The Secret She Keeps EPB

by HelenKay Dimon

  “I read it.”

  “That’s written somewhere?”

  “I studied up on you.”

  He took a drink of water because his brain picked that moment to shut off. He had no idea how to respond without running into trouble and took a few stalling seconds to figure it out. “Because?”

  She shrugged. “A smart woman checks on a man before they have dinner.”

  “Okay . . . yeah, that makes sense.” It did. She should investigate him. Ask around. Carry mace. Whatever she needed to do to stay safe. She was fine with him, but she had no way of knowing that and shouldn’t take his word for it.

  “So?”

  He wasn’t exactly sure what question he was supposed to be answering. He guessed the work one. “I’ve spent the last few years building up the family business.”

  Some of the wariness around her eyes faded. “To keep yourself busy.”

  He debated going around this subject. If she studied up on him, she knew the horror his family had lived through. Hell, if she’d read a paper or watched one of the two true crime shows that had highlighted his family’s pain, she knew. “We all have our coping mechanisms.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The stress seemed to leave her shoulders as she leaned forward. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I can’t imag—”

  “You can’t.” The response shot out of him. He winced, but it was too late. While the words floated out there, he exhaled, trying to find the right way to explain, then move them quickly to another topic. Any other topic. “Look, I didn’t—”

  “No, you’re right.” She slid her hand onto the table. Her fingers traced over the spoon, then the base of the knife. “It’s not my business. Not my life. I couldn’t possibly understand. No one else could.”

  “Basically.”

  “Sudden, tragic, shocking loss stays with you. The questions. What you could have done. If you’d been faster. If you’d seen the truth earlier. It eats at you.”

  The churning came back, that anxious dropping feeling that repeated in his stomach. He’d been fighting it for years, pushing it away and burying it under work and concern for his parents. But as she spoke, with each word, tamping it down grew harder.

  “Yes.” His agreement came out as a strangled whisper. He knew she heard him when she nodded.

  “Your salads.”

  The comment didn’t register until the waitress set down the plate of greens in front of him. Like last time, she stayed only long enough to take care of business, refill the water glasses, and go.

  “I’ve debated the right protocol here. Should I pretend I don’t know what happened to your sister?” Maddie asked while she moved the croutons around with her fork.

  “No.” He hated that. He also hated the words of comfort. Really there was no right way or good way to approach him on this subject. The man who killed his sister killed a piece of every family member. Stole their sense of normal, forever tilting it.

  “I’m assuming you worked yourself silly to avoid dealing with her death and are now trying to recuperate.” She ended the thought by taking a bite of the salad.

  “I dealt with her murder,” he said, noticing that she swallowed hard enough for him to see her throat move. “What?”

  “Really?”

  Before he could answer, a visitor popped up next to Connor. The intrusion cut off the uncomfortable topic, and he appreciated that. The older man stood there in a flannel shirt and down vest, both in shades of brown. Connor hadn’t met the older man yet and tried to pin down his age. It proved impossible despite the snowy white hair and slight hint of a bend in his shoulders. He could be anywhere from sixty up.

  He nodded his chin at Connor. “Are you Hansen’s brother?”

  “His name is Connor,” Maddie said as she lowered her fork to the side of her plate and made the informal introductions. “This is Paul.”

  “Hi, Paul.” Connor assumed the other man would leave after the brisk handshake but that didn’t happen.

  “My back steps need some work.”

  Not the usual greeting and not one Connor could maneuver through without some assistance. His gaze traveled from Paul to Maddie and back again. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Paul shoved his hands in his vest pockets. “It started as a squeak but now the board gives when I step on it. Could crack at any time.”

  Connor peeked around the man’s slim build to take a quick look at the rest of the dining room. He couldn’t be the only one who thought this was odd, but the lack of response from the other diners suggested he might be. “Okay.”

  “Between the step and loose railing . . .” Paul demonstrated . . . something . . . with his hands before giving up and shrugging. “Well, you get it.”

  He really didn’t. “Do I?”

  “Paul, I’m not sure—”

  Paul waved off Maddie’s comment and kept his gaze locked on Connor. “You’re handy like your brother, right?”

  He and Hansen ran and were part-owners, along with their parents, of a lucrative design firm back in Washington, D.C. They handled engineering, building design, and construction. Multimillion-dollar contracts. He supervised crews and job sites. Won awards and was responsible for more than a hundred employees. People tended to think of him as a desk guy, the one behind the scenes, making sure every deadline and regulation was met, but yeah. “Related, yes. Handy? Only sort of.”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t like the tone or how long it took Connor to answer. “What does that mean?”

  Fair question. “What kind of work are we talking about?”

  “Come over tomorrow and take a look. You can work while I make some coffee.”

  Connor thought he’d be giving more of a diagnosis of what needed to be done than doing it. He didn’t have so much as a hammer with him on Whitaker. “I’m not actually a handyman.”

  Paul made a strangled sound. “What are you?”

  “An engineer.”

