by Brenda Novak
She was out. But what now?
She needed to climb Lorna Martin’s fence. If she could cut through the neighborhood while everyone’s attention was elsewhere, she still had a chance of escape.
Kennedy couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d been leaning against the back of his SUV, waiting to see if the others caught the burglar who’d broken in next door, when a second guy emerged from the shadows of the auto shop. Dressed all in black, the dark figure hurried across the alley and scaled Lorna Martin’s fence.
It was a kid, just as he’d suspected. Had to be. The person’s frame wasn’t big enough to be a man. And no man he knew climbed a fence like that….
Kennedy glanced around as though expecting someone else to go after him. But the guys who’d left the pool hall were already much farther down the alley. There was nothing to do but go after the little thief himself.
“Hey, hold on there!” he called.
The boy ran even faster, but now that he’d committed himself, Kennedy was dedicated to catching him. He jumped the fence, too, and nearly ran into Lorna Martin’s husband, who came barreling out of the house wearing a bathrobe.
“Kennedy?” Les said, stopping abruptly. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
Kennedy swerved around him. “Some young kid just came through here,” he called back as he ran. “Did you see him?”
“No, but judging from all the ruckus, he’s down there.” Les pointed in the direction of the others.
“There’s two of ’em,” Kennedy said and continued to sprint to the front.
Les yelled something after him, but Kennedy didn’t stop. He wasn’t about to let some stupid kid get away with breaking into one of Stillwater’s businesses. Whoever this was, he needed to be taught a lesson before he did anything worse.
When he reached the street, Kennedy saw a small, dark shape dart around the corner four houses down and knew the culprit was probably heading for the woods. If Kennedy didn’t catch up to him soon, he might never find him. Not alone. And not in the dark.
He pounded along the sidewalk, but when he got to the corner, he could no longer see any movement. The streetlights illuminated nothing more than a row of dark houses and shiny black asphalt.
He stopped, taking a deep breath as it began to rain. Where had the boy gone? They’d both be soaked in a matter of minutes, which didn’t sound particularly appealing.
Not that Kennedy was ready to give up. Gazing at the railroad tracks that passed through the meadowlike land, he realized the boy must’ve cut over already. If not, Kennedy would’ve seen him.
Obviously, the troublemaker didn’t know this area very well. How was he planning to cross the creek? Maybe he could hide in the woods, but unless he planned to swim in the dark, he wouldn’t get very far. The creak formed an arc that hemmed him in on three sides.
Jogging through the meadow, Kennedy cleared the railroad tracks and entered the woods. But he couldn’t see much. The dense foliage blocked out most of the moonlight. He knew the boy could be headed in any direction. Or maybe he wasn’t moving at all. Maybe Kennedy was wrong. Maybe he knew the area as well as Kennedy did and was simply lying low, hoping Kennedy would eventually give up.
Kennedy stood still, listening. An owl hooted, but he heard nothing more.
Walking deeper into the trees, he went toward the creek, his movements as stealthy as possible, pausing often to listen. Two could play the waiting game. But he spent at least ten minutes in the woods and heard nothing, saw nothing move.
He began to wonder if he should go back and summon a group with flashlights to help him search the area. He was about to act on that thought when he heard a startled cry.
The boy was close. Much closer than he’d expected. And it sounded as if he’d hurt himself.
It was over. Kennedy had him now.
Creeping forward, he strained to see in the dank, thick darkness. What had happened? He couldn’t imagine—until a shaft of moonlight filtered through the trees, giving him a glimpse of what lay ahead. Evidently, the boy had gotten himself tangled up in the blackberry bushes that covered the low areas near the water.
He was probably pretty scratched up. But Kennedy wore a pair of long pants and wasn’t worried about such minor injuries. Launching himself into the thicket, he grabbed the kid by the back of the shirt and hauled him out of the briars without bothering to make sure his exit was gentle. Then he sat him hard on the ground.
