Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2)

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. And it only seemed to hit her just then how extraordinarily gorgeous Mason was. Allie watched her do a double take, and then she shot a guilty glance at Allie.

  Allie smiled, sitting the diaper bag down at her feet. “How old is your baby?” she asked.

  “Four months,” the woman told her, stroking her little girl’s peach fuzz. “And sure, she decides to sleep now.” She shook her head with rueful amusement. “That one,” she nodded toward her son, who was perched on the bench, watching the scene with fascination “didn’t get a tooth in his head until he was almost a year old. Probably should have just stayed in the room.” She too looked toward the fire. “But I didn’t want to risk their safety.”

  “Will you be okay here?” Mason asked.

  “Yes, yes.” She waved her free hand. “Don’t worry about me. And thank you for your help.”

  Mason took Allie’s hand, moving away from the little family, and then he found another bench, pulling Allie down beside him. They didn’t speak, just watched the activity with that odd sort of detachment that comes after what Allie thought of as near-misses. They were safe, and as the adrenaline began to wear off, she laid her head against Mason’s shoulder.

  He put his arm around her.

  The firefighters worked together as efficiently as a colony of ants, battling the blaze into submission.

  “It looks like they’ve about got it under control,” she said. There were plenty of people still milling about, but a number of them were beginning to leave, heading toward cars or hotels. Allie didn’t have her watch on, but she figured it had to be close to two a.m.

  Mason glanced down at her. “Would you like to go back to the room, or should I call Captain Joe?”

  “I think the room will be fine, don’t you? The smoke isn’t nearly as bad as it…” Allie stopped, her attention caught by one of the people walking toward them, away from the fire.

  “What is it?” Mason looked around. Then, seeing where she was looking, he muttered something unflattering under his breath. “What do you think she’s doing here?”

  “Feeding on the blood of the living?” Allie suggested.

  Mason gave a little snort.

  But as the woman got closer, Allie could see that her complexion was chalk white. And she wasn’t really walking. More like… stumbling in a kind of mental fog.

  Mason slowly stood, clearly having noticed it too.

  When she saw them, she stopped, her face a mask of shock.

  “Victoria?” Allie said.

  And to her own shock, her ex-sister-in-law burst into tears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ALLIE let out a sigh as Mason stopped the car in her driveway. She was bone tired, but she still hated to see their date come to an end. “This must be how Cinderella felt when her coach turned back into a pumpkin.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I promise not to try to fit a glass slipper onto any of your brothers’ feet.”

  She rolled her head to the side to smile at him. “Why didn’t the slipper break when the stepsisters tried to cram their big feet into it is what I want to know.”

  “Hmm. I’ve often wondered about that entire story, actually. Exactly how wasted do you suppose that prince had to be that night that he couldn’t even recognize the woman he’d fallen in love with, and had to take visual cues based on the size of her foot? It sounds more like a bad case of beer goggles than a fairy tale. If I were Cinderella, I would have stayed hidden with the singing mice and let the stepsisters have him.”

  The late afternoon sun shone through the window, turning his tawny hair – windblown from standing on deck on the return trip from Savannah – into a mass of sexily tangled gold.

  His whiskey eyes, though shadowed slightly with fatigue, made her feel as intoxicated as his version of Prince Charming.

  Except that Allie wouldn’t need a stray shoe to remember him. She’d know his face anywhere.

  She stretched out her arm, brushed her fingertips over his cheek. “I had a wonderful time.”

  Mason kissed her fingers. “You could stay with me tonight. I’ll see that you have a wonderful time again.”

  Certain parts of her anatomy were totally on board with that idea even as her eyelids drooped with fatigue. “I would love to,” she told him. “Believe me. But not only do I have to be at work very early tomorrow, but I also need to check on my dad. We hired a home health aide, but I feel like I should be with him as much as I can. It might not mean anything to him, but…”

  “But it means something to you.”

  Allie shrugged. “I know it probably sounds silly.”

  “No. It doesn’t sound silly at all.” Mason looked through the windshield toward the house. “I wish I could have met him before… well, before. When my eldest sister got engaged to a very good man, my father informed me that it weighs heavily on the minds of fathers to know that their daughters are cared for.”

  He turned back toward her, his voice a caress. “You’re cared for, Allison. Very much.”

  “Mason.” Allie’s heart had begun to beat almost painfully against her chest. “I –”

  The sound of a car horn caused her to jump.

  “Bloody hell,” Mason said when they turned, saw the late model Mercedes rocking to a halt behind them.

  “Victoria,” Allie said, recognizing the car. “What’s she doing here?”

  The last time Allie had seen her was in Savannah, right after she’d burst into tears. She’d gotten one look at Allie and Mason and had basically run off the opposite direction. Allie had no idea what that had been about.

  “Maybe she’s gone mad,” Mason suggested.

  From the look on her face as she climbed out of her vehicle, that seemed entirely possible.

  Mason frowned, clearly picking up on the one banana short of a bunch vibe she had going. “I’ll deal with her.”

  “If you think I’m letting you deal with her while I sit here twiddling my thumbs, you’re the one who’s crazy.”

