by Jane Porter
“Is that a trick question?”
“No. I had no idea there was a problem.”
Jet suddenly felt less sure of herself. “Come on.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of an issue.”
She felt another prick of guilt and unease. “Forget it,” she said quickly. “Obviously I don’t know what I’m talking about.” She smiled tightly, relieved to see the waiter arrive with their wine. “What are you going to order?”
“Haven’t even looked at the menu.” He smiled faintly, his dark eyes boring into hers. “But I think you know that, too.”
Too.
Jet reached for her wine and took a gulp, suddenly, dreadfully out of her element. She reached for the menu, opening it, trying to hide. Why had she even brought up the Sheenans? Not smart. If she was going to probe, she should have at least waited for dessert to save herself from an uncomfortable dinner.
“I liked Dillon,” he said from the other side of the menu. “He seemed nice enough. I’ve never spoken to Brock. He’s not in town much.”
She lowered the menu an inch.
“I met Troy once, and he was okay,” Shane added. “Haven’t met Trey. And Cormac’s an ass.”
Her brow creased. “Cormac can be tough, but he’s a great dad—” She broke off, gulped air, feeling the blood drain away. “And he’s here,” she whispered.
Not just here, but heading her way now.
Shane reached for his wine. “Is that a problem?”
Yes. “No.” Panic bubbled up, making her heart pound and her head swim. She had to beat the panic down, telling herself she hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t know anything. No one had told her anything specific. There was no reason she couldn’t have dinner with her favorite author. And yet, as Cormac approached, she felt her legs turn to Jell-O.
It was all she could do to stand up and start towards him, determined to intercept Cormac before he reached their table. “Hey.” She greeted him with a sunny smile. “Small world.”
He hesitated a moment before kissing her cheek. “It is in this part of the country,” he said, glancing past her, gaze locked on Shane. “Is that Swan you’re with?”
“Swan?” She repeated, brow creasing.
He sighed. “Shane Swan.”
“Oh, yes. We’re having dinner. He’s Sean Finley. Did you know that?”
“Yeah.” But Cormac wouldn’t return her smile. “And I’m not a fan, either. He’s trouble, Jet. You shouldn’t be out with him.”
“Why?”
“I can’t go into it now, but trust me. He’s bad news.”
“I’m not sure what he’s done to earn his bad reputation, but he’s been nothing but nice to me—”
“Did he ask you out?”
“Yes.”
“Has he asked you about my family?”
Her mouth opened, closed. “Not sure what that means.”
Cormac folded his arms across his chest. “He’s using you. He’s trying to get close to the Sheenans—”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit presumptuous?” she interrupted. “Can an attractive man not be interested in me, for me?”
“Yes, but that’s not what’s going on with Swan. He has an agenda—”
“And you don’t, Cormac?”
“No. I don’t.” He frowned down at her. “Why would you say that? We’ve never had any problem…” His voice faded and he again looked past her, expression darkening. “What did Swan tell you?”
“About what?” She was so frustrated she wanted to stamp her foot, and she wasn’t the type to stamp a foot. She couldn’t do that in her family. The Diekerhofs had a zero tolerance policy for drama and tantrums. “I have no idea what’s going on. No one has told me anything. There’s just lots of hush-hush-hush but nothing that I can make sense of, and I’m not going to be rude to someone who has been nothing but nice to me without a really good reason.”
Cormac took her arm and drew her from the center of the restaurant to a corridor on the side. “And he really hasn’t asked you about the Sheenans?”
He asked the question looking hard into her eyes and she gulped a breath, heart falling. There was no way she could lie to him. That would only alienate him completely. “We did talk about Harley, but that’s because I brought her up.”
“And he said nothing about Brock? Or any of my brothers?”
Her unease grew. “Brock came up, too, when he said he’d never met Brock. Or Trey. Just you, Troy, and Dillon.”
“Did he mention McKenna?”
“No. Why?”
“Because he’s writing a book about McKenna’s family.”
Jet gave her head a slight shake. “But why?”
Cormac seemed perplexed by her question. “You know about McKenna’s family?”
“No.”
He hesitated so long that Jet knew it was bad, whatever it was.
“There was a home invasion on the Douglas ranch when she was a little girl,” he said gruffly. “Five members of her family were killed, including her parents, and a baby sister. The crime was never solved.”
“Actually, I did hear about a mass murder on a ranch in Paradise Valley a long time ago—one of my students mentioned it—but I didn’t realize that it was McKenna’s family.” She hesitated, perplexed. “And you’re sure Shane’s writing about it?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Back before Christmas I was in the house and saw the dining room at the house—my family home, the place I grew up in—and he’d turned it into his study. The walls were lined with bulletin boards covered with newspaper headlines.”
She looked away and chewed on her lower lip. She didn’t know what to say anymore.
“He’s interviewing people, too. Asking questions. It’s not good. It’s just stirring up a lot of bad memories.” Cormac gave his head a faint shake. “Let me take you home. You don’t want to be part of this.”
