by Brenda Novak
“I agree. It’s better not to involve a stranger quite yet. There might come a time for that, but I’ll be able to help you much more.”
“No, you can’t help me, Micah. If you get involved, my father will turn on you, too. He might even go after your job. I don’t want to be responsible for that. I feel bad enough about...about letting you down before.”
He felt bad about that, too. He’d been honest with her when he told her it had screwed up his life. But he couldn’t blame her entirely. He wouldn’t have succumbed to the temptation Paige had put in front of him if he hadn’t been so hurt and angry, but he was still the one who’d let Paige climb into his bed and gotten her pregnant. Besides, he was a cop, and he knew Clara McBride’s disappearance should’ve received more police attention than it had. Sloane deserved to know that every effort had been made to find her mother. “I don’t see anyone else who’s both capable and willing.”
“Micah, no...”
“There’s a convenience store down one block,” he said. “Do you remember it?”
“The Circle 7? Of course.”
“Meet me in the alley behind it tomorrow afternoon—at one.”
“For what?”
“I’m going to pick you up there. I’d rather not be seen together. If Paige finds out we’ve had any contact, she’ll make life miserable for me where Trevor’s concerned—and I want to protect him above all else.”
“It’s not worth the risk. And it’s sad that she’d make your life difficult just because you’re helping me.”
“She won’t see it as help. She’ll see it as the ultimate betrayal.”
“Where will we go after we meet?”
“To my house. We’ll make a list of everyone you should talk to, and I’ll do what I can to track down anyone you might not be able to find on your own. I have access to databases you don’t.”
“Wait. You just told me not to go into any alleys, but you want me to meet you in one?”
He was fairly certain she was joking, but he didn’t laugh, didn’t want to let his guard down to that degree. He was going to do what he could to help her because no one else would. Anyone would want the answers she craved, so he felt some empathy there, but he wasn’t going to get his hopes up about anything else. “That’s different. I’ll be there waiting for you.”
When she hesitated, he added, “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course I trust you,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t I? Only my family hates me worse.”
He raised his eyebrows at her apparent sarcasm. “I don’t hate you. I hate what you did to me.”
“You’re obviously holding a grudge. So why are you offering to help me?”
“Because your father’s an asshole, and you’re so convinced he’s lying you have me wondering.”
He walked out of her motel room before he could say more. He figured it was best to leave the subject there, but he wanted to believe that helping her would mean she’d not only get her answers, she’d leave that much sooner. Then he, too, could put the past behind him and get on with rebuilding his life.
* * *
Sloane couldn’t concentrate after Micah left. She turned on the TV to create a distraction, hoping she’d at least be able to nod off and get a good night’s rest. She’d been under so much stress since she’d arrived in Millcreek. She needed a break, would start fresh tomorrow. But she couldn’t relax any more than she could concentrate. She kept thinking about meeting Micah in the alley behind the Circle 7 and going to his house. It was so nice of him to help her; it couldn’t hurt to have a cop on her side, but it wouldn’t be easy to spend time with him, either. There were too many memories. Given her situation, she felt she’d done the right thing by leaving, but regretted what it’d cost her.
Her phone began to ring. She grabbed it, assuming it was Micah telling her to forget about his offer to help. He’d be smart to stay away. She would only complicate his professional life if her father found out, his family life if Paige found out, and his love life if she wound up in his bed even though she would be leaving again, which she feared was a distinct possibility. The attraction she’d felt when she was only seventeen and eighteen hadn’t disappeared despite all the effort she’d put into subverting those feelings.
He had so many reasons to avoid her.
But it wasn’t her former boyfriend who was trying to reach her. It was her father. The number that showed up on her screen didn’t have a name attached; she’d deleted him from her contacts. But she recognized it. It was the same number he’d had before she left.
Her number was different, however. So the question was—who’d given it to him?
She shook her head in discouragement. Nothing in this town seemed beyond him. Did she fully understand what she was up against?
No wonder Micah was worried.
Tempted to let the call go to voice mail, she bit her bottom lip. She wasn’t ready to speak with her father. But she couldn’t let him know he intimidated her. He’d only grow bolder if he thought he had her cowed.
So she forced herself to hit Talk. “Hello?”
“Heard you were in town,” he said without preamble.
He sounded the same, as confident and in control as ever. “Who told you?”
“Everyone. You don’t have any friends in this town who are more loyal to you than they are to me, Sloane.”
Immediately, she thought of Micah and began to worry about what could happen if her father perceived him as taking the wrong side. “Is that what you were trying to prove when you convinced the Prinleys and whoever owns the River Bottoms house to turn me down?”
“I was merely trying to save you a lot of time and trouble. Not to mention grief.”
“And I should interpret that how, exactly?”
