Undeniably Yours (30 page)

“Why do they think I'm him?”

“This your computer?”

“Yes.”

“The hacking was done on this computer, that's why.”

Bo paused, thinking. “How can they, or you, be sure it was done on this computer?”

“Because every computer has a unique ID . . . like a fingerprint, you know? The hacking had this computer's fingerprints all over it.”

“I didn't do it.”

“Well, somebody did. Using this machine.”

“Could the hacker have done this whole thing through my computer remotely?” He'd been on calls with technical support before, when they'd taken over his computer right in front of him.

“No. In this case the hacker sat right here”—Kyle turned toward the monitor, hunched over the keyboard, and mimicked typing—“and did it all on this computer.”

Someone had been in his house. Someone had framed him for certain.

Kyle looked back and forth between the brothers. “Anything else, you know, you need help with?”

“I think that's it,” Jake answered.

Bo stood frozen while Jake thanked the kid and walked him out.

When Jake returned, Bo met his brother's gaze. “Do you believe I'm innocent?”

“Yes.”

So he hadn't lost his mind. Regardless of the evidence, Jake had faith in his truthfulness.

“It's looking, though,” Jake said, “like Meg thinks you're guilty for a good reason.”

Bo's heart twisted. He nodded.

“She seems like she's pretty guarded to begin with,” Jake said. “Like she'd be slow to trust anyone.”

“She is.”

“Probably in part because of her money.”

“True.”

“And who her father was.”

“Yes.”

“And her experience with her husband.”

“Yeah.”

“So she's already cautious. Then her cousin brings her this information about you—information that seems legit. I'm not saying it's right, Bo, but I guess if I put myself in her shoes, I can see why she kicked you out.”

Bo wanted to break or punch or shoot something. To scream. How in the world was he ever going to get her back?

Unable to remain still, he strode into the kitchen, gripped the front of his sink, and stared hard out the window into the darkness. Jake had been right. Meg
was
careful. She'd been raised the rich daughter of a famous businessman, and yes, that had shaped her. But Bo knew that her relationship with Stephen had wounded her most. No way she'd risk letting a man play her like that a second time. Which was, at this very moment, exactly what she thought Bo had been trying to do to her.

Bo hated that he'd been accused of doing something he hadn't done. It filled him with fury on one hand and made him helpless on the other because he couldn't defend himself. Still, as bad as that part was, he could stomach it.

But Meg thinking he'd betrayed her like Stephen had?

That
undid him.

Jake came to stand next to him. “How'd the hacker get in here?”

“I don't know.”

“You keep your doors locked.”

“Yes, but that's it.” Living in Holley, he'd never thought much about security. Never had a house alarm. “Unless the hacker has a copy of my house key, he or she must have come in through a window.”

“Let's see if we can find which one.”

The brothers moved through the house, testing each window. Back when Bo had bought the place, he'd had new windows put in. They all slid easily open, but had latches to lock them in place when closed.

In his bedroom, Bo tugged on a pane that slid open in answer. “Here,” he said to Jake.

They each took a close look. No scratches on the sill or smudges on the glass. No sign that anyone had forced the window open.

“When did you have this one open last?” Jake asked.

“Maybe a week and a half ago. It's possible that I forgot to latch it when I closed it.”

“Or possible that it was jimmied open.”

“It doesn't look like that, though, does it?”

“Think there's any chance the person left prints?” Jake asked.

“No. A person this smart would have worn gloves.” Bo had no desire to call the police. Most likely, he'd alert them to the crime, then find that evidence pointed straight back at him.

“Why would someone do this to you, Bo?”

Bo shifted his attention from the window to his brother. “To get me away from Meg and away from Whispering Creek.”

“Who'd want to do that?”

“Her family, for one. I know for sure her uncle doesn't want us together.”

“You think he's capable of setting you up like this?”

“I wouldn't have thought so. But he can certainly afford to hire someone to do this kind of a job.”

They grabbed flashlights and went outdoors to examine the window and the surrounding area from the exterior. They couldn't find a single indication that someone had used the window to enter and exit Bo's house. They searched and searched.

But found nothing.

For hours that night, Bo walked the back acres of his property.

A June storm full of thunder, lightning, and anger ate up the distance, closing, and then covering him. He let it come, let the cold and rain rush against his face and down the open neck of his shirt. Nature could do its worst and still not hurt him half so much as the pain clawing him on the inside.

Her voice. Her perfume. Her face. The things she'd said to him. Her tender heart. The way she'd gradually come to place her faith in him.

For days—weeks—an intuition of danger had been riding Bo. He'd been unable to shake his worry over Meg's safety. But maybe
this
was what his sixth sense had been picking up on. Perhaps she'd never been in physical danger. Maybe their relationship had been the target from the beginning.

If so, the disaster he'd been waiting for had come.

Someone had taken aim at his relationship with Meg. Then, with the precision of a sharpshooter, they'd pulled the trigger.

He'd hoped. He'd wanted . . .

He prayed prayers of desperation that didn't make sense. His eyes filled with tears, his steps echoed with hopelessness.

He loved her. Ferociously, he loved her.

