Dead Silence

by Brenda Novak

  “Who else have you told?” he asked.

  “No one. No one else can know. Lori might’ve moved away, but my parents still live in this town, and they’re begging me to get married and have a family. I have no desire to hurt them in their old age—or have my own place get torched. I’m sort of partial to my flower farm, you know?”

  “So this is only for my benefit?”

  “It’s for Raelynn and your boys, too. You’re good people. I don’t want to see you get mixed up with the Montgomerys. Even if Grace didn’t have anything to do with the actual murder, she’s kept silent all these years—working as a district attorney, no less. They’ll lynch her for that alone, if they ever find out. Think about your kids. If they become attached to her, what would seeing her go through a trial and possibly wind up in jail do to them?”

  Kennedy couldn’t imagine. He’d never had to worry about anything like that before.

  “Joe’s coming,” Janice said. “I gotta go.”

  Kennedy caught her arm. “Wait—”

  “No, I’ve done my part. I don’t ever want to talk about this again. Whether you take my advice or not is up to you,” she said and slipped into the crowd.

  Kennedy watched her pass through the front door just as Joe reached him. “What was going on over here?” he asked. “That bitch looked like she had something serious to say to you.”

  “She’s worried about the road near her house,” Kennedy replied. “If I get elected, she wants me to see about making some improvements.”

  Joe wore a skeptical expression. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” he said and went through the motions of playing another two games of pool, just to keep up appearances. But his mind was on Grace the whole time—and the fact that he could no longer ignore the past and simply hope for the best.

  He had to know what happened that night.

  Clay didn’t answer his door right away. Kennedy thought maybe Grace’s brother wasn’t there. He was about to give up and head home to relieve Kari Monson, his Thursday-night babysitter, when the porch light snapped on. Then a curtain moved in the window, and he felt rather than saw someone looking out at him.

  Finally, the lock clicked and the door opened.

  “Kennedy,” Clay said, his expression curious yet guarded. “What can I do for you?”

  Kennedy had hoped Clay would invite him in, but judging by the way he was dressed—in a pair of jeans with no shirt or shoes—this wasn’t a good time. “I’m sorry to bother you so late. But could you spare me a couple of minutes?”

  Clay glanced back over his shoulder, leading Kennedy to believe he wasn’t alone. If it had been a Friday night, Kennedy might’ve expected him to have company. But not during the week. Clay worked too hard. Occasionally he showed up at the Let the Good Times Roll tavern, but more often he went to bed early.

  “Clay? Who is it?” A woman’s voice. Kennedy thought it might be Alexandra Martin, who owned the breakfast café in town, but he knew it could be any one of a number of women. Eligible members of the opposite sex didn’t seem to care that Clay might’ve been involved in a murder. Some of them were making a career out of trying to win him over. They cooked him dinner, baked him cakes, occasionally accompanied him to the tavern and far more often kept his bed warm. But much to the disappointment of his many admirers—and the relief of their relatives—Clay remained as aloof as ever. Kennedy was willing to bet Grace’s brother would never marry.

  “Should I come back tomorrow?” he asked, even though he felt like he needed to talk to Clay now, before he could spend one more second thinking about what Janice had said.

  “That depends,” Clay said softly. “Does this have anything to do with my sister?”

  It had everything to do with Grace. But Kennedy didn’t want to put it that way. “It has more to do with the past.”

  Clay stepped outside and closed the door. “What do you have to say?”

  Kennedy considered telling him that Janice had come forward. He knew it would increase his chances of reaching the truth if he could name a witness. But she’d put herself at risk to protect Heath and Teddy. Maybe Clay would guess, if he’d seen her that night eighteen years ago, but Kennedy wouldn’t reveal her identity.

  “Someone saw you driving the reverend’s car the night he went missing,” he said.

  Kennedy wasn’t sure if he’d expected a visible reaction to this news. If so, he should’ve known better. Clay was too good at poker to give himself away—and he’d been playing this game for far too long. “And five other people saw five other things,” he said.

  “This is someone I trust.”

  “Well, I don’t know who told you that, but they’re mistaken. The reverend never let me drive his car.”

  “His lack of permission is part of the problem,” Kennedy said.

  A muscle flexed in Clay’s cheek, but Kennedy wasn’t about to back off. “I caught Grace with the Bible the reverend carried around everywhere. I know you or someone else in your family was involved that night.”

  There was a slight narrowing of Clay’s eyes, but nothing more. “So why don’t you go to the police?” he asked.

  Kennedy scowled. “You know why.”

  “You like Grace.”

  Like was a pretty mild word for absolute infatuation. “I care about her,” he admitted.

  Clay seemed to measure him in some way. “Then leave the past alone.” He started to go back into the house, but Kennedy grasped his arm.

  “I have my own family to protect, Clay. That’s why I’m here.”

  Clay looked at Kennedy’s hand, but Kennedy didn’t let go. “What do you want me to tell you? That you have nothing to worry about? That you can have Grace right along with everything else?”

  “I want the truth.”

  “Whose version?”

  “I’ll take yours, for starters.”

