Dead Right (35 page)

“We were talking about Clay,” she reminded him, trying to squelch the fluttering in her stomach.

He swal owed. “Clay isn’t the type to depend on his family to protect him with their silence,” he went on. “I can’t see him kil ing your father, then orchestrating a big cover-up on his own behalf. He’d run first, separate himself from his family as quickly as possible, so that whatever happened to him wouldn’t hurt them, too.”

She licked her lips, drawing his eyes back to her mouth.

“So if it’s not Clay, who is it?”

“Someone he’d protect. Someone he loves.”

Hunter already understood Clay better than almost anyone in Stil water, which frightened Madeline, because she could so easily grasp his logic. For the first time, she had reason to believe that someone with the right kind of knowledge was taking an unbiased look at what had gone on twenty years ago.

But Hunter was stil pointing a finger at her family.

“Irene knows what happened, and she’s starting to crack.”

Suddenly the fear Madeline was feeling overtook the desire. “How do you know?”

“I talked to her.”

“You talked to my mother?”

“You haven’t,”
he retorted.

She stared into her lap. “I’m not sure what to say to her.”

“You should return her cal s. She’s worried about you.”

“She shouldn’t be. Last night’s break-in was no big deal.

I’ve been thinking about it and I figure it was probably a prank, meant to send our investigation off-track, you know?

No one’s particularly happy that I brought you here, even my aunt, and I thought
she’d
be thril ed.”

“I don’t believe it was a prank,” he said.

“It could’ve been,” she persisted.

He shook his head. “Irene didn’t seem to think so, either.”

“You’re citing my stepmother as a credible source? You think she’s in league with Grace and Clay!”

“They’re al in on it. I just don’t know which one actual y did it.”

Their waitress brought their salads, but Madeline couldn’t eat. “So how do we find out?” she asked at length.

He stretched his arm casual y across the back of the booth. “Let’s leave it for now, okay?”

“Until…”

“Until I have some sort of proof. Before that, what I think doesn’t real y mean anything.”

But it
did
mean something. He seemed so damn sure of everything. “Mol y was only eleven years old at the time.

Grace was thirteen. Surely you don’t think it was one of them!”

He gave a little shrug. “I’ve heard of more unbelievable things.”

She set her fork on the table and pushed her plate away.

“Eat,” he said.

“No.”

“You need a good meal.”

“Would you stop? You don’t give a damn about me, remember? Al you care about is in California!”

He said nothing.

“Maybe you should just go back.”

She felt his hand touch hers, felt him tuck her fingers into the warmth of his palm. “Not until I know you’re safe.”

Don’t care. Do care. Feel. Don’t feel. It’s the
Montgomerys. It’s not the Montgomerys. Grace was
molested. Grace wasn’t molested.
Madeline couldn’t seem to get her emotional bearings.

“We’l figure it out,” he said.

She stared at their joined hands. “I knew them at that age,” she whispered. “They couldn’t have done it. They were so…gentle and sweet.”

“You’re probably right,” he agreed.

Pul ing away, she took a deep breath. “If Clay had kil ed him, he would’ve run and didn’t, so that only leaves my mother.”

When he didn’t speak, she knew he thought it was Irene.

She’s beginning to crack…
What did that mean? Would her stepmother go to jail? Would Clay and Grace and Mol y join her?

It was
unthinkable.
Especial y because…

“And you suspect she did it because my father was molesting Grace,” she added quietly.

He looked as if he’d reach out to her again, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

Too numb to even cry, Madeline averted her face as the waitress came to col ect their salad plates.

“How was it?” she heard the woman ask Hunter.

“Fine,” he responded. When she was gone, he leaned forward. “Knowing Irene, and Clay, it’d have to be a strong motive. And what could be stronger?”

“
If
that was happening—and that’s a very big
if—
there were other options besides cold-blooded murder.”

“Maybe it wasn’t planned, Maddy. This is an emotional issue, an explosive issue. Maybe there was an argument and it spiraled out of control.”

