The Trouble with Temptation (39 page)

She thought maybe he’d ask her to move in with him.

She thought maybe she’d say yes.

But would he change his mind now?

“You’re certain you have no idea who it was you saw in the woods?” Gideon asked softly.

“No.” She looked down at her belly. It seemed to get bigger and bigger each day and she was very happy with that fact. Bigger meant the baby was still growing. Bigger was
good
. It had been four days since the events out at Brannon’s and every day put their daughter closer to survival.

She thought back to the shadow she’d seen inside the dark, dreary halls of the converted barn, tried to recall the voice. “I’ve heard him,” she said softly. “I know I’ve seen him, talked to him. But I don’t know who he is.”

“Okay.” Gideon blew out a sigh and then met Beau’s gaze. They shared a look and then Deatrick took a step forward.

“I have a source—works for the paper in Baton Rouge. I’m going to let some information slip. We need the killer to know you don’t know who he is, Hannah, or you’re not going to be safe. But we can’t exactly have you on the evening news.” He shrugged, a wry smile lighting his narrow, dark features. “People would all assume you were just saying that. I would. You probably would. A source makes it a little different. I’ll spin it, make sure my man knows how frustrated we are by your returned memory and how little it helps us.”

He paused, giving her a minute to process. “Do you understand what we’re talking about?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “It may not work, though. He might assume you all are lying, trying to flush him out.”

“True.” Deatrick shrugged. “But then again, if it’s somebody you know, somebody you’ve seen, once he realizes you
have
remembered and that we haven’t come looking for him, he’ll figure it out. This man isn’t an idiot. He waited, bided his time. That’s why when I plant my story, I’m going to make sure there are some details from your statement.”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

“Everything is accurate, correct?”

“Yeah.” She gave him a feeble smile. “I was out running, trying to convince myself how easy it would be to stop thinking about Brannon, to just … forget about him.”

He stroked his hand down her hair.

That light touch made her relax.

“Well, you did forget,” he murmured, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips.

She laughed.

Then she started to cry.

She was still crying several minutes later when she realized everybody had left but Brannon.

He lowered the bedrail, easing as close as he could without climbing onto the bed with her and then he said, “Hannah, baby, you’re killing me and I can’t come up there. Please stop.”

“I could have killed our baby,” she said, sobbing.

“You thought you were in danger—both of you.”

She just shook her head. “I was stupid.”

“No.” Brannon cupped her cheek. “Look at me … come on, Hannah. Look at me.”

She sniffed. Swallowed. Blinked at him as he reached up to brush her hair back from her face.

“Hannah, honey.” He stood up, wincing, grimacing as he pivoted his weight around. He was in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He wouldn’t wear the t-shirt if he didn’t have to but she’d seen too many eyes sliding over his bare chest and she’d told him to stop distracting the nurses. So he wore the t-shirt.

She was wearing a blue silk nightgown he’d told Moira to find for her. It was slippery and smooth and beautiful, out of place in the hospital room, but his eyes had lit up when he’d seen it on her, so she wore it. Tomorrow, she’d wear the green. No, tomorrow, she was going home. Maybe tomorrow night, she’d wear the green.

He eased his weight down on the bed. She squirmed a little.

“Be still.” He tapped her nose. “Bedrest.”

“I can move,” she muttered, sulking.

“Be still.” Then he leaned in and pressed his brow to hers. “The day you came over to our house, the first day I really noticed you. Your knuckles were busted and bruised. Neve asked you why. You remember?”

She swallowed.

“Your stepdad had been drunk again. Knocking your mother around. You made him mad and when he tried to hit you, he didn’t move fast enough. Then you hit him. You told Neve it was the most fun you’d had all day.”

She managed to smile a little. “It was fun. All I did was pop him in the nose. He fell and passed out. Too much whiskey. He had one hell of a black eye that next day though.”

“Everybody else in town just ignored what he did to your mother. You stood up, right in his face. He could have hurt you so bad, but you never backed down.”

“He was a coward,” she said, her throat tight. Then she curled an arm around his neck.

