The Butler Didn't Do It (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 2) (17 page)

The docile act didn’t spare him Nate’s wrath.

“You son of a—” Nate delivered a jaw-crunching punch as he called out, “Maddox, are you alright?”

“I’ll be okay,” I said.

He looked at me, didn’t like what he saw, and took another swing at Jonas. This one sent him sprawling. Nate stepped over him, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him back onto his feet.

“Nate!” I shouted when I saw another punch coming. Not that I minded Jonas getting banged around, but Nate was letting his fury get to him. A cop beating up an unarmed suspect never ended well.

“Yeah, I know.” His fist stayed poised another moment, then he cursed and dragged Jonas to the truck.

I hobbled after on my mismatched heels, watching while Nate cuffed Jonas and shoved into the backseat of the truck.

When Nate noticed my hobble, he rushed up to scoop me into his arms.

I should have protested, told him it was a broken heel and not a broken ankle. But it had been a long day and an even longer night. His arms wrapped me in warmth. His body radiated comforting strength. And he smelled like pine and earth and all things good. So I held on and pressed my cheek to his hard chest as he carried me to the truck.

“I’ll take you to the Skaneateles clinic first,” he said.

“That’s not necessary.” I wanted a hot bath and my own bed, not stark white walls and doctors poking me.

“Maddox, you are getting that ankle seen to,” he insisted. “It could be worse than a sprain.”

Uh, oh.
This was why deception never paid. I weighed my pride against a hot bath. The bath won.

“It’s a snapped heel,” I groaned. “I can walk perfectly fine.”

He paused a beat. “Is that so?”

I bit my lip, waiting for him to ask why he was carrying me then.

He didn’t. He wrapped me closer and said, “What went down tonight, Maddox?”

“Jonas thought I was the one who’d killed Lydia. He kidnapped me and dragged me out into the forest.” I felt Nate stiffen and quickly added, “He was only after my confession, Nate. I don’t think he would have hurt me.”

“Take a look in the mirror,” Nate ground out. “The bastard mauled you.”

Yeah, I did feel kind of mauled.

Nate deposited me gently in the passenger seat, then climbed behind the wheel and gunned the engine in the direction of the Valley Road.

“Are you taking him to the station?”

Nate nodded. “You don’t have to do anything tonight, though. You can wait until tomorrow to press assault charges.”

“Look, I know I went too far,” Jonas piped up from the backseat. “But I wasn’t in my right mind. I went crazy when I saw Maddox planting evidence.”

Nate glanced at me. “Were you planting evidence?”

“Of course not.”

“She was in my room,” Jonas accused.

Nate looked at me again. “Were you in his room?”

I grimaced. “Housekeeping?”

He shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

“That’s not fair!” came from the backseat.

“Shut up, Jonas,” Nate said and hit a button to roll up the privacy screen between us. To me, he said, “What were you doing in his room?”

“Remember how you said the killer probably met Lydia out by the lake?“ I said. “Well, if there was an assignation, there had to be a note. Was any note found on Lydia’s body? Or in her bedroom?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. She could have taken it with her and dropped it on the walk. We scoured the area, but a note could have blown away.” He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “How does this relate to Jonas?”

“Promise not to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t promise or you won’t laugh?”

“Maddox,” he growled.

I threw my hands up. “If Jonas had written a note on the pad in his stationary drawer, I thought I’d be able to get the scratching from the underlying page.”

Nate scrubbed his jaw. “And did you?”

“No.”

“Imagine that.”

“You promised!”

“I’m not laughing,” he said, and he wasn’t. He sounded rather grim.

“And for your information, I didn’t get it because I didn’t have a chance to look before Jonas walked in on me. And of course I won’t get it now, because he’s obviously not the murderer, so he didn’t write the note.”

“He’s not innocent, either,” Nate muttered beneath his breath.

“I don’t want to press charges,” I said quietly.

“Are you sure? He deserves to be put away for a couple of months after what he did to you.”

“I’m sure, Nate. It’s not like he’s a threat to other women, right? I just want him to go away. I want him to pack his bags and get out of my home.”

“If that’s what you want, I won’t push,” Nate said. “But I can hold the bastard for twenty-four hours without charges and he’s spending the night in a cell.”

Which sounded just fine to me.

We drove in silence until the Brewer Intersection, then I had to ask, “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m just glad you’re okay.” Nate shoved a hand through his hair, kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed. “I promised you I wouldn’t do anything stupid and then I got myself caught snooping in Jonas’ room.”

“Maddox, don’t.” Nate’s gaze slid to me, his voice husky with emotion. “Whatever else you did, you did not ask that man to assault you. This is not your fault. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said softly, my vision suddenly blurred as my eyes watered. I don’t know why. They just did.

Nate parked around the back of the town hall and I stayed in the truck while he escorted Jonas inside. Hardly any time had passed when I saw him striding around the side of the whitewashed building toward me.

That was quick.

Worried, I jumped down from the truck, ready for the next crisis.

“Spinner’s booking him,” he explained. “He was happy to do the honors and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Oh.” I turned to climb up again.

“Maddox, wait.” Nate pulled me around into a hug, his chin resting on the top of my head. “Just one minute, okay?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

I stood there in his arms, my cheek pressed to his chest, and then I knew what this minute was for. To just be. I blanked out the rest of the world, Joe, murder, assault, divorce, and I breathed Nate in. I listened to the intimate beat of his heart against my cheek. I allowed myself to believe this was okay, the warmth enfolding me, the desire stirring deep inside, the heat building between us—just for a minute.