“What the hell do you think you’re—” Kennedy started, but the boy rolled over and tried to regain his feet so he could run, which forced Kennedy to tackle him.
“What’s the matter with you?” Kennedy cried when they hit the ground. But a split second later, he realized that the body under his was far too soft to belong to a boy.
Knocking off the baseball cap that shadowed the burglar’s face, he stared in astonishment.
It was a woman, all right. But not just any woman. It was Grace Montgomery.
7
Grace couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think straight, either. Only one thought crystallized in her mind—and if a thought could be sound it would’ve been a blaring horn: escape! She tried to shove Kennedy off or wriggle out from beneath him, but she was shaking from the adrenaline rushing through her body—and he was too strong.
“Let me go!”
“Stop fighting!”
She couldn’t. She was desperate. If he caught her with the reverend’s Bible, she stood to lose much more than her job.
“Calm down,” he said. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you—” He pinned her left hand down over her head. “I expected—” he grabbed her other hand as she clawed the ground in hopes of finding a root or something she could use to pull herself out from under him “—you to be a teenage boy.”
Before she could respond, Grace heard another voice. Joe Vincelli was coming through the woods toward them. “Kennedy? Where are you, man?”
Grace froze, wishing the spongy ground would simply give way and swallow her whole.
Kennedy lifted his head but didn’t respond. It was difficult to make out his expression. Everything was a series of dark, wet shadows.
After a long second, she felt his attention shift back to her. “What are you doing?” he whispered gruffly. “Why’d you break into Jed’s auto shop?”
She refused to answer him, refused to so much as manufacture a lie. What difference would any response of hers make? He’d always thought she was trash. In his mind, this would only prove that he’d been right all along.
“It’s okay.” His tone was gentler now. “Just tell me what’s going on. I have no idea what it could be, but I’m hoping you have a good reason for this.”
He spoke as if addressing a frightened child. But that gentleness was too obvious a falsehood for someone who knew him and his friends the way Grace did. They told so many lies with their lips and hands and bodies….
She struggled to control her fear as she glared defiantly up at him.
“Grace?” he prompted.
The rain began to fall harder. The water already absorbed by the ground soaked through her clothes as she blinked to keep the drops out of her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she could see the beam of Joe’s flashlight darting among the trees.
“Hello?” Joe shouted, drawing closer. “Kennedy, where are you? I can see someone’s been through here.”
Obviously, Joe wasn’t having much difficulty following them. They’d left a trail of smashed plants—and he had a light.
Grace squeezed her eyes shut, expecting that light to find her at any second. But it never did. The next thing she knew, Kennedy jumped up, hauled her to her feet and pushed her into the trees behind him. “Get out of here,” he said.
Kennedy couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He’d let a burglar go—and he was running for mayor of this town.
He told himself it was because an arrest would cost Grace her job, and he couldn’t stand to see that happen without knowing the whole sto
ry. But deep down, he knew his motivation was much simpler. He’d felt the tremors going through her body, sensed her terror even though she wouldn’t explain or ask him for help, and he’d wanted to protect her. He’d remembered her sitting next to his son saying, “You can’t expect others to save you. You have to save yourself.”
For a split second, he’d been tempted to use his body to shelter hers from the rain while he cradled her safely against him. She seemed so aloof and yet so damn fragile. I’ve got you, pretty baby. I’ll save you.
But that was craziness. She saw him as her enemy, not some kind of savior.
Joe emerged from the trees. “There you are. Why didn’t you answer me?”
Kennedy stepped back—and his foot landed on something square and soft yet solid. A book? It wasn’t a plant or a rock. And he doubted it had just dropped from the sky. Chances were that Grace had lost it when he tackled her.
He blocked Joe’s view of it in case whatever it was might give her away. “Someone else darted out of the auto shop, so I came after him. Nearly had him a minute ago, too.”