  “There you go.” Paul snorted. “They build stuff, right?”

  “Paul.” Maddie’s tone sounded like a warning.

  Which he ignored. “Bah, he’s fine. Young enough and he doesn’t have that useless look like some do.”

  Connor was pretty sure that was a compliment, but who could tell? “Thanks?”

  “I’m up by five.”

  He couldn’t possibly mean that . . . “In the morning?”

  “There’s no need to waste the day.” Paul nodded. “I’ll give you a break and see you at six.”

  “Wait . . .” But Connor was talking to air and looking at Maddie’s amused expression. “What just happened?”

  Maddie reached over to the bread basket and grabbed a roll. “I think you agreed to fix his steps and railing.”

  “Did I use any of those words?”

  A smile lit up her face. “You didn’t have to. I think it was assumed before the conversation even started.”

  He was half tempted to agree to get up at five for this ridiculous back-steps adventure if it meant he got to see that unguarded look of pure joy in her face again. “I’m not going to let him pay me for work I’m not really qualified to do.”

  “Oh, I doubt he plans to pay you.”

  Words stuttered to a halt in Connor’s brain. It took another few seconds for the cells to fire up again. “Free labor I’m not qualified to perform, and at sunrise. Great.”

  “Consider it being neighborly.”

  “This is Hansen’s fault.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  A thought hit Connor. “You’re a recluse. How do you know everyone?”

  “First, stop throwing that word around. I’m careful, not a live-off-the-grid type who shoots people who step on her lawn.”

  “That’s an interesting distinction.”

  She handed the bread basket to him. “Second, Paul is on the Whitaker Board, which is a sort of demented island council—you don’t want to know—and from time to ti
me, I get called in to handle some work for the board, like writing the meeting minutes.”

  “My brother forgot to fill me in on all of this, including how I’d get roped into free labor for strangers.”

  Her smile only widened. “While you’re at it, I have a kitchen cabinet that needs some work.”

  “I bet you do.” But he couldn’t be mad. Helping out was one way to meet people. Helping her guaranteed spending more time with her. “We’ll see how dinner goes first.”

  “You’re paying.” She toasted him with her water glass.

  “Of course I am.” When she glanced at him over the rim of her glass, he explained. “I was raised in a family where people dive for the check as soon as it hits the table. I’d say it’s cultural, like an Asian thing, but my dad—who is very white—partakes in the tradition.”

  She slowly lowered the glass. “So, if I tried to pay?”

  “Amateur move. They would mow you down to get to the bill first.”

  “That’s endearing.”

  He found it exhausting. Add in cousins and aunts and uncles and you had forty people body slamming each other for the check. It could get rough. But he was the expert, which meant he planned to pay. “It’s a game. And you can’t win it.”

  She made a humming sound. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “We can have dinner ten times and I will win every time.”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “That’s a lot of nondates.”

  Right, because they weren’t dating. Neither of them wanted that. “But I don’t hear you saying no.”

  “I don’t like to lose.”

  This he could handle. A healthy rivalry that ended with lemon chicken. “But you will.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 9

  The rain stopped its on and off spurts during the two hours in which they ate and drank coffee. After a bumpy start, the conversation flowed. She avoided talking about his sister and what she suspected was a severe case of unresolved grief on his part, and really avoided any talk about her life. They stuck to Whitaker gossip and landmarks around the island, places he should see and the ones he should avoid.

  Connor proved to be charming and kind of adorable whenever she joked about his early morning handyman date with Paul. The whole idea of it made her smile. He could have said no or made a scene with the older man, but he hadn’t. He accepted Paul’s order to be at his house and took the whole muddled mess in stride.

  She found that way more attractive than she wanted to admit.

  After they finished eating and walked through the dining room while everyone gawked and more than one pointed, Maddie debated taking advantage of the break in the weather and walking home. The mix of air and quiet sounded good until she remembered the newest threatening note. So when Connor made it clear he’d abandon his car and join her on the walk, she agreed to a ride. Now they walked the last few steps up to her front porch.

  The air carried the scent of pine and wet grass. Water splashed as she tapped her boots in the puddles on the rough stone drive leading up to her house. She could walk around them, but why?

  “You could have dropped me off,” she said without looking at him.

  “Just slowed down enough for you to jump out the window?”

  She smiled in the darkness, comforted that he couldn’t see her do it. “You know what I mean. I’m guessing this is another family tradition. Some form of required chivalry.”

  “It’s about safety.” He zipped his jacket up high against his neck. “I don’t take risks.”

  Well, crap. She’d managed not to step on this mine all night and now she tripped headfirst into it. “Right. I didn’t mean—”

  “Maddie.” He stopped at the bottom step up to her porch. Let one foot rest on the edge of the stair above as he faced her. “You don’t have to worry that everything I say is about my sister. I’m not weighing your words, waiting for you to mess up.”

  Tension eased out of her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath until he talked.

