Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1)

by Jessica Lynch

  Brushing her hair out of her face, Tess let out a soft, shaky breath. It didn’t matter if she felt okay. She had to let everyone else think that she was.

  If she was an outsider, these people were simply strangers. Enough of them had seen her fall to pieces these last few days, and now she had to go and start crying in front of the sheriff.

  She nodded, her throat raw. “I’m just ducky.”

  Wilhelmina gave her a quick squeeze. “C’mon, sug. No reason for you to keep hanging around here. Let’s get you back to Ophelia.”

  The groan was already slipping out before she had the chance to swallow it. How was she supposed to go back? Deputy Collins had picked her up and driven her over to the station house at Sheriff De Angelis’s request. It wasn’t like she could use someone’s radio and ask him to drive her back. If he wasn’t on patrol, he was off duty, and nowhere in his job title did it say chauffeur.

  Besides, she was sick and tired of having to rely on someone else for a ride. She hadn’t had a sip to drink since that night at Thirsty’s, nor did she have any desire to return to the bar. There was no good reason why she couldn't drive.

  Last night, before she took one of the pills that knocked her out, Tess thought about the strange situation with her missing car. No matter who she tried to ask, no one knew anything about it—or, in the case of Mason, he constantly blew right past it, as if he didn’t want to answer. She was beginning to suspect that they were purposely keeping her car from her because she was a flight risk.

  It wasn’t right, though. And it wasn’t fair. She didn’t think that they should be able to keep her car impounded without at least telling her why.

  It struck her then that she’d never tried to ask Willie. Though she was as much a deputy as Mason and Collins, she told Tess in conversation that she was the one responsible for most of the paperwork. If anyone knew what happened to Tess’s car, it would have to be her.

  Trotting along after the older woman like a puppy, she said softly, “Um, Wilhelmina—”

  “Just Willie, sugar. I know that name of mine is a mouthful, so just Willie is fine.”

  “Willie,” Tess conceded. Wilhelmina might have told her the same thing right after she found Jack and Mason shepherded her back to the station house. It was another fuzzy memory lost to the haze. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my car, would you?”

  “Car?” Pencil-thin eyebrows winged up over the wide swath of blue eyeshadow. “What do you mean?”

  “My car. Well, my… my husband’s, I guess. We drove into Hamlet in it. I could drive myself back to Ophelia if someone would tell me where to find it.”

  Either she was an amazing actress or Willie really didn’t know the answer to her question. She shook her head, her glasses slipping down her nose. “I don’t have half a clue, sugar, sorry. Mason said he was gonna take care of it himself but, shoot, I’ve got no idea what that boy did with your vehicle.” Her hand slid to her belt, long red fingernails tapping the plastic side of her radio. “You want me to give him a buzz? I can find out for you.”

  Tess could still see the fury in his gaze, hear the demand in his voice. She quickly shook her head. “No. No, that’s okay. He might be busy.”

  And if she didn’t bother him, he might forget all about his plans to come see her tonight.

  Willie studied her. Tess couldn’t help but quail under the weight of her curious stare. What was she thinking? Did she hear something in Tess’s quick refusal? Or did she know exactly why Tess was so hesitant to ask anything of the other deputy?

  She didn’t know. She couldn’t ask. But when Willie gave her upper arm another reassuring squeeze, she let out the breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

  “Let me get my purse.”

  “Your purse?”

  “It’s got my keys. You heard the sheriff, she said for you to ask me if you need anything. Well, you need a ride. I’ll take you back myself.”

  Tess blinked in surprise. “I— you don’t have to do that.”

  “Hamlet is small, sugar, but it’s still a hike out to Maria’s fancy little place. Plus the temperature’s dropping. We might be in for another wicked storm like the other night. You don’t want to be caught out in that.”

  No, she thought, remembering what happened the last time it rained. She did not.