  She heard Mason sigh but she was already opening her door. The sight of Victoria on the property she’d almost caused Allie’s family to lose was about as welcome as a norovirus. She only hoped that Harlan wasn’t home.

  Victoria, her eyes red and a little wild, had come around the front of her car, though her door was still hanging open. She’d obviously left the keys in the ignition, because the car was issuing a repeating mechanical ding as a warning.

  “What do you want?” Allie said, not even striving for the pretense of politeness.

  Victoria stopped walking, her attention focusing in on Allie like a viper spotting a stray mouse. “You,” she said, the word dripping venom. “What were you doing there last night? Did you come to gloat?”

  Upon closer inspection, it appeared that Torie was wearing the same clothes from the evening before. They even smelled a little smoky. And her hair was far from its usual immaculate coiffure.

  “Gloat?” What the hell was she even talking about?

  “Don’t play innocent with me, you little goody two shoes. Everybody thinks you’re so damn pure, but we both know that’s a crock of shit. You were probably humping the pretty boy here behind a dumpster in the alley while you were watching the spectacle.”

  Allie’s brows snapped together, and Mason came to stand behind her, laying a hand on her shoulder in support. She could feel him practically vibrating with animosity, but appreciated the fact that he was holding his tongue.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked Torie.

  Victoria laughed, and the sound was ugly. “What would you know about it? Or is the whole teetotaler thing a lie, too?”

  “Victoria,” Allie said slowly, because it seemed clear to her that her ex-sister-in-law was seriously disturbed. Possibly intoxicated. And definitely very angry. But what kept Allie from lashing out was that she also seemed to be in some sort of emotional pain. “I’m not sure why you think Mason and I were somehow watching for you la
st night, but we weren’t aware you were even in Savannah. Why should we have been? Whatever… upset you, it had nothing to do with us.”

  “Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with you?” The sound she made this time was more growl than laugh. “Your brother starts digging around in my business – and he was the one who probably stole that key to begin with – makes sneaky little trips to Savannah so that he could lay the groundwork for ruining my life, and you expect me to believe that you just happened to be there?”

  She thought Harlan was ruining her life? Hello pot, meet kettle.

  “Look, I don’t know what you think Harlan has done, but –”

  “Not Harlan, you little idiot. I’m talking about Will. Willis!” she yelled in the direction of the house. “You come out here, you bastard! I want to talk to you. That’s all he knows how to do, anyway,” Torie said as an aside. “Talk. He’s probably gay, too.”

  Allie saw red. “Get off my property,” she said.

  Torie laughed. “Like you can make me? I will own this place before I am through with the Hawbakers this time. I will destroy you.”

  “And your little dog Toto, too,” Mason said, coming around from behind her. “You need to leave, sober up and then find a good psychiatrist.”

  Victoria started to sneer at him, seemed to realize who he was, and then her bottom lip began to quiver.

  “Don’t even think about trying to play the damsel in distress now,” Mason told her, his tone singularly unimpressed. “I’m afraid you’re not a good enough actress.”

  Expression changing to one of vitriol again, she refocused on Allison. “But you are, aren’t you, poor little sister Allison? Everybody’s sweetheart. Does he know you killed your own baby?”

  Allie’s hand snaked out before she even knew what she was doing. Victoria’s head snapped back, her hand flying to cradle her cheek. Then she shrieked, launched herself toward Allie, but Mason caught her around the waist.

  “Touch her,” Mason said in Torie’s ear “and I will forget that you are a woman. Now might be a good time to call Will,” he suggested to Allie while Torie fought and bucked against his hold.

  “No need,” came a voice from behind her, and Allie turned to see Will emerging from the path that led to Josie’s. “I’m already here.”

  WILL stood behind the two way mirror, watching Victoria, her expression sullen, sitting in the interview room next to her puffed up toad of an attorney. Her beautiful face was ravaged from alcoholic excess, lack of sleep, and alternate bouts of rage and hysterical weeping.

  He had her for driving while intoxicated – her blood alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit.

  And while there was a certain poetic justice in that, the fact was that he needed answers. After talking to both Mason and Allie, getting their statements as to what had been said, Will realized that there was a bigger picture here, and that it wasn’t exactly the picture he thought he’d been piecing together.

  Torie, no surprise, had lawyered up. And after several hours and several cups of strong coffee, seemed far more coherent than she had when he’d put her in handcuffs, spewing insults and accusations all the while.

  The question, of course, was how to go about getting those answers. Her attorney had wisely advised her not to say anything, and so far she hadn’t. Alan emerged from the interview room, glanced at Will and shook his head.

  “Sorry,” he said. “She’s still zipped up tighter than a nun’s habit.”

  Will cast him a glance. “Probably not the best metaphor to use with this particular suspect.” Then he sighed and rubbed the tension from the back of his neck.

  “I wonder what she had going with that guy.”

  Will briefly closed his eyes. That guy. Tobias Abernathy.

  Camellia’s husband.

  Her face – and her son’s – swam into his mind’s eye, along with a flicker of guilt. But Will pushed that aside. He needed to concentrate.