The embrace loosened, his hands sliding down to my hips.

I tilted my head up to look into his eyes, and felt myself drowning in the intensity of his smoky gaze. Not all physical passion and longing. He didn’t often open himself up to me like this, but for a brief moment I saw the raw emotion buried in his heart. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest, but not in a bad way. Not at all.

“Nate…” I reached up to trace his firm, beautiful mouth.

He caught my hand. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” I said softly. I should, but I wasn’t going to stop him.

“I know we have to take this slow. I know I have to wait until you sort your life out.” He pressed my fingers to his lips as he spoke. “But I was wrong to stay away while you did it. I want to be part of whatever you’re going through, Maddox. I want to be there for you.”

I swallowed hard. And dear Lord, I’d never wanted to kiss a man as much as I wanted to kiss Nate right now. I restrained myself, though, because he was right. Wherever we ended up, I didn’t want us to start like this, me with one foot in a marriage and my heart still crooked and sore.

I offered up a small smile. “I would like that, Nate.”

FIFTEEN

Sunday morning, I woke up fully restored to my old self. Nate had been appalled at the state of me last night, but most of the damage was just dirt that washed away. I’d soaked until my skin wrinkled, and Nate had patched the cut on my knee, applied ointment to my braised cheek, and then I’d curled into a deep sleep like a baby kitten.

Nate, on the other hand, was starting to show wear and tear from spending two nights in a chair. His jaw was shadowed, his hair a worse mess than normal, his shirt wrinkled, that sort of thing. He looked absolutely adorable.

He turned from the window as I came out from the bathroom. “Ready to go?”

“I’ve been ready since you described that omelet,” I said. “I’m starving.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” he warned.

“You’re talking to someone who can’t boil an egg,” I said with a laugh as we left the room. “Trust me, I’ll be impressed.”

Nate needed to go home for a shower and a change of clothes, and he’d insisted I tag along. He’d learnt his lesson about leaving me alone (his words, not mine.) Oh, and also, Jack was bringing Jonas over to pack his bags and leave, and Nate didn’t want me to be here.

I didn’t mind. I was curious to see Nate’s log cabin, and even more curious about this breakfast he’d promised to cook up.

It wasn’t yet seven am and the house was still fast asleep as we crept downstairs and out the front door.

Once we were in the truck and on our way, Nate picked the conversation up again. “You were kidding about the egg, right?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “It either comes out like rubber or stringy goo or the shell cracks and leaks white slime.”

He chuckled. “Maybe we should have boiled egg for breakfast. I could teach you.”

“You don’t think my mother’s tried?”

“Then how about scrambled egg?”

“Sticks to the bottom of the pan like black smudge.”

Nate refused to give up. “Everyone has at least one signature dish that they can make.”

“Not me,” I said.

“Salad?” he tried.

“If you don’t mind chopped skin along with your celery.”

He shuddered and, finally, accepted me for who I was. “I’ll never think of salad in the same way again.”

I laughed, looked out the window at the passing scenery. Nate’s cabin lay halfway between Silver Firs and Auburn and we were headed north through a pass of magnificent slopes blanketed with satin green Pines.

“So, who taught you to cook?” I asked. “Your mom?”

There was a slight hesitation. “My mother died when I was ten.”

My gaze shot to him. “Oh, Nate, I’m sorry.”

He looked at me a moment, then turned his eyes back on the road. “Yeah, an aneurism, in the brain. Dad and I were, well, it was a shock, but that was a long time ago and we managed.”

“Does your dad live close?”

“New York City,” Nate said. “That’s where I grew up.”

“And how on earth did you land up here?”

“That is a long story.”

I rolled my eyes. “We have time.”

“Actually, we don’t,” he said and indicated to turn left.

The dirt road speared through dense woods for another mile before dead-ending on a tiny lake. Nate turned left again and slowed right down to navigate the craters in the road.

“I can see why you need a truck,” I said dryly.

He slid me a grin. “Every man needs a truck.”

When the cabin came into view, I had to blink a couple of times. I’d pictured something small and rustic made out of logs. The home that sprawled to the edge of the lake was definitely built of logs, but that’s where the comparison ended.

Nate cut the engine and grabbed the overnight toiletry bag he’d used at my place. “The view from the deck is better,” he said when he saw I was too busy staring to realize I should be moving.

“This place is stunning, Nate.” I climbed out and followed him down the bark chip path to a heavy wooden front door.

“Thanks.” He opened the door and waved me inside. “You don’t mind if I shower before breakfast?”

“No, of course not.” We walked into a large open plan area, oak floorboards, set of leather sofas, a four-seater dining room table, a wall of glass on the lake side.

“Coffee?”

I turned from the wall of glass with a mocking smile. “He cooks
and
he makes coffee.”

“I can cook egg and grill a mean barbeque, that’s about it,” he clarified as we went through to the kitchen. “And before you get too excited, my coffee-making talents don’t extend to cappuccino.”

“Well, there’s my perfect illusion shattered,” I groaned.

His grin came on slow, hitching at the corner of his mouth. “I have other talents to compensate.”

“I’ll just bet you do.” I dragged my eyes off that gorgeous mouth and took myself to the breakfast bar to deal with the fluttering butterflies.

This friendship deal wouldn’t last long if he kept doing things like that. I perched on a barstool and planted my elbows on the counter. There was a wall of windows here, too, bringing the glassy lake right into the kitchen. The serenity reminded me of Hollow House, when I’d first moved in, before I’d brought paying guests in to ruin it.