  21

  Tess continued to hope that Mason wouldn't show. Fingers crossed, toes crossed, the whole deal. Her dreaded meeting with Sheriff De Angelis left her drained, both emotionally and physically. Her eyes ached. Her whole body was tense. All she wanted to do was take some of the doctor’s sleeping pills and knock out for another week.

  Maybe, by then, all of this would finally be over.

  Yeah, right. She highly doubted that. It wouldn’t be over until she managed to escape Hamlet. And everything that she knew about Mason—which, admittedly, wasn't much—told her that he would be there at seven o’clock on the dot. So it would be a miracle if she at least managed to escape the earnest deputy.

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, she prayed. Now, Tess didn't quite wish a police emergency on anyone. Didn’t mean that she would turn her nose up at a fender bender or a quick smash and grab. A bar fight at Thirsty’s, even. Just something small and harmless to put Deputy Walsh back on patrol.

  The evening sped by. At six o’clock, she gave up hope. Mason would be there within the hour and, as much as she wanted to pull her blanket up over her head and hide, she decided she might as well get this over with.

  Because this trip was designed to be a second honeymoon for her and Jack, Tess had conveniently packed a few outfits that could be used for a date night. After she showered and dried her hair, she searched through the remaining clothes in her dresser drawer.

  It wasn’t easy.

  Anything fancy made it seem like she was trying too hard, or that she was reading as much into this meal as Mason apparently was. She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. In the end, she put on a pair of jeans, an off-the-shoulder top and heels. Casual but not sloppy. It would have to do.

  She made sure to tell Maria at breakfast that morning that she would be missing dinner, both because she wasn’t sure she’d make it back by the nine o’clock curfew and because she felt bad about leaving the other woman alone again. She’d come to look forward to the hour or so they spent eating and simply talking in the serenity of Ophelia’s kitchen.

  And because Maria automatically assumed she was seeing her brother, Tess had felt compelled to admit the truth about agreeing to go out with Mason. Maria didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The look she gave Tess was enough.

  Tess didn't blame her. After the way Mason treated her yesterday, spending time alone with him was the last thing she wanted to do. She just couldn’t see any way out of it.

  At ten to seven, she decided that if she continued to pace the length of the Lavender Room, there was a good chance she’d jump out of the window again. Shaking off her anxiousness, she opened the door and peeked down the hall, glancing toward Maria’s room.

  The door was closed. Either Maria had gone out for the evening herself or she didn’t want to be disturbed.

  Lucky.

  So that she didn’t have to worry about Mason bothering Maria when he rang the doorbell, Tess decided to wait for him in the foyer. She thought about bringing her purse, decided against it, then grabbed her coat and another outdated magazine to peruse while she waited.

  It wasn't long. The clock had just finished chiming the hour when the chirpy doorbell echoed through the room.

  Seven o’clock on the nose. She called it.

  With a nervous sigh, Tess set her magazine down on the couch, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her blouse, then shimmied on her coat. Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she got up and answered the door.

  She had to admit, Mason Walsh sure cleaned up well. He had such an appealing boy next door sort of thing going on. He
didn’t bother with a jacket, instead wearing a soft caramel-colored sweater over a cream button-down shirt and a pair of pressed khakis. In the evening breeze, she caught a hint of his aftershave. Dark and spicy, she had to admit she liked it.

  “You look nice,” she told him honestly.

  “And you look beautiful.”

  Tess caught the way his eyes looked her up and down, obviously pleased with what he was seeing. Remembering yesterday, she immediately went on her guard. Mason might be pleased with her now—how long would that last? She was poised, ready for another of his mood swings.

  He gestured for her to step out onto the porch. But, before he could help her down the steps, Mason steered her toward the picturesque swing that took up one side of Ophelia’s porch.

  “Sit with me?” he asked.

  As if she could say no.

  It swayed a little as she climbed up on the wooden seat. Mason waited until she was situated before he sat beside her. He closed the gap between them so neatly, she didn’t think she could slip a sheet of paper between their thighs.