Joe pointed his light at the blackberry bushes that sloped down to the water. Because they were more resilient than most plants, it wasn’t quite as apparent that someone had been through them, but Kennedy could see Joe was wondering. “Maybe it’s not too late,” he said, edging toward them. “Come on.”
Kennedy recovered the object on the ground and shoved it up under his T-shirt, into the waistband of his jeans. Then he caught hold of Joe’s arm. “I’ve been in there already.”
Joe kept scanning the area with his light. “Still, whoever it is couldn’t have gotten far. The creek’s right there.”
The wet object pressed against Kennedy’s stomach did feel like a book. But why Grace would steal a book from Jed, he couldn’t imagine. “He’s gone. And it’s raining. Let’s head home.”
“We’re already wet.”
“I’m telling you, he must’ve doubled back. I don’t think he’s in here anymore.”
“Did you get a good look at him, at least?”
“Whoever it was wasn’t very big. I’m guessing it was a teenager.”
Joe pivoted in a circle. “I’ll give you a hundred to one it wasn’t a teenager.”
The protective instinct that had surprised Kennedy a few moments earlier rose inside him again. He didn’t understand why Grace affected him so deeply now that they were adults. He knew he wanted her to forgive him so he could forgive himself for how he’d treated her in the past. But he also wanted her to like him, which didn’t make sense.
Maybe it was the challenge, he decided. He’d always made friends easily, had never met with much resistance.
Or maybe he wanted to make a difference in someone else’s life, the way Raelynn had made a difference in his. Grace needed him. He felt compelled to be there for her this time, to do what he could to compensate for everything she’d suffered before.
“Why do you say that?” Kennedy asked and started out of the woods as though the argument was settled.
“I think it was Kirk Vantassel,” Joe answered, falling in step beside him.
Kirk was taller than Kennedy or Joe, and Kennedy had just said that the culprit was small. But he didn’t point that out. “Why Kirk?”
“Because it was Madeline Barker who broke in. We chased her down in the alley.”
The rain had soaked through Kennedy’s shirt, plastering the cotton fabric against him. He used his arm to subtly shift the book to his side, where he could better hide it. “Madeline’s a model citizen. Why would she break into Jed’s shop?”
“She’s convinced he killed her father. Told us she was searching for evidence.”
That made sense to Kennedy. Madeline was always coming up with possible scenarios to explain her father’s disappearance. She’d printed several in the paper. Maybe she’d uncovered a new lead.
Kennedy could easily imagine how eager she’d be to pursue it. She loved the Montgomerys, had been defending them for years. He could even see her recruiting Grace to help her tonight. Was the book some type of evidence, then?
“Did Madeline tell you Kirk was with her?” he asked, squinting up at the rain.
“She claims she was alone. But when Les told me you followed someone else through his yard, I knew she had help.”
Kennedy kept his eyes trained on the circle of Joe’s flashlight moving over the ground directly in front of them. He was tempted to look behind but wouldn’t let himself. Surely Grace would give him enough time to get rid of Joe before trying to head home. “Did you and the others turn her in?”
“No. She promised to pay for the damage she caused, so we let her go. She’s already been through a lot.”
They reached the edge of the meadow, where moonlight made it easier to see, especially in contrast to the darker woods.
“Losing her father was tough on her,” Kennedy agreed and, since the weather provided the perfect excuse to hurry, he started to jog. He wanted to get Joe out of the area as soon as possible, and he wanted to see what he’d found. The book pressed to his side seemed to have the soft leather cover and thickness of a Bible. But it couldn’t be, could it? As far as he knew, Grace wasn’t particularly religious. Neither was her family. A few years after the reverend went missing, the Montgomerys quit church altogether, giving the townspeople something else they could point to as proof that they were lost souls. And Kennedy highly doubted she’d take a Bible from Jed’s shop. Even if Jed had one there, why would anyone steal it?
“Having your uncle go missing was probably hard on the Montgomerys, too,” he said, to keep the conversation going.
