Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (26 page)

“No, they’ll arrest me.” Panic filled his voice.

“Then go to your girlfriend’s and wait for me.”

Silence filled the airway.

“Scott!”

His brother had hung up on him again. Nick jammed his phone in his pocket and hurried toward his car.

“Hey, Sinclair, wait up.”

He turned. Sheriff Ben Logan strode toward him. Oh, great. Their earlier conversations about Scott’s disappearance had been tense. He waited, dreading the new questions.

“I thought I told you to stay put in case your brother came back to Kate’s,” Ben said.

“I took that as a suggestion. Besides, Kate and Charlie were there.”

“Good thing, I guess.” Ben slipped a notepad from his shirt pocket. “You think your brother did this to Taylor?”

“I . . .” War raged in Nick’s head.
“You gotta believe me
, Nick. I’d never hurt her.”
But he had run away. And he had a gun. Not telling Ben that he’d talked to Scott was the same as lying, and it ate at his insides.

Why did he keep holding on to his brother’s innocence? Because he knew his brother. But what if it turned out that Nick didn’t
know him at all? He took a deep breath. “Scott didn’t do this. He couldn’t. But I think he might know who did. Except, I don’t think he realizes he knows.”

Gasoline fumes lingered in the air, and he glanced toward the Rav4, where a crew worked to get it loaded on a wrecker.

“It’s a wonder the car didn’t blow,” Ben said.

“Yeah.” Nick wanted to punch something, or someone.

“I need your help.” The sheriff flipped his pad to a new page. “Taylor couldn’t give me a description of the assailant or even the type of vehicle, only that it might’ve been a truck. Did you meet anyone before you reached the scene?”

The speeding vehicle. “I did. They were flying. High beams, like on a truck.”

Ben scribbled in his pad, then looked up. “Start at the beginning.”

“I was looking for Taylor. Allison had—” Nick sucked in a breath. “Has anyone called her?”

“Her line’s busy. The storm may have knocked out her power. I’m sending a deputy as soon as I can cut one loose from the scene. You were saying?”

Nick cleared his throat. He didn’t like what he saw in Ben’s eyes. Not suspicion exactly, more like the sheriff believed Nick was holding something back. Now was the time to tell him about Scott’s call. But if he did . . .

“I’d been trying to reach Taylor to let her know Scott had disappeared, but she didn’t answer my calls. So I called her mom and found out Taylor was on her way home. Allison told me Ethan and Jonathan had left to look for her. It sounded like a good plan. I never saw either of them.”

“How about your brother. Have you seen him?”

Nick hesitated, then shook his head. “I’ve talked with him, though. Claims he was bringing Charlie’s truck home when he saw the accident, so he must have passed by here. I didn’t see him and don’t have a clue where he is now.” A weight lifted from his shoulders.

He turned as the ambulance pulled out onto the road, the siren piercing the air until the night swallowed the red whirling lights. Nick’s throat tightened. There’d be no one to meet Taylor at the hospital.

Ben cleared his throat. “Something going on between you two?”

“I, ah . . .” Nick sucked in a breath. “She’s a special lady.”

“Yeah,” Ben said softly. “Go with her. I’ll catch you at the ER later.”

Nick hesitated. He didn’t know if he could walk through those hospital doors and be told Taylor had died.

But neither could he not go.

S
cott didn’t know what to do. Would Ethan even help him after what happened at their last meeting? He grimaced, remembering the blow he’d landed on Ethan’s jaw because he wouldn’t give him an advance. Another reason he had to quit drinking.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he crossed into Tennessee. He needed to figure out where he was going. Nick’s house. At least he could sleep there. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into Nick’s drive and got out. His phone chirped. He let it ring. The front door was locked, and he went to the back. Locked as well. Scott kicked it. “Ow!”

His phone chirped again just as a light flashed from the next-door neighbor’s yard.

“Nick, that you?” The question came from the neighbor’s yard.

Scott hopped in the truck and backed out of the drive.
Nosey neighbor
. A few minutes later he pulled onto the Bill Morris Parkway. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do . . . maybe he did need to call Ethan. Scott ran his tongue over his dry lips. Maybe Digger was right. Ethan
was
still his lawyer, and attorneys had to help their clients. He remembered reading that somewhere. Scott punched in Ethan’s number.