“I started to fall in love with you a little that day. Tough, strong Hannah … my Hannah.” He rested a hand on her belly. “You did what you did to save yourself. Save her. No, it wasn’t Beau. But it could have been. I’m not angry that you followed your instincts. Because what if it
had
been him … and you had done nothing?”

Tears burned her eyes.

“I thought you’d hate me.”

“I never could.” He hooked an arm around her neck and pressed a kiss to her neck. “I love you, Hannah. I just took a damn long time to figure it out.”

“Too long,” she said, her voice watery.

“Too long.”

*   *   *

He stood in the trees, staring up at the house.

The falling twilight painted it in shades of gold and orange, reflected off the windows. The water of the pool danced, cerulean in the darkening light.

It was a place of legend, a place of beauty.

And it should be
his
.

Hand fisted, he fought the rage that threatened to overwhelm him.

The fucking McKays.

He had tried to play nice, but he was rather done with that now.

The door opened, a final ray of sunlight falling on the gleaming red hair of the eldest McKay as she walked onto the deck and stood there, staring out over the expanse of green that rolled around her.

Studying her domain.

Her shoulders slumped and he watched as she lifted her hands to her face and began to cry.

Poor little princess, he thought, disgusted.

Life is hard on you now, is it?

A brother in the hospital. How stressful that must be.

He could teach her a thing or two about stress.

Poor, poor little Moira.

Something moved behind him and he stiffened, looked up. He wasn’t alone in these woods. Slowly, he shifted into the trees and lost himself into the shadows.

It wouldn’t do to be seen skulking about, he supposed. He wouldn’t hide much longer though.

*   *   *

Moira looked up, startled, as Charles settled into the chair across from her.

He held out a white handkerchief.

“What are you doing here?”

He gave her a sad smile.

“Waiting for you, love.” He nodded toward the path. “I was out walking. Nobody answered the door when I first arrived, so I parked near the garage and just wandered around. Ella Sue at the hospital?”

“No.” Moira shrugged. Dabbing at her eyes, she wiped the tears away. “She was. We rode into together. She dropped me off. Guess that’s why I didn’t see your car. Neve’s with Ian.”

He nodded. “I…” Charles stopped and slumped in his chair, staring up at the star-studded sky. “I’ve well and truly messed things up with you, Moira. Not just you, but with your family. You almost died. Your sister almost died. And now Brannon and his lady. And I haven’t been there for you.”

“We’re not together anymore, Charles.” She swallowed the knot in her throat. She didn’t
have
a together. How many times had she wanted to reach out, to call somebody? To have a man’s arms around her in the night? But it wasn’t Charles’ arms she wanted. It wasn’t him she longed to have holding her. She managed a smile. “You don’t have to be there for me.”

“But I want to be.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes penetrating, deep. Searching.

When he stood and came to sit beside her, she looked away. “Moira, I miss you.”

She said nothing.

*   *   *

Shoulder braced against a tree, Gideon remained where he was.

He’d been prowling around, trying to work up the nerve to go to the house. To Moira.

Actually, that was wrong.

What he was trying to do was go to her and tell her good-bye.

That he was done.

That he couldn’t love her anymore only to have her push him away, hold him at arm’s length.

He’d heard trees rustling, thought maybe somebody else had been out there. He’d debated on taking a look, finding out. Almost did just that, but then he saw Moira. And when she started to cry, he had been frozen.

If he went to her now, he’d lose his resolve, all over again.

The love he had for her was like a cancer, tearing away at him and destroying him. If she’d just let herself love him back, it would be the cure—the cure they
both
needed.

He turned to go.

Even managed to take a step.

But because he was always weakest when it came to her, he turned back.

That was when he saw Charles moving toward her.

Charles.

Lip curled, Gideon watched him. Wondered for a split second if it had been Charles out lurking in the trees, but then he brushed the possibility off. The man was like a toddler in the trees, thrashing about and crashing into everything.

Besides, he didn’t have any reason to skulk in the dark to moon on Moira. He’d always done that right in the open.

“Unlike me,” Gideon muttered, disgusted.

He turned on his heel and strode off.