  Chuckling mirthlessly, Clay shook his head as though Kennedy was crazy for even asking.

  “If this person stepped forward, there could be others,” Kennedy said, hoping to convince him. “Who knows when something new might come out?”

  “‘What if’ is a tough thing to live with,” Clay agreed. “That’s why, if I were you, I’d keep my life simple and start seeing someone else. Grace isn’t meant for anyone around here. She—” his eyebrows clashed as he struggled for words “—she’s too good for this place.”

  Kennedy had never had anyone suggest a woman was too good for him before. But, considering how he’d behaved toward Clay’s sister in high school, he accepted it. “She’s been through a lot. I know that.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Clay said, almost fiercely. “Don’t think she needs you.”

  The door opened and Alexandra stood there, wearing only a sheet. “Oh. Hi, Kennedy,” she said with a giggle.

  Kennedy barely had a chance to wave before Clay told her to wait for him inside.

  She pouted at the impatience in his response but obeyed him. Kennedy got the impression that Clay would simply send her home if she didn’t. He made no secret of the fact that he didn’t care deeply for her or any of the other women he entertained. His indifference was probably the very thing that kept them coming back.

  “You’re right,” Kennedy said with a sigh. He was making this harder than it needed to be. He had to stay away from Grace, just as she’d tried to tell him. That would solve everything. Then, if the truth emerged, it wouldn’t affect him, his kids or his parents. Life would continue as it always had.

  “Good night.” Turning, he walked to his truck. But once he was on his way home, he found that Grace had left a message on his cell phone.

  “Hi, Kennedy. Give me a call when you can, okay?”

  He told himself he wouldn’t respond. He’d just made the decision to steer clear of the whole Montgomery mystery. How many people did it take to warn him that he was traveling hell-bent for trouble?

  But he didn’t get more than a block from Clay’s farm before he m
ade a U-turn and headed back to town. He wasn’t going to call Grace. He was going to see her. Because part of him stubbornly believed they still had a chance—if she cared about him. If she cared enough to tell him the truth.

  17

  Anxiety surged through Grace the moment she saw Kennedy’s SUV pull into her drive. She’d been trying to come up with a good reason for contacting him. But it’d been two hours since she’d called his cell phone, and she still hadn’t thought of anything beyond the truth—that she wanted to hear his voice.

  “Grace? It’s me,” he said and knocked again when she didn’t immediately answer.

  She considered pretending she was asleep or gone. But since his mother had come by, and she and Clay had boxed up all the reverend’s things, she felt…renewed. As though she was on the verge of something really fantastic. She was sure Kennedy had some part in that. Everything seemed to center, in one way or another, on him.

  “Grace?” he called a second time.

  Smoothing her tank top and shorts, she quit stalling and opened the door.

  His eyes ran over her as if he wanted to pull her into his arms. But he kept his distance. “Hi.”

  The butterflies in her stomach made it difficult to breathe. “Hi.”

  “You called earlier?”

  She thought of offering him some of the excuses she’d already devised. Heath left his swimsuit here, and I wondered if you’d like to pick it up…. I made some cinnamon rolls I bet the boys would enjoy for breakfast. But she didn’t see the point.

  “Yes.”

  He waited expectantly for her to continue, then finally asked, “What did you want?”

  She took in the green of his eyes, admired the squareness of his jaw. “To see you,” she admitted.

  His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “Tonight?”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” he repeated to himself as though it was a loaded question.

  She moved back so he could come inside, but hesitated before closing the door behind him. “You might want to move your truck.”

  “For the Vincellis?” he said. “Forget it. I’m not moving anything.”

  Evidently, he was more like his mother than she’d thought. “I’m afraid you and your family are too proud for your own good.”

  “People can think what they want of my being here.”

  “You’re running for office.”

  “And if I’m elected, I’ll do the best job I can. That’s all I owe the voters of this town.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t care more about winning.”

  “I care about it,” he said. “But I’m not willing to let other people use it to dictate what I can and can’t do.”

  She shook her head at his stubbornness. “Fine. I guess that’s up to you.”

  He said nothing.

  “So…can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “Sure.”

  She led him into the kitchen, where she took a bottle of merlot from the cupboard. She was just starting to uncork it when he took hold of her hands.

  “What happened?” he asked, examining the nicks and gouges she’d sustained while destroying the reverend’s office.

  She shrugged. “I got a little too aggressive with my gardening.” She let her gaze fall to his thumbs, which gently brushed the insides of her wrists. She wanted to touch him, she realized with a sharp pang of desire. Intimately. She imagined sitting astride him, watching his face as she took him inside her.

  Finally, at thirty-one years of age, she craved physical intimacy—and it was creating an unexpected and incredible high.

  He entwined his fingers with hers. “Grace…”

  The tone of his voice made her nervous. “What?”

  “I know you’re not going to want to talk about this, but…”

  Tensing, she waited for the rest.

  “…I need to know what happened the night the reverend died. Before whatever’s going on between us goes any further.”

  She pulled her hands away. “Nothing happened. I’ve already told you and everyone else. He just…disappeared.”