“Trask speaking.”

“Uh, Ethan? It’s Scott Sinclair. I need a lawyer.”

Scott’s words seemed to have struck his attorney mute.

Finally, Ethan spoke. “I’m glad you called.”

Sirens sounded through the phone. Scott’s gut twisted. “I need to see you.”

“You’re breaking up. Give me a second to step outside.”

Scott heard Ethan tell someone he needed to take a call, then the sounds of walking. “Don’t hang up,” Ethan said, his voice low.

Scott had almost ended the call.

“Where are you?” Ethan spoke normally now.

“In Memphis.” Scott had no idea where, then the truck lights caught an exit sign. Hacks Cross Road. That information he’d keep to himself. “Where are you? I need to talk to you.”

“Right now, I’m standing in the Bradford County Hospital parking lot. Dr. Martin’s been hurt. I’m with her mom while she waits until she can go back and see her daughter.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“The doctors indicate she will be. Scott, do you know what happened to her?”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Look, I’m going home right now, and I want you to meet me there. We’ll talk and figure out a strategy. Okay? You know where I live.”

“Yeah.” Scott rubbed his forehead.

“Can you be there in half an hour?”

“If I don’t show up, I’ll see you at your office sometime tomorrow.”

“But, Scott—”

Scott hung up. Seconds later the phone vibrated in his hand, and he lowered the window and tossed the phone. That ought to take care of anyone tracing him by the phone. He glanced down at the gas gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank. Had to get gas and something to eat.

Scott wadded the hamburger wrapper in a ball and stuffed the last of the French fries in his mouth. He needed a plan. And going to Ethan’s house wasn’t it. Too easy for cops to be hiding there.

No, he needed to ditch Charlie’s truck and catch a MATA bus. He could transfer a few times in case someone followed him, then catch one going downtown and get off a couple of blocks from Ethan’s office so he could stake it out. If cops showed up . . . he’d worry about that when the time came.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to the authorities. He just had some questions that needed answering first. Questions only Ethan could answer. Or Digger . . .

Antiseptic smells burned Taylor’s nose, but antiseptic beat gasoline every time. She tried to get comfortable in the ER bed and winced at the pain in her rib cage. A dry cough racked her throat, and she reached for the cup of water on the stand beside the bed.

“Here, let me get that,” her mom said.

Pain shot through her muscles, and she groaned. At least she didn’t have another concussion or a gunshot wound to contend with. The bullet shattered the driver’s side window but missed her. She’d let her guard down, told herself her stalker had lost interest, and it almost cost her life. That wouldn’t happen again.

She touched the bandage above her right eyebrow where the mirror had sliced her head. She’d never had a cut closed with glue before.

The door opened and she glanced toward it, hoping for a nurse with pain meds. Nope. Only Nick trying to balance three cups of coffee in his hands. Her heart hitched at the worry lines creasing his brow, then at the dark splotches on his shirt. Her blood.

Someone had tried to kill her tonight. The reality hit hard. “Thanks,” she said, accepting the cup he held out. She sipped the coffee. Strong. Like the man who brought it.

“It’s not Starbucks, but the nurse said it was fresh,” he said, handing her mother a coffee. “Which I have my doubts about. But it’s hot. I reminded her you needed something for your ribs.”

Taylor grimaced over the steam. “Any stronger and it could walk.”

Her attempt at humor brought a hollow laugh from her mom, who’d returned to her corner chair. She’d said very little since arriving with Ethan while Taylor was in X-ray.

Mom took one sip of the coffee and dropped it in the wastebasket. “If you can drink that, you don’t need to be in the hospital,” she said and glanced toward the door. “What’s taking the doctor so long to look at your X-rays?”

“I don’t know, but I wish he’d come on.” Taylor handed Nick the cup and rested her head against the pillow. “Where did you say Ethan went?” she asked.

“Home. He was sorry he couldn’t stay, but he received a phone call about an important meeting tomorrow. And I called Chase to let him know you’re all right. I don’t know where Jonathan is. He’s not answering his phone.”