“That’s bullshit,” Joe said, catching up to him. “If you ask me, Madeline needs to look a little closer to home if she wants answers. It’s like I said at your office—you should pressure McCormick to reopen the case. This wouldn’t have happened if the police were making any progress.”
Kennedy flung his wet hair out of his face. “You think we’d be doing Madeline any favors by going after her family—again?”
“The truth is the truth,” he responded between breaths as they ran. “She deserves the truth, no matter what it is.”
Kennedy knew Joe wasn’t pushing the issue for Madeline’s sake and almost volunteered that Grace had been with Madeline at Jed’s, helping her search for evidence. He was tired of Joe’s unrelenting prejudice. But he thought it was better not to mention Grace in connection with the break-in. McCormick might’ve let Madeline go. Everyone liked Madeline. Grace, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as popular in Stillwater as her stepsister. Kennedy suspected they’d lock her up for the same infraction.
“Do Irene, Clay and Grace deserve to suffer through another investigation?” he asked, because Joe had slowed and he didn’t want to lose his attention.
Joe was busy shining his light on the woods behind them. But at this question, he pivoted and started walking again. “Hell, yeah, if they’re as guilty as I think they are. Justice needs to be done.”
“Justice. And what if they’re not guilty? Where’s the justice in disrupting their lives?”
He shrugged. “Them’s the breaks, you know? It could happen to any of us.”
They crossed the railroad tracks. “Pretty easy for you to say,” Kennedy muttered. “Since nothing like that ever has.”
Joe pulled Kennedy to a stop. “Wait a second. I’m on the victim’s side. Something happened to my uncle,” he argued. “I think it’s damn time the police figured out what, don’t you?”
Jerking his arm free from Joe’s grasp, Kennedy sheltered his face with his other hand. “What’s really driving you on this, Joe? That’s the part I’m missing.”
“The truth, like I said. It should be important to you, too.” Rain dripped from the ends of Joe’s hair, which curved in toward his face. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Kennedy remembered Grace’s unequivocal rejection in the parking lot of the pizza parlor. He knew of only one thing that m
ight make Joe vindictive enough to force an issue that could hurt Grace so badly. “You want to get with her again, don’t you. You want to get with her and she won’t give you the time of day.”
Joe snapped off his flashlight, but Kennedy could still see that he was scowling. “Hell, no. What would I want with Grinding Gracie?”
Kennedy pictured the intelligence in Grace’s blue eyes. Those eyes were older than her years, as if they’d seen far too much, but they were also mysterious, compelling and deep enough to drown in. He thought he could suggest exactly what Joe might want. “She’s a beautiful woman, something special.”
“Special?” Joe scoffed. “I’ve slept with her before. Everyone has. Except you maybe, and that was only ’cause of Raelynn.”
Kennedy ignored his comment. “But it’s not the same, is it? We were just kids. She didn’t know who she was then, had no identity. She was a lost girl letting you use her body because she didn’t really own it yet. Now she’s attractive, successful and completely indifferent to you, me, to all of us.”
Joe rubbed his jaw and gave the trees one final sweep with his light. “She’s still the same to me,” he said and stalked away. But Joe was lying. Kennedy doubted there was a man in town, at least a single man, who wouldn’t give just about anything to make love with Grace as an adult.
Even he wanted that.
Clay stopped pacing his kitchen to stare at Grace, his mouth a grim line. “That can’t be.”
“It’s true.” She hugged the thick towel he’d given her closer to her body. The night was balmy, even at nearly three in the morning. But she was chilled. After her long trek home in the rain, she hadn’t bothered to change or dry off. She’d grabbed her car keys and driven straight to the farm.
“But we buried that Bible with him,” Clay said as if the strength of his conviction could make it true.
“It must’ve fallen out. It did once. On the porch steps.”
“We would’ve seen it.”
“How can you say that?” Grace asked. “It was so dark. Can you remember everything that happened? Were you thinking that clearly?”