She hesitated, trying to understand. “Part of what?”
“This…circus.”
She still didn’t understand. “He’s a very respected writer. He’s won a National Book Award—”
“It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be writing that book, in our home. So let me take you back to Kara’s. I don’t think it’s good for you to be associating with him.”
“Cormac, he’s a writer, not a criminal.”
“He deceived us. He said he was writing a book about Paradise Valley history…never about the Douglases.”
“Okay, he has questionable judgment, but I don’t think he’s a bad person.”
“Do you know what a book like this will do to McKenna?”
“But what if Shane can solve the crime?”
Cormac’s jaw just tightened.
She reached out to give his forearm a squeeze. “What if he finds out something that could help the case? It’s possible.”
“And he’ll make a fortune off it, too,” he added bitterly.
“Make a fortune from what?” a deep, sardonic voice asked, interrupting the conversation.
Jet spun around, flushing hotly as she spotted Shane standing right behind her. How much had he heard?
She forced a quick smile. “Hey. We were just talking about you.”
Shane smiled back, but the curve of his lips was faint and his dark gaze wary. “So I gathered.”
Jet gestured to Cormac. “You know each other?”
The corner of Shane’s mouth lifted a fraction, and yet it only seemed to make his expression harder. “We’ve spoken. Briefly.”
Cormac eyed Shane coldly. “Still waiting on that departure date, Swan.”
Shane shrugged. “Don’t have one.”
“The lease is not being renewed.”
“The lease stipulates I’m to be given a thirty day notice, Sheenan. Written. Haven’t gotten that.”
“I would think it’s uncomfortable remaining someplace you’re not wanted.”
“You might think so, yes. But I’ve spent most of m
y life in homes where I wasn’t wanted, so…” His voice trailed away. He shrugged carelessly, holding Cormac’s gaze the entire time.
Although Cormac and Shane were approximately the same height with an athletic build, Cormac carried more muscle, but if push came to shove, Jet sensed Shane would have no problem holding his own. And right now it felt very much like push would come to shove. The tension was so thick that Jet had to drag the air into her lungs. This was not good. If she didn’t act quickly things were going to get out of hand.
She grabbed a hold of Shane’s sleeve, and gave it a tug. “Come on,” she said briskly. “We haven’t ordered and I’m starving.”
But Shane didn’t seem to hear her. He was too intent on staring Cormac down. And Cormac was welcoming the challenge.
Bad.
Cormac wasn’t one to trifle with. He might be the only fair Sheenan, but he and Trey were the family fighters. And glancing at Cormac, she could believe it. His jaw had thickened. His blue gaze glowed fire. The man’s testosterone was flying.
“That’s fine,” she added, trying a different tactic. “If you’re no longer interested in dinner, Cormac can just take me home. He offered—”
“I asked you to dinner. I want to have dinner with you,” Shane retorted, cutting her short.
“Then have dinner with me, but this isn’t dinner. So, either let’s go sit down or I’m leaving.” Her lips compressed. She was serious, too. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by either of them.
Shane’s dark head inclined, and he took her handin his, fingers interlacing. “Let’s eat.” And without a backwards glance, he led her away from Cormac and back to their table.
Shane could feel Jet’s pulse as he walked her back to the table. It was fast. She was upset. He felt a pang of remorse. He needed Jet’s help, but this wasn’t the way to get her on his side.
He held her chair for her and then scooted the chair forward as she sat down. She murmured thanks but he could see from her pallor and the set of her full lips that she was far from happy. He wished he could blame Cormac, but her frosty tone back there in the restaurant corridor had been directed at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly, taking his seat again.
“That was really uncomfortable,” she said, staring at him, head high, shoulders squared, her wide, blue eyes unblinking, expression full of censure.
School teacher censure.
He would have smiled at any other time, but right now wasn’t the time. He’d hurt her feelings and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure how to make amends, but he wanted to. Not because he needed her support but because he liked her. She wasn’t just a pretty young thing, but a really nice person. A good person. And she deserved to be treated well.
And he really didn’t want to smile, but she kept glaring at him, giving him the most reproving look, as if she weren’t just a teacher, but a Sunday school teacher, and Shane couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stared him down, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was in trouble. And this was serious.
God only knew he’d experienced his share of angry teachers. Even as a boy, he’d known what not to do, but that was too easy. Why do what he was supposed to do? Why not do what he wanted to do? Why not do the thing that interested him?
He struggled to think of a suitable topic, hoping a change of subject would smooth things over. “How is the wine? Good?”
She wasn’t done scolding him. “You were not helping things back there.”
He’d apologize to her, but not for the interaction with Cormac Sheenan. Cormac had been making waves for Shane ever since Cormac arrived in town last November with his daughter, Daisy. He’d even gone so far as to contact Shane’s agent and publisher. “Sheenan was attacking me.”
She just looked at him, not the least bit sympathetic. “So?”