  Now that he opened the door on the topic, she tiptoed a bit closer to the emotional wall she sensed he didn’t even know he’d built up around himself. “Her death must shape everything.”

  “But I can’t let it be everything I remember about her. She was so much more than that.”

  A sweet yet painful comment. She knew he was right, but she also doubted recovery worked like that or ran according to a plan.

  “What was her name?” She knew the answer but wanted to hear him say it.

  A faint smile crossed his lips. “Alexis.”

  “Pretty.”

  “She was amazing. Fierce and smart. The best of the Rye kids. No question.” He pushed up onto the next step then the one after until he stood on her porch.

  Whatever signal he meant to send out got jumbled in her head. She couldn’t tell if he wanted her to stop or talk more. “Did you think her husband was dangerous before he . . .”

  “Killed her?” He exhaled. “No. She’d be alive if I did.”

  He stood there, waiting as she crossed the remaining distance between them. The light on the porch bathed his face in soft white, while the world around them remained plunged in darkness.

  The closeness. The quiet. The threats.

  She waited for the panic to come, for the rush of anxiety to overtake her at letting anyone get close. But nothing. Being there with him, alone with her fingers just inches from his, brought a wave of warmth crashing over her. All her training to run and hide, to keep her location and identity secret, melted at her feet. Even out of witness protection she’d been careful not to let her guard down . . . until him.

  He shifted his weight and she heard a crunching sound under his foot. Rocks or dried leaves, probably. She didn’t know what and didn’t care until he bent down. When he stood back up again, he held something.

  He lifted his hand toward her. “For you, I guess.”

  One glance down and reality whooshed back and slammed into her with the force of a careening car. The white rectangle registered in her brain right as she reached out and knocked it from his hand. “Don’t touch that.”

  An envelope. Another one.

  She glanced around as she shifted. Her back hit the wall of her house as she strained to listen for any stray noises over her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  “Maddie?” He stood in front of her now with his back to the front yard. His hands held her forearms in a gentle touch. “Hey, look at me. What’s going on?”

  That familiar trapped sensation overtook her. The energy racing around inside her had her scooting away from him. She fumbled with her keys. The jangling rang out in the silence as she strained to get each lock opened and step inside.

  “Wait here,” she shouted as she ran into the house without him.

  “I don’t understand.” He followed her to the doorway and stopped, staring at her all wide-eyed and concerned.

  He moved fast but she moved faster. Nothing hampered her movements and panic fueled her. She’d left all the lights on, so she could see every inch of open floor from the living area through to her dining room and kitchen.

  She tore around the small space, grabbing supplies. “I need to save the evidence for fingerprints, even though there won’t be any.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” She brushed by him again, moving outside to pick up the letter by the corner with her now gloved fingers. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He could have pummeled her with questions or taken over. Instead, he watched her, sticking close enough to put his body in front of hers, if needed, but letting her lead. “It clearly does.”

  Within seconds, she grabbed the envelope before it could blow into the wet grass or tumble into the darkness where she couldn’t find it. Her hair fell out of its holder and swooped in front of her face. The sleeve of her oversized jacket slipped down over one shoulder.

  She couldn’t imagine the sight she presented
. A frenzy of action and fear. Even now she could feel her heart thudding as she concentrated on calming her breathing.

  The truth hit her with a wallop—he needed to go. She couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him because he’d tied himself to her. She’d started all of this with the idiotic break-in. Without that, they likely wouldn’t have met and he’d be chatting with Ben or Sylvia right now, safe somewhere, and not watching a wild woman drip water all over the entryway of her house.

  “It’s late.” A ridiculous excuse to kick him out, but she didn’t have the energy to come up with anything else.

  “It’s not even nine.”

  “You don’t understand.” She had to stop pretending the threat was meant to scare her. This, another note so close to the first, felt like an escalation. This was serious, scary stuff and she didn’t know where the danger would come from next, or if the words would turn into the promised deadly action.

  “If you’re hinting for me to leave because you want to be alone or are sick of my company, fine. But we both know this is something else. You’re upset. Something is going on. Just tell me.” He stared at her with damp hair and skin that had paled a bit since he picked up the envelope.

  She had him worried. She could almost see him planning her protection. Him, the guy who lost his sister in the most horrible way.

  “I don’t want to drag you into this.” And she meant that. He’d survived enough.

  “What?” His eyes narrowed with confusion as he gestured toward the note in her hand. “And what is that? Help me understand what’s going on here.”

  “A threat.”

  Every handsome feature pulled taut and the life zapped out of his eyes. “What?”

  When he didn’t move, she knew she’d lost her opportunity to get him away from this tonight. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  “Not after that comment.”

  Standing there, out in the open, made him more vulnerable than being inside with her. She tugged on his arm to drag him into the living room. “Come in.”

  Neither one of them said a word as she locked the locks. Multiple, including the dead bolt and the one that slammed into the floor. With each flick of her wrist and spin of a knob, she felt the heat of his stare. He followed every movement until they stood at her kitchen table with the note lying on a placemat in front of them.