“Where’s Abby?” Taylor asked.

“Chase took her to spend the night with a friend.” Her mom stood and rubbed her arms. “Taylor, this can’t happen again. Promise me you’ll stop this profiling nonsense.”

“What?” She stared at her mom.

“Go back to teaching and stay there. I can’t take this, always worrying that I’ll lose you.” Her mother’s voice broke.

“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s who I am.” She spoke to her mother, but her gaze hung on Nick’s face. The grimness around his mouth echoed her mother’s words.

“Taylor, do you know how hard it was to watch them load you in that ambulance?” Nick rasped the words out.

Was he asking her to make a choice? The door opened and Taylor jumped.

“You’re skittish as a street cat,” Ben said as he entered the cubicle. He nodded at Nick. “Glad you’re here.” He pulled a thin book from his pocket and opened it to a bookmarked page. “I knew that poem was familiar. I bought this collection of your short
stories last year. You want to tell me why you haven’t mentioned this before?” He held the book up for Nick to read.

Death unfolds . . .
The words on the page cut Nick’s breath off as Taylor snatched the book from Ben’s hand.

“I’m waiting.” Ben folded his arms across his chest.

Taylor looked up, her face even more ashen. “You wrote the poem? Did you send it to me as well?”

His insides cringed at the betrayal stamped on her face, in the slump of her shoulders. He had no one to blame. He’d dug this particular hole himself, and it kept getting deeper one shovel at a time. “You know I didn’t. The poem is from a short story I wrote years ago. I wanted to tell you the day Scott almost burned my house down. But—”

The glare she shot him cut off his words. “You knew where the poem came from the first day I met you. You could’ve told me then.”

Nick opened his mouth and closed it.
Oh what a
tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.
If he’d told the truth and trusted God with the outcome, a lot of things might be different.

“I know.” He filled his lungs, then exhaled hard. “I was so sure Scott had nothing to do with what happened to you that night. As far as I know, Scott never saw that story, before or after it was published. I convinced myself someone was framing him.”

“Stop!” Taylor held her hands up. “So you put your brother right next door. That way, he could reach me anytime he wanted to.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ben cleared his throat. “You say Scott never saw the poem?”

“I don’t think so,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “It was in one of the first stories I sold. Scott couldn’t have been more than thirteen, and he wasn’t exactly interested in my writing. When the story was published in this collection a couple of years ago, Scott was heavy into drugs and alcohol, and he’d disappeared.”

“If you’re right,” Taylor said, “someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to frame your brother. Why?”

Nick turned to answer Taylor’s question, his heart aching to make things right. “I don’t know. Not sure I even buy that theory since he stole Charlie’s truck. But he told me he was bringing it back.”

“Yet he didn’t,” Ben said.

Nick turned from the sheriff’s intense scrutiny. “He’s scared. And I didn’t alleviate his fear. More or less told him I held him responsible.”

“You don’t believe him?” Taylor sounded skeptical.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

A certainty that he couldn’t explain if he tried swept over Nick. Drunk or sober, ten years ago or now, Scott wouldn’t hurt anyone. It simply wasn’t in him.

“No, I take that back.” He turned first to Ben, then to Taylor. “Regardless of how it looks, my brother didn’t do these things. I’ll help you find him so he can clear his name. But if you’re focusing only on him, you’re giving the real criminal a free pass and an open invitation to try again.”

Ethan parted his drapes and peered into the darkness. Eleven-thirty. Scott wasn’t coming. He paced the floor in his den, fingering the small vial in his pocket. Enough GHB to take out a horse. Only a horse wasn’t getting it.

Why did the kid have to decide to get sober now? It wasn’t that he worried that Scott might put two and two together. As an alcoholic, drugged-out kid, no one would pay any attention to his ramblings. But sober? He couldn’t take the chance. Scott could identify Digger. It was only a matter of time before he ran into him in Logan Point. And that would raise too many questions.

He’d told Digger texting Scott to come to Taylor’s house that night was a mistake. But the fool had insisted they needed someone to take the blame.