“I’ve told you what happened the night your mother went missing. At this point, I’m not sure why there’s any question.”
Filled with nervous energy, she climbed off the bed and began to pace in the short amount of space available to her. “Just because you said it doesn’t make it true.”
Her words were met with stony silence. She squeezed her eyes closed, wishing she’d held back a little. Her father had never taken kindly to being challenged. Yet he felt free to say whatever he thought, no matter how critical or autocratic, and he expected others to tolerate it. She’d always wondered why he felt he could play by a different set of rules than the rest of the world, so she supposed she was reacting to that unfairness.
“Are you trying to start a fight between us, Sloane?” he asked at length. If there’d been any warmth in his voice at the beginning of the call, it was gone now.
No. She didn’t want to fight with him. She’d seen him smash more worthy opponents. Whatever he did, he made sure he came out on top. But that was just it. Someone had to oppose him, keep him honest, make him more sensitive to the needs and wants of others. “I don’t have any choice,” she admitted.
“That’s not true,” he said. “You have all kinds of choices. You had a nice life in New York, have made something of yourself with that pretty face.”
She had no doubt that was an intentional slight. “As opposed to you, since you’ve built your fortune with your mind and talents?”
“Something like that. You should be happy with what you have and not press your luck.”
Her stomach knotted as she struggled to decide how to respond. “That sounds like a threat, Dad.”
“Do you think I’ll let you ruin my reputation? Smear my name? Get people whispering about me and saying the most terrible things possible—that I might’ve killed my own wife? If you expect me to sit back and take that just because you’re my daughter, you’re going to have a rude awakening.”
How dare you ever question me! That was what he was really saying. He hadn’t changed. If anything, he’d grown more egotistical. “I�
�m not out to hurt you, Dad,” she said. “I just need to know more about Mom and the night she went missing. You’ve never really said what happened.”
“She left, Sloane. What more do you need me to say? She walked out on all of us!”
“On foot.”
“Yes.”
“And you went looking for her.”
“Once I calmed down.”
“But you found no trace of her.”
“None whatsoever, and I’ve never heard from her since.”
She dug at the cuticles of her left hand as she pivoted to head back across the room. “That doesn’t strike you as odd?”
“Of course it does! Like you, I think she’s probably dead. Otherwise, she would’ve been after me for money at some point. But I didn’t kill her! I don’t know how much clearer I can state that.”
Sloane wanted so desperately to believe him, but her memories of that night and what Vickie had told her forced her to continue pressing him. “What were you driving when you went out looking for her?”
The line went quiet; she assumed he was taken aback by this question.
“Dad? Did you hear me?” Sloane asked.
He didn’t like that she wasn’t accepting him at his word. She could tell. When the answer finally came, he spoke more tentatively. “My truck. Why?”
“Is there any reason you were pulling the boat?”
This time he didn’t respond. He hung up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
After her call with her father last night, Sloane had tried to cancel with Micah. She’d texted him to say that he needed to stay out of it, that he should ignore her presence in town and go on about his business as if he’d never known her, but he’d refused. He’d said he’d pick her up at the motel if she wouldn’t meet him in the alley, and she couldn’t let him do that for fear someone would see them together and report it to her father, Paige or both.
“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” she grumbled above the country music he had playing on the radio as she climbed into his truck behind the Circle 7. A fairly new Ford F-350 with a double axle, it was obviously an expensive vehicle, and yet it had already seen some use. She imagined he’d carried hay, equipment and other things with it while working for his parents at their farm and liked that it was a practical car for him and not something to show off, like so many of the rich men she’d dated in New York who cared more about their flashy Ferraris or Lamborghinis than they did the people in their lives. Granted, Micah’s truck wasn’t quite that costly, but his attitude—that possessions were meant to be used and not worshipped—appealed to her.
He turned down the music. “The sooner you figure out what happened, the sooner you can get out of Dodge.”
She shot him a glance. “So you’re doing this to get rid of me?”
“If you’re leaving, anyway, sooner is probably better for both of us, right?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She kept her gaze on the buildings they passed—the bank, the post office, the gas station and the thrift store—while he drove so she couldn’t admire him. She’d seen a lot of good-looking men in her line of work. Some were downright beautiful. But none were as ruggedly handsome as Micah.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“I have a rental a few blocks from here.”
Because he’d given the house to Paige, who’d demanded it. “How many bedrooms does it have?”
When he came to the stoplight, he turned his full attention on her. “Why do you want to know?”
She’d just been making small talk, trying to ease the awkwardness, but belatedly realized that sounded as though she was looking for a place to stay. “Just wondering,” she muttered and rummaged through her purse to get her phone, which had dinged.