As he did, he punched in a number.

He had reports to write. He had a murder to solve.

But damn it, he was going to have a drink.

And tonight, he was going to have a drink with a beautiful woman.

“Hello?”

“May I speak to Maris Cordell?”

“Speaking.” There was a faint pause and then she said softly, “Would this be the chief of police by any chance?”

“It would.”

“Hmmm … you know, I have my cell phone down for official communications,” she said lightly. “So why are you calling me at home?”

“Because I’m calling to see if you’d like to have a drink with me sometime.”

Maris laughed. It was a pretty laugh, light and free and easy. Not the low and sexy purr of Moira, but still pretty.
Don’t
, he told himself.
Don’t hold her up to Moira. Let her be Maris
.

“I’d love to have a drink with you, chief. When were you thinking?”

“Tonight. You free?”

*   *   *

“I can carry you in.” Ian’s face was straight, eyes serious. “I can, really. You sure you should walk?”

Hannah glared at him.

Ian rubbed the flat of his hand along his scalp and looked over at Neve. “I’m just tryin’ to help. Babies make me nervous.”

“Hannah’s fine,” Neve said, patting his arm. “I’m more worried about Brannon.”

Brannon was pale, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. He looked at the sidewalk that stretched out like a river between him and the front door then he scowled at Gideon. “You could have parked closer.”

“Unless you wanted me to park on your porch, I wasn’t getting closer. Quit your bitching and move.” Gideon gave him a lazy, relaxed smile.

That lazy, relaxed smile made Brannon want to punch him.

Grimacing, he took a few steps toward the house and stopped.

Hannah was already up the stairs and waiting for him. “Need a wheelchair?” She smiled at him, eyes dancing with laughter.

“Smart ass. Keep it up and I won’t let you have your present.”

She rolled her eyes. “You won’t do that. You like giving me presents. I think you’re addicted.”

“Damn straight.” He moved a few more feet, mostly because the railing that led up the rest of the way was a few feet away and it looked like heaven. Felt like it too, having something take his weight.

“Maybe I should have volunteered to carry
you
,” Ian said, laughter lurking in his voice as he jogged up the steps, arms laden with bags.

Most of them were shopping bags, full of the new clothes Brannon had asked Neve and Moira to get for Hannah.

He was just being helpful, the way he saw it. Gideon had said most of her wardrobe had been trashed.

Grim purpose gripped him as he eyed the back of Hannah’s head. Trashed and ruined, along with a message.

The story about how she’d regained her memory, about how she’d seen a murder but had no idea who she’d seen kill Shayla Hardee, that was the big story hitting the regional media today. They’d held it until she could be discharged.

Hopefully, she’d be safe now.

But Brannon was going to make damn sure they found whoever had tried to hurt her in that barn.

Who’d tried to gut him like a fish.

“Come on, Bran,” Neve said. “A few more steps.”

“I can walk, you morons,” he muttered. He could also puke, and he thought he might. Why the hell was he so weak?

It took a ridiculous ten minutes to shuffle into the living room and he would have fallen into the chair, but Gideon and Ian caught his arms, helped him ease his weight down. “No flopping around for a while, Bran,” Gideon said, rapping him on the head with his knuckles.

Brannon flipped him off.

Casually, Gideon looked around. “Where’s Moira?”

“Getting stuff for dinner tonight with Ella Sue.” Neve hovered over Hannah, who was already glowering. “You sure you’re comfortable on the couch?”

“Give me a pillow,” Hannah said after a moment of quiet.

Neve did. Then she dodged as Hannah threw it at her.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then she scowled. “Although you’re awful far away, Brannon.”

He grunted. “Get me an hour to recover, then I’ll move.”

He breathed in. Then out. Gave himself three minutes while they all chatted and then heaved himself up. He really was too far away.

Hannah shook her head as he sank down next to her on the couch. She’d taken the end with the reclining chair and had her feet up. He stretched out and put his head in her lap. That felt just about perfect. Especially once she started stroking his hair. Breathing out a sight of satisfaction, he smiled up at her. “Now I’m fine.”