Was it possible? Madeline had been at a friend’s house Was it possible? Madeline had been at a friend’s house that night. She had no idea what’d gone on at home. But Jed Fowler had been there. If there’d been a fight, he would’ve heard it. And there was another problem with the accident theory.

“If it was an accident, why didn’t she come forward?”

Hunter leaned even closer. “Maybe they kept it quiet for your sake.”

“
My
sake?”

“You’d already lost your mother, Maddy. Learning that your father was…what we think he might have been would be worse than losing him to death. Have you thought of that?”

“No.” She hadn’t. She refused to. “My father was a preacher, not a predator. Irene didn’t kil him because she wouldn’t have had any reason to!”

The pity in his eyes made the pain worse. She’d been hoping he’d argue with her, give her a reason to fight for what she so desperately needed to believe. But he didn’t.

The bel jingled over the door. When Hunter’s eyes went to the entrance and stayed focused there, Madeline turned to see what he was staring at.

Clay was crossing the restaurant, coming toward them.

Her stepbrother nodded a greeting to her, then sat down in the booth beside her and slid a piece of paper toward Hunter.

“What’s this?” Hunter asked, obviously startled that Clay was addressing him instead of her.

“Someone put this in my mailbox last night.”

“Someone?”

“Read it.”

“‘Stop her or I wil ,’” he said, then glanced up.

“I think this is talking about Madeline.” Clay slumped back against the seat, large and powerful and forever watchful.

Was it true, what Hunter believed? Madeline wondered.

Was Clay protecting Irene? Had he been lying to her al these years, pretending to love her and to commiserate with her when he knew al along that he’d buried her father with his own shovel?

Madeline didn’t have those answers but she agreed that this note probably referred to her. She reached out to take the slip of paper.

“You have no idea who this came from?” Hunter asked Clay.

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” her stepbrother said pointedly. “I wouldn’t need to be—because they’d no longer be capable of hurting her.”

“Why are you sharing this with me?” Hunter rested both elbows on the table and studied Clay intently.

“I have a family now.” Clay’s gaze softened as it landed on her, and Madeline’s heart twisted.
God, how I love my
big brother. Please, let Hunter be wrong.
“I need you to help me keep her safe.”

“What about the police? Have you gone to them?”

He gave Hunter a disbelieving look. “Why would I go to
them?
” Standing, he bent swiftly and kissed Madeline’s temple, but she shrank away from him.

His eyes—shockingly blue and far older than his years—

met hers, showing hurt and surprise, but she glanced down.

She didn’t know who to trust anymore.

Madeline couldn’t sleep—even though Hunter was spending the night in the room beside her own. Her arms and legs felt heavy, as did her heart, but her mind was overrun with chaos. Accusations that had proven empty.

Sympathetic excuses for Irene, Clay, Grace—even her father. Snatches of memory that supported one view or another. Images of where her father might be buried at the farm. A churning fear that Hunter was completely credible in what he’d surmised so far. Brief flashes of hope that he was wrong…

She couldn’t relax and the harder she tried, the more uncomfortable she became. Even Sophie had given up on trying to sleep beside her.

The tension was bringing on a headache. She needed aspirin, but when she sat up to get it, she didn’t move right away. There was a picture of her and Grace and Mol y on her dresser that caught her attention. It was from way back, when they were girls.

“Grace,” she murmured, wishing she could simply talk to her sister, be reassured and go on with her life. But it was too late for that. Staring down her doubts had made them grow. Now she was even beginning to question her father.

That suitcase had to come from somewhere. Was it real y feasible that some drifter had put in there and sunk the car?

Or that Mike had done it? He’d never molested anyone else. And he wasn’t the one who’d broken in last night.

With a frustrated groan, she flopped back onto the bed.

Even if Grace knew the real story, she’d never tel . She’d stand by Clay. So would Irene and Mol y. How could Madeline expect anything else? They were al related by blood. True sisters united with a true brother.

She, on the other hand, had no one. And she’d never felt that more deeply than now. She had no mother, no father, no stepfamily—not anymore.