“I wasn’t going to just stand there—”
“Why not? You’re a man, not a child. I’m sure you’ve dealt with criticism before.”
Shane no longer felt like laughing. “Ouch.”
She shrugged impatiently. “I’d say the same thing to him, if he were here.”
“But he’s not.”
“That’s right. So I’m talking to you.” She studied him a long moment. “Is it true? What he said? That your new book is about McKenna’s family?”
“It’s about the crime that was committed on the Douglas ranch, yes.”
For a split second she looked surprised…no, disappointed, and then her expression went blank.
He wished he hadn’t seen the disappointment.
He wanted her to smile at him again, which surprised him because he usually didn’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone thought, much less thought of him.
He shifted uncomfortably, arms folding over his chest. “I didn’t like seeing him pull you out of the dining room,” he said after a moment. “It looked rough, and so I went to check on you. Make sure you were alright.”
There was a flicker in her blue eyes but her guard remained up. “I can usually handle myself alright.”
“So I’m discovering.”
She cracked a smile. “I’ve a mean left hook.”
“Who taught you that?”
“My brothers. Just in case.” Her smile widened. “It’s proven useful more than once.”
“I can imagine.” Shane smiled at her. “And I am sorry for what happened back there. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle.”
She nodded, but her smile slipped. “I’d read your book coming out next year already has a movie deal.” She toyed with the stem of her wineglass a moment before adding, “And that book is the one about the Douglas…crime…?”
Worry shadowed her eyes. The strange tightness in his chest was back. He didn’t know what she was doing to him, but he couldn’t remember when he last felt so ambivalent about anything. “Yes.”
“What kind of movie?”
“I’m not sure.”
Her eyebrows arched.
“It depends on the producers. Could be a network series, or a major motion film. They’re waiting for the book.”
“But it’s been optioned. For over six figures.”
He nodded.
She looked away, her fine, dark brown eyebrows tugging, teeth sinking into the bottom lip. She was struggling. She strongly disapproved but she didn’t know what to do about it.
Not yet, anyway.
“Jet, can I ask you something now?”
She looked at him, nodded briefly.
“If you didn’t know McKenna, or the Sheenan family, would you think the book is such a terrible thing?” he asked.
She thought about it for a moment. “It depends on how it was written. If it’s graphic and written for shock value—” She broke off, staring at him, seemingly more perplexed than ever. “Is it graphic?”
“There’s no way to write about the massacre of a good ranch family without an element of sensationalism. It’s a horrific, violent story. A tragedy.” He hesitated. “That’s never been solved.”
“Why hasn’t it been solved?”
He studied her a moment. “My opinion, or what the ‘experts’ say?”
“I would assume after a year or more of research you’ve become an expert.”
He liked her more and more. “The investigation was poorly organized, with incompetent detectives. Huge mistakes were made right away. Critical ones that doomed the investigation from the start.”
“Intentionally?”
“No. Paradise Valley is just rural and remote. No one had ever encountered anything of this magnitude. None of those who responded were adequately prepared for what they found, the result being a compromised crime scene.” He drank from his wine goblet then returned the glass to the table. “It’s a tragedy on top of tragedy, and it’s bothered me ever since I first heard about it.”
“So you decided to write about it.”
“I decided to see what I could find out.”
“Do you think you know wh
o…did it?”
He hesitated. “I’ve begun to piece together my conclusion.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Mmm.”
“But I have to read the book, right?”
He chose not to focus on the sarcasm, teasing her instead. “You said you liked my books.”
“I do. But this one is different. It’s essentially a true crime story.”
“Most of my books have been. Some just are man against man, while others are man against nature, but they are all crimes if you think about it. Tragedies, every one.”
“What drew you to this story?”
“The same thing that draws me to every story. What really happened? Who were they? And what is true? My job is to piece together not just the story, but the truth.”
She was studying him intently, looking at him as if she could somehow see into him, almost as if looking for his story, his truth. “Have you ever given up on a story?”
What an interesting question. He’d been interviewed many times in his career but he couldn’t remember if he’d ever been asked that question.
“No.” He reached for his menu, and flashed her a reckless smile, a smile he’d mastered as a fourteen-year-old when hauled before a judge to receive a punishment for running away from his ‘home,’ which was nothing more than an institutional care facility for boys with nowhere else to go. “Because that would be like giving up. And I’ll never do that.”
Chapter Four
Jet was fascinated with Shane.
She’d never met anyone like him before, and doubted she’d ever meet anyone like him again. He was an original. And she just wanted to know more. But he wasn’t an open book, deflecting attention from his personal life to safe topics like novels and movies and the places they’d both traveled. She liked all those subjects so it was easy to talk about what she’d been reading and the spots she’d visited during her recent European adventure, but after a half hour of pleasant conversation, she was tired of discussing the best hostels in Ireland and wanted to learn more about him…whether it was Shane or Sean.
“How did you come up with your pen name?” she asked, as their dinner plates were cleared.
He waited for the server to leave. “It’s actually an old family name.”