He didn't want to live without her.

A
s a child Meg had often taken herself, when heartsick, to Mr. Son. She could remember bouts of sadness over all those Mother's Days without a mother, her father's indifference, friends who'd excluded her, boys who hadn't called.

Those minor hurts seemed laughable today. She'd passed a horrible night sleeping in snippets crawling with bad dreams, tossing from side to side, or curled into a ball fighting off panic attacks. Morning had taken a harrowing long time in coming.

Once she'd gotten herself dressed, she'd followed her old habit and gone in search of Mr. Son.

She found him on his knees next to Jayden, the two of them hard at work filling a backyard flower bed with yellow lantana.

Mr. Son peered up at Meg, studied her, then silently motioned her down beside him. When she knelt, her knees registered cool wetness, her nose the smell of dirt.

Jayden glanced at her. He had on pint-sized gardening gloves, rubber boots, a green apron over his play clothes, and a fisherman-style hat.

“Hi, Jayden,” she said, dismayed that her voice sounded hoarse.

Jayden responded with an unintelligible string of syllables, then “ball,” then a definitive nod. With a shrug, he returned to gardening, drilling his small spade into the dirt and flicking the clods upward.

Mr. Son handed Meg his own spade, then set about showing Jayden, probably for the five thousandth time, how to dig the appropriate-sized hole. “Like so,” he said.

Meg dug a neat row of her own holes. Mr. Son freed the plants he'd raised himself in his greenhouse and handed them to her one at a time. She gently loosened their roots, placed them in the ground, and patted dirt around them.

Mr. Son didn't say much. Never had. But he was secure and reliable. He'd always believed her to be capable. So when she was near him, she believed herself to be capable, too, even if just for a moment. She dearly needed to feel capable today. Bo—

Don't think about him, Meg
. She concentrated on the physical sensations of planting and nothing else.

“You're going to do a good thing,” Mr. Son said. “Having parents come, kids come to Whispering Creek.”

“I'm glad you like the idea.”

“I'm proud of you.” It was the most lavish praise he'd ever given her. “Now get back to work. We have many plants here.”

She did as he asked, but his unexpected kindness had slipped past her sorry defenses and nicked her heart. The floodgates crashed down, and she started to cry. Oh dear. She might never stop.

She peeked at Mr. Son, who, she could tell, had already noticed the tears running down her face. He didn't censor or coddle, however.

She went on planting. Bo—

Don't think about him.
But the more Meg tried to wrestle
him out of her head, the more clearly she could see him at the paddock rail, looking sideways at her with a slow smile.

How could you have done this to me, Bo?
She gripped the spade with all the strength she had, tears streaming, rage and misery tangling within her.
I love you. I LOVE YOU! I'd have gladly given you anything in the world you wanted. I'd have shared everything I own with you. If only you'd loved me back
—

A whimper reached her ears. She jerked her gaze to the side and saw Jayden watching her. His eyes had rounded at the sight of her grief, and his little bottom lip trembled.

Mr. Son clapped his hands to distract Jayden. “Like so, young man. See here.” He helped Jayden plant a flower. “Like so.”

Meg turned away from Jayden, sniffed, and wiped at her eyes with her forearms, because her hands were caked with dirt. She couldn't bear to scare or upset Jayden. What had she been thinking? She should have known not to cry in front of a child.

She registered a soft touch on her shoulder and looked up to see Jayden standing next to her. He regarded her with his somber eyes. Then gently, he patted her cheek, bent forward, and rested his head against her collarbone. She hugged him to her.

This small boy, God bless him, hadn't been born into an easy situation or to a worthy earthly father. He'd experienced his own share of worry and upheaval, and so, somewhere within him, he already had a capacity for empathy.

Oh, my dear Lord
. She took a shuddering breath and kissed the top of Jayden's head. She'd thought all this time that she was the one helping and blessing him and Amber.

She realized, her arms filled with the weight of him, that God's plan had been the opposite all along. Amber and Jayden were the ones helping
her
, blessing
her
. She'd heard God ask her to support them, and Meg had thought that He'd wanted
something from her, for their sake. But it turned out that in asking her to care for them, He'd wanted something for her instead: the soul-deep assurance that came from following His will, even when everything else had been stripped away.

Jayden held on tight. He smelled like baby soap and clean clothes and gardening.

You are loved
, God assured her through that embrace.
You are loved
.

I'm so thankful for you
,
God,
Meg prayed.
No matter what, you are still on your throne. You're good, and mighty, and full of grace. My heart's broken, my body's wrung out, my mind's drained, but I have you and no one can take you away from me. I'm grateful for my blessings. I worship you with my whole heart. I trust you with my life.

When upset, Bo typically threw himself into his job.

Since Meg and his job had both been jerked away from him at the same time, he didn't have that option. The only two options that remained? Go crazy or find something to do.

He'd seriously considered going crazy. But in the end, he hadn't been able to take the inactivity of it. So, driven by his restless body, he'd started working on his land. Every backbreaking, exhausting thing he'd dreamt up, he'd done. He trimmed trees, then cut and stacked the wood. Built the shed he'd always intended to build for his lawn equipment. Repaired the roof of the carport. Cleaned gutters. Weeded and pruned. Hauled away rotting logs.