Burying her head beneath the pil ow, she squeezed her eyes shut, wil ing away the tears that were burning her throat. As terrifying as it was to confront her doubts and fears, to al ow herself to question the love, loyalty and honesty of those closest to her, now that she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop.

If only her mother had lived. Eliza’s presence would’ve changed everything.

She was driving herself crazy. Kicking off the covers, she got out of bed. She didn’t care about the consequences; this was one night she wouldn’t spend alone.

Hunter heard the creak in the hal . He’d been lying awake, listening to the night sounds and straining to distinguish any noise that might not belong—a car in the drive or movement downstairs. For hours, everything had been quiet, stil , peaceful. Except for the woman in the room next door. Even before Madeline got up, he could sense her restless tossing and had nearly gone to her a hundred times. After what they’d said in the restaurant, he’d been trying to keep his mind where it should be—on the case.

But he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t choose the guilty party in what had happened twenty years ago.

Some situations were unfortunate al the way around.

Hunter was fairly sure this was one of them. Until a few hours ago, Clay had wanted him to go home, had been determined to eliminate the threat he posed. Yet, for Madeline’s sake, he’d appeared at the restaurant and al but asked Hunter to stay. That reversal was just one more indication of how much Madeline’s stepbrother cared about her. Clay hadn’t admitted the truth; he was stil guarding his secrets. But what other choice did he have?

Madeline stood in the open doorway. Hunter could see her womanly shape in the moonlight drifting through the window. He’d left both the door and the draperies open, wanting to be more aware of everything that went on around him.

But he didn’t need to be more aware of her. That came without any help.

“You okay?” he asked, even though he knew she had to be feeling lost and alone and was probably seeking comfort. He liked the idea of having her even closer than the next room—as close as she could get.

But she was so emotional y vulnerable right now. And he was so far from being able to offer her a committed relationship. Maybe he could protect her from an intruder—

but who was going to protect her from him?

“No,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been worse.”

Tell her that it’ll look better in the morning. Send her
back to her own room,
his conscience demanded. The picture of Maria he kept on his cel phone was on the nightstand right next to him, reminding him that he had no business wanting Madeline.

But he couldn’t say the words. He longed to kiss her, to reassure her that everything would be al right.

He’d be careful, wouldn’t let it escalate, he told himself.

But he was only wearing boxer briefs. And the memory of yesterday, of how eager they’d been to touch and taste and feel each other—how eager they stil were—told him that they wouldn’t be able to stop.

He hesitated. But when she took his lack of response as rejection and started to leave, he knew he couldn’t let her go.

Reaching over, he put his cel phone in the drawer where he wouldn’t be able to see it anymore. “Come here,” he told her and as he lifted the covers, she slipped in beside him.

The warmth that suddenly enveloped her felt like a cocoon—a cocoon from which she didn’t want to emerge.

Especial y when Hunter’s arms went around her and drew her up against his muscular chest.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured.

“Not anymore.” Every place he touched felt like it was on fire.

“You’re going to be fine, Maddy,” he whispered. She didn’t believe him for a minute. Because it wasn’t only her body that was on fire. Her whole world seemed to be burning in one massive conflagration.

“Don’t talk about tomorrow,” she said.

His hands slid under the fabric of her shirt, massaging her back, then climbed up to her shoulder blades, drawing her closer. “Are you sure you want this?”

She was sure. It was the only thing powerful enough to block the pain. But she didn’t say so. She pressed her mouth to his in answer, then parted her lips and licked him in invitation.

With a groan, he rol ed her beneath him, pinning her hands above her head as he kissed her deeply, occasional y using his teeth to nip at her bottom lip before meeting her tongue again. Madeline didn’t think she’d ever been so thoroughly kissed. The way he used his teeth made her lips tingle and her stomach muscles tighten with anticipation.

“That’s good,” she said with a sigh. She couldn’t wait to tear away the clothing that separated them, to feel him push inside her—fil ing her, stretching her tight—like he had behind the tree. But he wouldn’t let her hurry him.