She hung up. Why had she ever trusted him? What had the waitress, Margaret, said, if he was gravy and I was biscuit, I’d sop that plate clean. Was Reese so shallow she’d been taken by his good looks?
Then she remembered those long talks they’d shared sitting at the kitchen table drinking the iced tea he’d made for her. She hadn’t been the only one bearing her soul.
He’d told her about his ex-wife and wanting to surprise her on a business trip, only he’d been surprised when he caught her and her boss dirtying up the hotel sheets. He told her about losing his mom to cancer, and a year later his dad, to a broken heart. Lies. No doubt, all lies he’d spewed to get her to trust him.
And it had worked.
What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.
She turned sideways, reclined back, put her feet up over the side of the swing, and kicked her shoes off. She stared at her pink painted toenails thinking of all the things he’d told her about himself, details of his life that she’d memorized as she’d practically fallen in love with a man who didn’t exist.
A slight meow filled her senses, she looked down and the cat sat there reaching its paw out as if begging for attention. She dropped her hand down and petted the animal.
“Still a weasel,” she said to the cat then closed her eyes and tried to think about nothing but the sound of the waves.
• • •
Reese woke up. Her heart raced with that startled feeling of where-the-hell-am-I? But before her eyes completely focused on the hanging plant above her, the sound of the waves worked some calming magic. It only lasted a few seconds and then she remembered Turner, and that her brother had been stabbed.
How long had she slept? An hour, more? She noted the sun was hanging a lot lower in the western sky. Probably more.
Then, suddenly, she felt it, the I’m-not-alone sensation.
She shot up, sending the swing to swaying, and planted her feet flat on the concrete patio, bringing it to a jerky stop. Her gaze locked on Turner sitting in a wicker chair across from her, the cat in his lap.
“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling his eyes on her.
“Enjoying the view,” he said in his deep calm voice, that in no way, no form, matched what she felt.
“The view is that way,” she said, pointing out to the beach, feeling the flutter of her pulse at her neck, and not liking her awareness of how blue his eyes were.
He leaned back in the chair and the cat jumped down. Turner glanced out at the ocean. “We need to talk,” he said, without looking at her.
Her thoughts from earlier rushed back. “Talk about what? Oh, I know, you can tell me the story of how your dog died, or do you just want to tell me the sad tale of how your father died of a broken heart? Why the hell should I listen to you?”
Glancing back at her, emotion filled his gaze. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. Lowering his eyes, he stared down at his hands.
After several beats of silence, he looked up. “We need to talk for a lot of reasons, but for one, so I can apologize.”
“Apologize? For what? Which one of your many indiscretions are you wanting to apologize for? Putting my brother behind bars, the lies, or coming here and ruining my perfect getaway?”
“I’m here because I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He paused again. “I . . . I didn’t set your bother up, Reese. He brought the trouble on his own. But I realize if I hadn’t been so intent on doing my job, I could have probably helped him get his head on straight. He’s not a bad kid. He just got mixed up in something and then got pressured by Harper to finish what he started. But . . .”
Having heard enough, she stood up to leave.
“Please hear me out,” he said.
She looked down at him.
“Please.”
Just call her a masochist, because she dropped back in the swing.
He swallowed and continued, “The only thing I lied to you about was . . . my name, my occupation, and . . . not having condoms that night.”
Oh, he had to throw that one in there, didn’t he? She looked back to the beach to hide the watery weakness in her eyes. “You expect me to trust you now?”
“I can see where you might have a hard time believing me,” he confessed, again in that calm, easy voice. She hated that he could be so calm. Didn’t seeing her tear him apart? No, it probably didn’t. She was the only one hurting. He hadn’t been foolish enough to really care about her.
After blinking away the wash of tears, she looked back at him. “You got that right. I can’t trust you.”
“You can stay mad at me,” he said. “You can hate me. I wish you wouldn’t. I’d give anything if you could find it in your heart to forgive me. But you’re going to have to trust that I’m here to help you. I’m not going to let Harper’s men hurt you, even if I have to fight you tooth and nail to do it. But it would be a hell of a lot easier if you’d just listen to reason.”
He reached down at his feet where a newspaper rested. He picked it up, unfolded it and then held it out to her. “A woman was killed in Katyville. Sheriff Wilson already told me that the police are suspicious it wasn’t completely an accident.”
Reese glanced down at the picture of a woman.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“She’s blond, Reese. And she was driving a purple Volkswagen.”
“You think . . .” An innocent person died because they thought she was her? She couldn’t say it. Could barely think it.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, as if by only reading her expression, he’d read her mind. “The other two witnesses in the case are dead probably by a hired assassin. Ricky was supposed to be dead. Please don’t fight me on this, okay?”
Oh, Reese wanted to fight, but she wasn’t stupid. She had zero experience dealing with people who went around killing people for a living. And she was certain her outdated, keychain-size can of pepper spray wouldn’t do her much good.
