let go of his hand to step into the room. “Wow, look at all the ornate scroll work in the crown moldings.” She scanned her light across the table piled with complete sets of china then down to the floor. “Inlaid parquet floors. People pay a fortune for this kind of stuff nowadays.”

“They did back when this place was built, too.” He watched her stroke her hand over the wood wainscoting and stop to check out the china pieces, her fear completely forgotten.

“My God. He has three different sets of Blue Ridge pottery. My mother used to collect pieces when I was a teenager.” She fingered one serving platter before moving around the table. “There’s a dozen Staffordshire teapots.” She held up one, shining the flashlight on the blue and white design. “An antique dealer could have a heyday in here.”

“Wonder why your sister’s client hasn’t been up here to cart this stuff off? Gil’s been dead quite some time.”

“His nephew only found out a few months ago that his uncle had died.” Carefully, she set the teapot back in place and walked back out of the room. “Remember, I told you they weren’t close. When he tried to find out about his inheritance he learned about the lien the bank supposedly held. Suspicious because of his uncle’s mistrust in banks, he had Chloe immediately file an injunction to prevent anyone from taking anything off the property until his claim can be heard in court.”

With her head tilted to one side, something he’d learned meant a sure sign she was going to ask a very interesting question, she furrowed her brows together.

“What I can’t figure out, is why no one in town looted this place. Or at least came in out of idle curiosity to see what Mr. Byrd had hidden in here.”

“Simple. Cowardice.”

Her brows shot up in surprise. “The whole town was afraid of Mr. Byrd?”

“Yep. Gil owned this house as long as most of Westen’s residents have been alive.”

“Even you were afraid of him?”

“Yes. Even me, at least when I first moved here.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“First let’s check out the rest of the house.” Taking her arm in his, he drew her against his side as they moved deeper into the house. “Be prepared, I’m about to tell you a tale of my misspent youth.”

Once they’d made sure the library, second parlor, a bedroom, downstairs bathroom and coat closet, all of which were packed with collections of items, were empty of any living creature they arrived in the kitchen. Typical of kitchens from the early part of the nineteenth century this room felt cavernous. It still had the original stone fireplace flanked by newer appliances. If you could call appliances from the 1940s new.

Although dust covered every surface, this room lacked the signs of hoarding found in the others.

“Looks like Gil kept this room very neat,” Gage commented as they looked through the cupboards. “Tight as a ship’s galley.”

“And you’ve seen the inside of a ship’s galley?” Bobby opened a cupboard or two. Finding nothing unusual, she set her flashlight on the counter and leaned her back against it. Her hands shook a bit, and she clasped them in front of her.

If he hadn’t been watching he’d have missed the nervous tremors. Once again her determination and courage impressed him.

“Served two years in the Navy, right out of high school. Dad wasn’t happy, but it gave me an appreciation for personal freedom and responsibility.” He leaned one hip against the kitchen counter. Odd he should tell her that, but again he’d already told her things he hadn’t told anyone else.

“So what is this childhood confession you promised to tell me?”

“I was twelve when my dad and I moved to Westen. Since I was the new kid at a school where everyone had grown up together, I wanted desperately to fit in.” He leaned against the counter beside her so he could watch the back door and the hallway as he talked. “So one summer day I was riding my bike with my friends and we came up past this place.”

“Let me guess, your new friends were the school troublemakers.”

He blinked. “How did you know?”

With a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders she leaned back and crossed her legs in front of her. “I taught middle school for the last ten years. The new kid always falls in with the troublemakers first.”

“Really?” Here he thought it was just him.

“Yep. So what did the guys dare you to do to Mr. Byrd?”

Wow, she was almost psychic. “I had to throw a rock through one of the upstairs windows. Since I’d been the shortstop on the baseball team at my old school, I had no problem hitting the target.”

“How’d you get caught?”

“I was the sheriff’s son. Gil recognized me and called my dad.” He still remembered the tanning his backside had gotten for that. Worse was the guilt he’d felt for letting his dad down. “Dad brought me back here after dinner and made me apologize to Gil. Afterwards he made me cut lawns all summer, including Gil’s, and every cent I earned went to repaying to have the window fixed.”

“I wish more parents had your father’s ethics. The world would be a better place. And it would make a teacher’s job much easier.”

“At first I was pissed off at him. But as the summer went on and I saw how much work it took to earn the money I learned to respect other people’s property. I also learned that Gil might be eccentric, but he wasn’t anyone to be feared just because he was different.”

“Sounds like you learned a lot from the whole experience.”

“Yeah, my dad earned my respect for the whole process, too. And there were some other benefits I hadn’t counted on.”

She tilted her head to the side and drew her brows together. “What extra benefits?”

“By the end of the summer I took pride in the fact that I’d paid for the whole thing myself. I also put on some muscle weight doing all the physical labor. Which paid off during football tryouts and meeting girls.” He grinned at her and went to test the back door. “Locked.”

She ran her hand over the counter. “By the layer of dust covering everything in here, we’d know if anyone had so much as stepped foot in this place.”