  He looked torn. “I’d like to believe you. I really would. But we both know that’s not the truth. Finding you with his Bible told me that much.”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to level with him—but she couldn’t. Tomorrow, next year, he might not feel the same way toward her as he did right now. “It’s the only truth I can give you.”

  “I have to protect Teddy and Heath, my parents,” he explained. “I can’t see you if I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.”

  Grace froze inside. What had she been thinking? Just because his mother had asked her to stay, just because she entertained his boys so often, didn’t mean anything had changed between them. He was right. There were still too many risks. For both of them.

  “I understand,” she said, folding her arms defensively. Every time she dared to hope, the shadow of her past stretched toward her like the reverend’s arm from his grave. She was stupid to think she could get beyond it, especially here in Stillwater. “I—” she pushed the wine aside “—I made cinnamon rolls for the boys. Why don’t you take some home with you for breakfast?”

  “Stop it,” he said.

  “Stop what?” she snapped, anger filling the sudden void in her chest, replacing the happiness, the optimism, of a moment earlier.

  “Don’t withdraw from me, damn it. You were…there. I could feel it.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Taking her by the elbows, he pulled her up against him. “Trust me,” he whispered. Then his mouth covered hers.

  She’d been starved for the taste of him—and suddenly he was there, giving her what she needed. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she returned his kiss more passionately than she’d kissed any man.

  “Can you trust me?” he said against her mouth. “Please?”

  She wasn’t sure. She was feeling too many sensations. He was yanking off her shirt, and she was trying to help him. She kept waiting for the moment she’d go cold inside, when she’d want him to stop. But as long as he was kissing her, touching her, murmuring in her ear, she felt nothing but warmth. This was Kennedy. It seemed as if she belonged in his arms.

  “Tell me what happened to the reverend, Grace,” he said, cupping her breasts and kissing the swell of them.

  Think, she told herself. But she didn’t want to do anything that might end the arousal coursing through her. The desire for more of Kennedy, his touch, his taste, his smell nearly consumed her. She wanted to cast all care and caution aside, to escape them for once.

  “Grace?” he prompted breathlessly.

  “I…can’t,” she said.

  He drew back, stared at her long and hard. Then he lowered his head and took her nipple in his mouth. “Don’t make me choose,” he said, his tongue moving against her.

  Every nerve began to tighten and tingle. She closed her eyes at the pleasure he gave and let her head fall back. This was what other women experienced. This was healthy.

  “Tell me it’s not going to hurt the people I love if I love you, too,” Kennedy said, the hoarseness of his voice telling her he was every bit as affected as she was.

  It was the Bible that was making him so dogged, she thought. She had to give him some explanation or he’d keep pressing her. Fighting to control her careering emotions, she began to make up whatever she could think of—anything to obfuscate the reality of eighteen years ago. “I don’t…know what you mean. I—I found the…reverend’s Bible in the barn when I got back to town and…and I was going to plant it in Jed’s shop so—”

  He took a step back. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen there before, one full of desire and deep regret. “You’re saying you were going to frame Jed? I can’t believe that.”

  “No, of course not. Not really. I—”

  “Forget it,” he said. The hard edge in his voice indicated that he was struggling with his own confli
cts. “I have to go. I can’t keep pretending you’re telling me the truth. Teddy and Heath mean too much to me.”

  Closing her eyes, Grace listened to his footsteps recede. He was right; he was better off without her. But when the house fell silent before he could have reached the front door, she looked up to find him watching her from across the room.

  “I’m falling in love with you, Grace,” he said softly. “Do you know that?”

  She shook her head. It was a lie. It had to be.

  At her adamant rejection, he swore and started through the living room.

  Grace stood at the kitchen counter, her nails curving into her palms. Don’t go, please. She knew, if he walked out, that would be the end of what they had. He’d just bared his soul—and she’d given him nothing in return.

  But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t overcome the fear.

  I’m falling in love with you…. His words seemed to swirl through her head, growing larger and then smaller. She wanted to grab hold of them, believe in them, let them anchor her to something better than she’d known. But how? Eighteen years of silence clogged her throat, choking off all sound.

  When the front door opened, she told herself to let him leave. But she couldn’t. Not yet. He was the only one who could make her forget.

  Grabbing her shirt and clutching it to her chest, she ran after him. “Kennedy?” she managed to call.

  He turned in the doorway, his gaze hopeful.

  Her mouth was too dry to speak. Swallowing hard, she pushed past the fear. “Stay with me tonight.”

  His eyes filled with emotion. “Grace…”

  “You can walk away in the morning,” she said. “One night won’t change anything.”

  Kennedy wished he could refuse. But it was impossible. He’d been telling the truth when he said he was falling in love. And he knew it was the greatest of ironies, after the arrogant way he’d treated Grace when they were younger, that he should want her so badly now.

  Dimly, he thought of Heath and Teddy. He’d never knowingly allow them to be hurt. His folks mattered a great deal, too. But spending just one night in Grace’s arms suddenly didn’t seem that threatening. Maybe if he fulfilled his terrible craving for her, he’d be able to forget her.