“Fine. I’m done fighting.”
Chapter Five
Relief washed over Turner with the same intensity as the waves he heard crashing on the beach in the distance.
Then he saw the tears that she’d blinked away just a few seconds earlier come back. One slipped out and she quickly wiped it off her cheek. He clutched his hands tighter to fight the desire to move next to her and pull her against him.
“What do we do?” she asked again.
“I’m still trying to decide if we should get in my car and take off, or—”
“And leave my car? How am I going to get around?”
Since he didn’t plan on letting her out of his sight until either the trial was over, or the creep hired to do the job had been done in or captured, she could count on him to get her anywhere she needed to go. But he suspected she’d frown on hearing that.
“I’m not too crazy about the idea of leaving right now, anyway,” he said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s only one bridge to and from the island.” He studied her, the way she nipped at her bottom lip as if nervous.
“Frank said we could stay here for a few days.” He sat back. “Did you know he’s ex-FBI?”
“No,” she said.
“You make good friends,” he said and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.
His gut told him she might have agreed to work with him on getting her out of this alive, but that was all she was planning on giving him.
His gut also told him that he wasn’t above using every second he had with her to try and change her mind.
The French doors leading outside pushed open onto the patio. Frank, who now wore a clean shirt, poked his head out. “Casey is here. She brought us some lunch.” His gaze went to Turner. “And your phone rang a few minutes ago.” The older man backed out of the door.
Reese stood up to go inside, he rose to follow her. She got almost through the door, then swung around and plowed right into him.
He’d missed that smell. Her shampoo, not the bacon. Not that he didn’t like bacon. But she was better than bacon.
Her hands came against his chest. Her touch sent an electric current of emotion right to his heart. She must have felt it too, because she almost jumped back as if shocked. He dropped his hands from her shoulders, but it took effort, when all he wanted to do was pull her against him, lean his head down and taste her sweet lips.
“What about Ricky?” she said, a little breathless, her eyes widened with concern and love. “Is someone watching him? And Granny? What if this freak tries to get to her? Nothing can happen to her.”
Right then, it hit him that what was important in life, was having someone care that much about you. “They have a guard watching Ricky. Your grandmother isn’t a witness, so she should be safe, but if you’d like I can have someone keep an eye on her for a day or so.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
It was one word. One word of appreciation. It probably didn’t mean shit, but he decided to take it as a good sign.
“You’re welcome.”
Then, as if uncomfortable being this close to him, she turned and hightailed it inside.
• • •
Reese busied herself helping Frank warm up the food Casey had brought. One word: Thanks. People said it all the time, it shouldn’t mean anything, but giving him just that much was all it took for her heart to start wanting, and a little voice inside her saying things could be different. Why the hell would she think it was different now?
I’d give anything if you could find it in your heart to forgive me.
Did she forgive him? Hadn’t she accepted that Ricky had brought on most his own problems? That, however, didn’t change how betrayed she’d felt.
The lies.
Or did she believe him? Believe everything he’d told her during those two months had been the truth? A part of her did.
But wasn’t that the same part of her that had originally believed him? Wasn’t that the same part of her that had loved Jacob with all her soul, thinking nothing could happen? But something could always happen. A freaking aneurysm could happen.
And wasn’t it with the same blind faith that she thought her parents would always be there? Look how that had worked out.
How many times was she going to allow herself to love someone only to lose them? To pay the ultimate price.
“You okay?” Frank asked her as he handed her some bowls to set the table.
“As good as I can be, I guess.” She stood there and suddenly this whole thing, being at Frank’s, seemed bizarre. “Why are you doing this? Helping me. Giving me a place to stay. You don’t even know me.”
He chuckled. “What’s wrong? You questioning if your dirty ol’ geezer alarm is working?”
She couldn’t help but smile. Setting the bowls on the counter, she looked toward the dining room and then back at him. “No. You’re not interested in me. I saw the way you were checking Casey out when I came in a few minutes ago.”
“You saw that, huh?” he whispered, and frowned, glancing at the walkway into the dining room. “I guess I should work on that.”
“Seriously, why are you doing this? Why are you letting me stay here?”
He pulled down some glasses from a cabinet and set them on the counter. “Seems like the right thing to do.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I figure I owe you,” he said.
“For what?”
He sighed and looked uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “You woke me up, Girlie.”
“I woke you up?”
“You made me smile. Do you know how long it’s been since I smiled?”
She swallowed a tightness in her throat. “Casey told me you lost your wife.”
“Yeah, fourteen months ago. We’d been married forty years. Good years, too.” He looked around. “She loved this house.” He grinned sadly and looked at the counter where a green turtle-shaped canister set lined the wall. “She loved turtles. I never did care for them.” He pointed toward the opening that led to the living room. “See that rock on the bar? Do you know what that is?”