  “So,” he began, one heel of his boot against the porch as he rocked them softly, “Willie told me that you were down at the station today. I wanted to take a second and talk to you about that.”

  It seemed as if the ever faithful Hamlet gossip mill had kept him up to date on her trip downtown to be interrogated again. Like she needed the reminder.

  “It was just some more questions. I’m used to it by now.”

  He waved her obvious brush-off away with his hand. “Not that. She told me that there was something you were going to ask me but you didn’t want her to buzz me in case I was busy. Before we went out, I wanted to remind you that there’s nothing you can do that would bother me. If there’s anything you need, I want you to feel like you can always come to me.”

  “I need that sheriff to stop treating me like a criminal.”

  It popped out before she even realized she was going to say it. And there was no way she could take it back.

  Mason pressed his heel down, stopping the swing in its motion. He stood up, framing her body as he rested one arm along the side closest to him. “Don’t let my boss upset you. This is new for all of us. We’re trying our best.”

  She stayed seated. The rocking of the swing after Mason got up was strangely calming. Tess folded her hands in her lap, staring at her nails. “I know, and I appreciate how hard you’re all working on my husband’s case. But she’s still convinced I had something to do with Jack’s death. Nothing I can do to make her see reason. I've given up on trying.”

  She pointedly didn’t mention how Sheriff De Angelis was also convinced she had a hand in Lucas getting shot. Tess wasn’t completely naive. If Mason knew about the gunshots being fired outside of the doctor’s office, she was sure she would’ve heard from him far before tonight. The sheriff must have kept the investigation into the shooting from her deputy. She could only assume why.

  Something told her that turnabout was fair play. Mason kept the night with the note a secret. Now it was the sheriff’s turn.

  Tess didn't say a word about it at all.

  Mason’s voice was a rumble deep in his chest. “That’s impossible!” He sounded angry on her behalf.

  Oh, yeah. That would be exactly why.

  Still, she huffed. “It’s nice that someone believes me.”

  “I've always believed you.”

  “You'd have to. You're the one who stuck me in the holding cell. You know I was there.”

  “No, it's not just that. I trust you, Tess. And, okay, I know we just met and, yes, the circumstances are less than ideal, but I want you to trust me, too.”

  There was something in his earnestness that caught her attention. She’d been picking at her thumbnail, unwilling to look him in the eye in case she saw something there that she couldn’t reciprocate. But she heard it instead. And, as much as she wanted to pretend this wasn’t happening, it was.

  Her stomach sank. Glancing up, there was no hiding the utter adoration splayed across his face as he focused on her.

  Why, she wondered. What the hell had she done to make this man think so highly of her and want her so badly when they were strangers a week ago? And what the hell could she do to stop it?

  She gentled her tone. “Mason, you’re very sweet, but—”

  But? He didn’t want to hear anything that came after a but.

  Before she could finish her thought, Mason reached down and placed his hands on her cheeks. The move surprised her into silence. Tilting her head back as he leaned over her, Mason pressed his lips to hers. Tess gasped and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her with all the passion he felt since they first met but had kept trapped inside for fear of scaring her off too soon.

  She didn’t struggle. If she had, he would’ve immediately backed off. But neither did she kiss him back. He nipped at her bottom lip, desperately trying to get her to respond. After a moment that seemed like forever, he felt the hesitance of her response. She was nowhere near as enthusiastic as he was. Mason didn’t care. Tess was melting into his caress at last.

  He’d won. The deputy, not the meddling doctor. After fighting it these last few days, she was finally admitting that she felt the same pull toward him that he'd recognized that first night in Thirsty’s.

  Kismet. Fate. She was meant to find her way to Hamlet, this outsider with the golden eyes and a lonely heart. Sullivan hadn't deserved her and now that he was gone, Mason wasn't going to let this chance slip away from him. Tess was his.