For two days during the daylight hours when he worked and during the nighttime hours when he searched the Internet for information on how hackers operated and the tactics used in
catching them, Meg filled his head. He racked his brain, trying to think of ways to prove his innocence to her, ways to convince her to give him another chance.

On Friday evening, he dragged himself indoors, so bleak and bone-tired that it took all the strength he had to stand upright in the shower. He let the spray pound his body until the hot water ran out. Then he pulled on a pair of jeans and eyed the bed, wondering if he could finally find sleep—

His cell phone rang.

He let the first ring go. But by the second ring, foolish hope had him picking up the phone and checking it, to see if it was Meg. It wasn't. Unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

“Bo, dear? How are you? It's Sadie Jo Greene.”

He'd never before received a call from Sadie Jo. He stilled in the middle of his bedroom, his upper back still damp.

“Bo?”

“Yes, Ms. Greene. I'm here.”

“It was so nice of you to take me out horseback riding the other day. I had a wonderful time. It had been years.” She went on to compliment the horses, the stables, and the employees.

He made the expected responses. Had Meg told her what had happened between the two of them?

“I was especially pleased to see Meg up on a horse,” she said. “Have you, by any chance, spoken with her in the last few days?”

“No, I haven't.”

“Well, I have. She seems sad to me, and I'm . . . I'm concerned about her. I keep asking her if she wants to talk about it, but she doesn't.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Meg and I like to go shopping together now and then. I
couldn't go today, because I'd promised to visit a friend at the convalescent home. But I suggested she go on her own because I thought it might lift her spirits. She didn't want to, but I eventually talked her into it.”

Bo waited, on edge.

“She's been at the mall for an hour or more. I just called her, and she didn't sound any better.” She made a sighing sound of regret. “Perhaps I shouldn't have sent her off alone like that.”

Worrying about Meg had always come naturally to Bo. He didn't need much of a reason. Sadie Jo's concern more than did the trick. Unease tightened in his gut.

“When I hung up with Meg,” Sadie Jo continued, “I got to thinking about you. I know the two of you are friends. Meg could probably use a friend right now.”

Meg definitely hadn't told Sadie Jo about what had happened between them. “I'll drive over there and check on her.”

“Oh, would you? Thank you. I'd so appreciate it. Maybe you can cheer her up.”

Not a chance. But he
could
check on Meg, without her ever having to see or talk to him. “Where is she?”

“The Neiman Marcus at Willow Bend Mall.”

“It'll take me twenty or thirty minutes to get there. Do you think she'll still be in the same store?”

“Oh yes. It's our favorite. We park in the Neiman Marcus parking garage right next to it and make our way through the store floor by floor.”

“I'm on my way.”

Meg had come to Neiman Marcus with honorable intentions.

Over the past several years, she and Sadie Jo had perfected
a “Neiman's on Twenty Dollars or Less” style of trip. They began on the bottom floor and went up from there, browsing and admiring. They took a break in the middle for a meal, coffee, or dessert at the NM Cafe. Occasionally they purchased a small gift here or the rare affordable item there.

Just such a visit had been her intention today when she'd let Sadie Jo talk her into this. But somewhere between Jewelry and Lady's Handbags, Meg had remembered that she was no longer on a budget. No, indeed.

She stopped to survey a Jimmy Choo tote bag. She could own it and any other item that caught her fancy.

Except that after the epiphanies she'd had over the past weeks about how her money was God's money, indulging in a million-dollar shopping spree would make her the biggest hypocrite alive. Not only that, but any pleasure would be fleeting, and she'd feel wretchedly guilty afterward.

Step away from the tote bag, Meg. Don't make any sudden movements. Just step away.

She turned herself in the direction of the escalator, held on to the strap of the purse she'd bought three years ago with one of her father's gift cards, and started walking.

Coming here had been a bad idea. She'd moved through the last few days—speaking, eating, bathing, reacting to the people around her—while thoughts like
I can't believe he deceived me
,
I miss him
,
It's over
,
I'm crushed, How could he?
had run through her consciousness like a train on a circular track. She was in the toilet emotionally, and women in emotional toilets should keep themselves far away from malls.

She made her way across the second floor, pushed through the exit doors, and took the outdoor walkway across to the parking garage. In contrast to the store's bright and noisy interior, the
world outside wrapped her in the semidarkness between sunset and full night.

As she walked deeper into the parking garage, a car eased past her, then disappeared up a ramp. She could see one couple walking around a far corner away from her, but no one else.

Unsettled by her aloneness, she picked up her pace and dug her keys out of her purse. Almost to her car. She'd get herself home and medicate with a bubble bath, a biography, and prayer—

“Hello, Meg.”

A chill of recognition raced down the back of her neck. The voice had come from right behind her, even though there'd been no one there a second ago. Her feet stumbled to a stop. She turned, and for the first time in five years, looked into the face of Stephen McIntyre. She remembered it all, like a fist to the stomach. The lines of his features. His neat blond hair. The businessman's clothes.