She shook her head.
“That’s coprolite. Ever heard of that?”
Before she could answer, he continued, “Dinosaur poop. I’ve got six of those things.” He took a deep breath. “I loved that woman so much, I let her fill the house full of turtles and prehistoric shit. Why? Because it made her happy. And if she was happy, I was happy.”
“It’s hard,” Reese said. “Losing people.”
“Yeah, and since she died, I’ve been going through the motions of being alive. But I was just as dead as she was. Then you poured me a cup of coffee and made me smile. I hadn’t even realized I hadn’t smiled. I hadn’t realized I’d been checking out Casey either, until you said it. Not that it’s all that strange. She kind of reminds me of my Bessie. And you kind of remind me of a younger version of both of them, too.”
He leaned against the counter and seemed to go inside his head for a second. “She was a pistol. Kept me on my toes, that woman.”
“She sounds like a neat person,” Reese said.
“Yeah, she was. But we can’t crawl into the grave with them, can we?”
Reese swallowed. “Maybe if it’s a nice grave,” she said and tried to make light of the comment. She wasn’t crawling into a grave, but she wasn’t so sure she was ready to trust love, either.
Allowing yourself to care for someone was starting to feel like playing Russian roulette with your heart.
• • •
“Where the hell are you?” Danny, Turner’s friend, another cop at the Glencoe police, answered his phone on the first ring.
“Why?” Turner asked.
“It’s Sunday. One o’clock. You were supposed to meet us to play ball.”
“Shit.” Turner ran a hard palm over his face. He’d forgotten all about meeting them. “I’m sorry, something came up.”
“What came up?” Danny asked. “Does it have anything to do with you calling Luke to check with the warden about that kid, Ricky Morris? Or should I ask if it has anything to do with Ricky’s hot sister?”
Friggin’ hell! Turned didn’t want to have this conversation. He knew he should have never told them a damn thing about Reese. The fact that he’d told them very little, and they’d simply looked at him and figured it out, made it all that more disturbing.
“Look, I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Whoa. A few days? So, you’re not playing ball today?”
“No.”
“This is about her, isn’t it?”
When Turner didn’t answer, Danny asked, “Are you with her now?”
He gazed back to the French doors. She was inside. He was out.
“No.” He saw the way Reese spoke with the Casey and Frank. They barely knew her but these two were shining examples of the friendliness of the deep south. When they weren’t holding him at gunpoint.
“You lying bastard,’ Danny said. “You are with her. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Look, Danny, now’s not the time to—”
“No, you look, we’ve got a deal, you, me, and Cary. And my word’s good. So if you don’t want the shit beaten out of you, don’t you go start getting serious about some chick. Remember the rule, give ‘em a good time in bed, then give ‘em goodbye.”
They called it the No Ball and Chain Gang. After all three of them had gotten divorced in a matter of six months, they decided to form a club like three of their other buddy’s wives did. The Divorced, Desperate and Delicious club hadn’t worked out so well for those three. They all had remarried now, but that wasn’t the point. The point was they had each other’s back. They promised to make sure none of them ever let a woman get close again,
and if they accidentally slipped up, they’d rescue each other—no matter what the cost.
But right now, Turner didn’t want to be rescued.
“Just stay out of this.”
“Where are you? Cary and I will come pick you up.” He paused. “Have you been seeing her all this time?”
“No,” he answered truthfully.
“Where are you?” Danny asked. “We’re coming and getting your ass before you tell her you love her or something.”
“That’s going to be hard.”
“Shit, you already told her you love her?”
“No, I haven’t told her anything.” But he’d practically admitted it to himself, hadn’t he? Not that he was anywhere near ready to admit it to anyone else.
“Then tell me where your ass is and we’ll come get you.”
“I’m in Georgia,” Turner said, knowing that would throw a kink in Danny’s plan.
“What? You went up with Luke and the bunch?” Danny asked.
“No, I didn’t know Luke was in Georgia.”
“Yeah, his wife, Kathy, is from Alabama and she wanted to visit family, and Jason’s wife’s, Sue, is setting her next book in Georgia. So Chase and Lacy decided to come, too, and they all rent a beach house.” He paused. “But wait, if you’re not with them, what the hell are you doing in Georgia?”
Hell, he might as well come clean. “Two of the witnesses who were supposed to testify in the Jonnie Harper case have been killed. And I’m almost certain someone’s here trying to get to her.”
“So the pretty sister is in Georgia?”
“Yes, and it looks like so are some of Harper’s goons. A woman driving the same color and make of her car was killed here.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say so? Do you need us to come there? Are the cops helping out?” Danny’s concern rang sincere, and Turner knew any one of his friends would be here if he gave them the word. If he thought he couldn’t handle it, he’d ask.
Divorced, Desperate and Dangerous Page 5