  At least, that’s what he thought. When Tess wiggled up against the back of the porch swing, he followed her until he was kneeling beside her again. Mason wanted to hold onto her forever, until he could be sure he had her heart and everything that went with it, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not yet. Didn't stop him from trying, though. Only when he felt her palms push frantically against his chest did he finally let her go.

  Her pale cheeks turned crimson, burning up with color. Scrambling out of the porch swing, she moved until she was a few feet away from him. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Yes,” he said. His voice husky, his gaze narrowed on her shiny, plump lips. He did that to her. He’d give everything he had to do it again. “You don’t have to fight it, Tess. Your husband’s gone now. I’m here for you. You can give in.”

  She ran her pointer finger along the edge of her bottom lip. “It’s not that easy.”

  It could be, Mason thought.

  “You don't believe me. I know it's crazy when we only just met, but I've always thought I would know when I found the one I wanted to be with.”

  “You can't mean—”

  “It's you. I know it is. Don't you feel it too?”

  Tess couldn't answer him. Regardless of what she did or did not feel, everything was happening too fast. A week ago, she was getting ready to go on a second honeymoon with her husband. Mason was right about one thing. Jack was gone. But Tess wasn't looking for a replacement. She was just looking for a way to get back to her normal life.

  “You want me to prove myself,” he announced after a moment’s silence.

  “What? Mason, no.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “I can do that. I’ll show you that I mean what I say. You think the sheriff is going to pin your husband’s murder on you?”

  “She’s just doing her job,” Tess said. She grabbed his sleeve, trying to force him into listening to her. “I’m being oversensitive. Come on. Forget it. Let’s go get dinner.”

  “You won’t enjoy yourself. You’re such a good girl—Sheriff’s got no reason to think you could be behind any of this. I’ve told her a hundred times this last week. She's as stubborn as an ass. I’ll have to try again.”

  Tess gave another fruitless tug. “You don’t have to do that, Mason.”

  His touch was careful, like she was made from spun glass. He definitely hadn’t forgotten yesterday’s angry grab.

 
; Slowly, easy, he loosened her fingers from the holes she was worrying into the sleeve of his sweater. “I do. This is something I can do for you. Let me take care of it, Tess. As God as my witness, I’ll do whatever I have to do to make her see the truth. And maybe then you’ll see me.”

  “Stay,” she begged. “I don't want anything to happ—”

  “It won't. Trust me. The sheriff will listen. I'll take care of everything. When I'm done, I'll come back for you.”

  She stood there, stunned, as he ducked his head, managing to steal her lips one more time before he pulled her to his chest and embraced her tightly. It only lasted the length of a heartbeat and then he let her go. She caught the lines bracketing his mouth, determination etched in every furrow, as his eyes bored down on her, like he was memorizing every single freckle and beauty mark she had.

  And then he was gone.

  Tess chased after his cruiser. She didn’t know why. It was a gut reaction. Something told her it was a really bad idea to let Mason confront his boss after she accidentally riled him up.

  But Mason, it seemed, had a lead foot. He was already turning the corner by the time she reached the first street lamp, hobbled by her heels. She grabbed the lamp post, hunched over as she struggled to catch her breath. No way she was going to stop him if he was in his cruiser and she only had her feet.

  God damn it, why didn't she have her car back yet?

  It would be pointless to keep running after him. She kicked off her heels, stopping only to swoop them up again before racing back to Ophelia. Her head thudding in time to the thumps of her bare feet against the porch steps, she tore into the foyer and ran right to her room.

  Her purse was tucked neatly on the desk in the corner. Grabbing it, she dumped it on the bed, pawing through it until she found her phone. A second later, she threw it back on the bed.

  The screen was black. Her cell was dead. Not that it mattered. She’d forgotten that there wasn’t any service, or even a phone number that she could call. It had been another instinctual reaction to go right for her phone, but it was worthless in Hamlet. She needed one of those radios—