Paige had texted her: Hey, come by the store today. I’d love to get your opinion on my new display.
She hesitated, trying to decide what to text back. She didn’t know how long she’d be with Micah, didn’t want a commitment to Paige looming over her right when she was about to start working on the details surrounding her mother’s disappearance.
“What is it?” The light turned green, so Micah gave the truck some gas.
“Paige is asking me to come by the store.”
He scowled. “When?”
“Later today, I guess.”
“Are you going to go?”
“No, I’m going to put her off until tomorrow. I’d like to make as much progress as possible while you’re off and have the time.”
He didn’t say anything, so she told Paige she’d stop by if she could but it would most likely be in the morning.
“My father called me last night,” she announced as she put her phone away.
Micah turned the radio even lower. “What’d he say?”
“He thinks my mom is dead.”
“He told you that?”
“He told me she must be, or she would’ve come back to him for money at some point.”
“He believes money is everything.”
“True.”
“Did he mention whether he killed her?” he asked wryly.
“He’s suggesting she met with foul play after she left the house. But he doesn’t seem to be too concerned with what happened.”
“He’s not even a little curious?”
“If he was, he would’ve looked into it long before now. He wants me to let it go. He made that clear.”
There was a slight pause before Micah asked, “How’d it feel to talk to him?”
A sudden upwelling of emotion took Sloane off guard. Her father had cut her deeply when he showed no concern for her or her welfare—only for how her return might affect him. But that wasn’t what brought tears to her eyes. This was the type of question the old Micah would’ve asked—the Micah who’d cared about how she was doing and what she was feeling.
Averting her face, she cleared her throat to give herself a split second to overcome her reaction. “It was fine.” There was no point in telling him the truth. What good would it do to admit that hearing her father’s voice had been brutal? That she’d thought she was prepared for that moment, but his anger and indifference had felt like a sledgehammer to her heart?
Micah was already doing more than he should to help her. She had no right to cry on his shoulder. If she didn’t want him to be targeted by her father, she couldn’t elicit or depend on his sympathy. That would only tempt him to get more involved, which wasn’t safe. “I can handle my father.”
He gave her a skeptical look as they pulled into the drive of a one-story beige stucco house with a small patch of grass in the front and an empty dog run on the side. “Do not underestimate him,” he said, tilting his head for emphasis.
The warning made her uneasy. Not for the first time, she wondered if she should have kept running from the past instead of returning.
No, she might’ve procrastinated too long already. After so many years, how would she find anything definitive, anything that proved her father was or wasn’t complicit in her mother’s disappearance?
“Do you have a dog?” she asked.
He seemed surprised by the question. “No. I barely live here.”
She climbed out of the truck as he came around front, swinging his keys on his index finger. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “You don’t stay here?”
“I stay here. I just haven’t had time to unpack.”
After following him to the door, she stood in the entryway, gaping at the sparse furnishings and cardboard boxes. Micah had only bothered with the absolute necessities. All the rest of what he owned sat in boxes along the periphery. He was even using a box as a coffee table. She could see a plate and a cup on it, between the TV and a worn leather couch. “I think you could use a dog.”
“Why?”
“It’d give you a good reaso
n to come home at night.”
“Like I said, I’ve only been here a month.”
“It wouldn’t take more than a day or two to get rid of all these boxes.”
“I’ll get around to it,” he said and stacked the dishes he’d left on the kitchen table in the sink so they’d have some room to work. “At least I’ve got a place to stay. You’re the one at the motel.”
“Ouch!” she said.
He smiled as though he enjoyed needling her, so she rolled her eyes. “This might be a place to stay, but you can’t really live like this.”
“Obviously you’ve never been through a divorce, or you’d know you can live through a lot worse. I’m lucky I had the money to get a couch and a TV.” He scratched his neck. “I was careful to make sure they weren’t too appealing, though. Otherwise, Paige would’ve asked for those, too.”
“Yeah. I’d like to say something about the way you divided up your property, but it’s none of my business, so...”
He shot her a glance. “So you won’t, and that’s a good thing. You have no idea how much you will sacrifice to get out of something until you’re in that position.”
“I understand that, to a point. Still, there’s fair and then there’s getting taken to the cleaners.”
“I don’t care about the money or the property. Trevor is the only thing that matters to me.”
But Trevor wasn’t the only thing that mattered to Paige. She was obviously looking out for herself. So who was looking out for Micah?
Sloane opened her mouth to say that—only to close it again. She’d been right in the first place. What’d happened in his divorce wasn’t any of her concern.
She took her laptop out of her leather bag and put it on one corner of the table. His computer was open at the other end, as if he’d worked through breakfast.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.
She arched her eyebrows. “Do you have a clean glass? God forbid you might have to unpack another box.”