  Tobias Abernathy – or his suspected remains, at any rate. They were waiting on dental records for confirmation – had been pulled from the blackened shell of his antique store by Savannah firefighters last night. Supposedly out of town for the whole weekend, Abernathy had returned for reasons they didn’t yet know – though Will wondered if it may have something to do with the visit he’d paid to the man’s business, which his wife had apparently told him about – bypassing his home and heading straight for his store.

  While his cell phone had been destroyed in the fire, the Savannah-Chatham PD had the LUDs which showed a thirty minute call earlier in the evening with the number associated with Camellia Abernathy’s account. They had confirmed that phone call, and its content, when they’d delivered the news of her husband’s presumed death.

  Will was grateful that the Abernathys didn’t reside within his jurisdiction. The idea of having to tell Cam that her husband had died made him sick to his stomach.

  Those LUDs had also shown a number of calls and texts between Tobias Abernathy’s phone and the number registered to Victoria Hawbaker. A flurry of them having taken place around midnight on the night of the fire. According to the time the first nine-one-one call came in, the fire was estimated to have begun around twelve-thirty. GPS showed that both Abernathy’s and Victoria’s phones had been in Savannah at that time.

  Will was going to have to turn Torie over to the SCPD soon, as their suspicious death – in which Torie was a person of interest, due to the timing of those texts – trumped his DWI. It was basically professional courtesy, and the fact that he sometimes shot hoops with the investigator assigned to the case, that had allowed him to keep her here this long.

  “I’m going to try to talk to her,” Will said.

  Alan shot him a sharp look. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Probably about as wise as climbing into a cage with a rabid pit bull.”

  Alan shook his head. “Well, good luck to you. And watch your balls. I’m pretty sure I heard her saying something when you brought her in about wanting them on a platter.”

  “Just make sure no one gives her fava beans and a nice chianti.”

  The sound of Alan’s chuckle followed him through the door.

  “My client has nothing more to say,” her attorney told Will, even as Torie’s eyes fixed on him, watching him stroll toward her. Will ignored the attorney, considered his approach, and then placed his palms flat on the table.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” he told Victoria flat out as he leaned down to look her in the eye. “Just me and you. Before you’re transported to Savannah.”

  Her attorney scoffed, telling Will to keep dreaming, but Torie’s eyes flickered.

  “Why should I talk to you?” she finally said.

  “Ms. Hawbaker, I would advise you to –”

  “Because I think you’ve gotten yourself into a heap of trouble,” Will said over the attorney’s protests. “And I’d like to see if I can help sort it out.”

  “Help?” she gave a derisive snort. “More like set me up.”

  “That’s not true, Victoria. You know me better than that.”

  “Ms. Hawbaker, I have to strenuously advise you against –”

  “Shut up, Harold,” she told the man without looking at him. She was too busy looking at Will. Less emotional – and far more sober – than she’d been before, Will could once again see her clever brain working. The fact that she had driven intoxicated to River Oaks, had gone after Allie and caused a scene, had actually tried to do physical damage to him when he’d been cuffing her as opposed to trying to turn it into something with sexual overtones, told him that she’d been truly out of her mind with rage – and possibly grief. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen Victoria act without calculation. Most of the emotions she displayed were faked or at the very least exaggerated, designed to manipulate her chosen audience. That she hadn’t considered the consequences of her actions suggested that something truly traumatic had happened.

  He held her gaze wh
ile she studied his face. “Yes,” she finally said. “I do know you better. You’re a fucking Boy Scout.”

  Will didn’t say anything to that. She’d either talk to him or she wouldn’t. It all depended on what she thought she had to gain.

  “Fine,” she agreed after a moment, to the sputtering horror of her attorney. “You can leave now,” she told the man.

  “Ms. Hawbaker –”

  “I said leave,” she bit off.

  The man gathered up his briefcase, his sour expression lending him the countenance of a toad who’d swallowed a lemon instead of a fly. He shot Will a nasty look, but left them alone without another word of caution to his client.

  “May I?” Will nodded toward the chair.

  “By all means.” Torie waved her hand graciously.

  Will sat, and then they looked at each other across the table. “If you don’t feel comfortable, or you want your attorney back at any point, just say so,” Will said.

  “Fat lot of good that idiot’s done me.” She slid down in the chair, eyeing him skeptically. “Not that I’m expecting any better from you.”

  “Alan,” Will called out. “I’d like you to turn off the audio please.”

  “Sounds naughty,” Torie said, though there was a bitter edge to her innuendo. She looked brittle, like the slightest bump would break her.

  “I told you I wanted to talk, just you and me. If you want this on the record, I’ll have him turn it back on.”

  She shrugged, the movement jerky. “So talk.”

  “Why did you think I was setting you up?”

  She hesitated so long that Will almost thought she wouldn’t answer. But being a cop as long as he’d been, he’d learned the value of silence.

  “Where did you get that key?” she finally said.

  It was a gamble, offering her information, but Will figured that in this instance it was a calculated risk. “In an apartment belonging to Jimmy Owen.”

  “The guy who delivered furniture for me?”

  Will nodded. He’d checked out Owen’s employment record, such as it was, with the auction house. He’d worked for them as an independent contractor – which Will had taken to mean under the table.