He left her there, quiet and asleep, amazed that he had the capacity to hope again.
…
Dreams of faceless men shooting at her startled Marnie awake, and even the faded floral wallpaper and trappings of the unfamiliar bedroom didn’t convince her heart rate she was safe. Neither did the morning sun. Nightmares were for children, she reminded herself, and she hadn’t been a child, well…ever. She blamed last night’s excitement for harshing her calm. It wasn’t that dead bodies were new for Marnie. Exposure to them was inevitable with an addict mom who dragged her from flophouse to flophouse before abandoning her in one, but overdoses were peaceful compared with last night’s deaths. She hated guns.
Marnie rubbed her eyes with her palms, yawning, displacing the threadbare quilt from her body and stretching out the soreness from yesterday’s tussle with the creek bed. A chill was in the air, and it cut through MacLain’s borrowed T-shirt. Tugging the quilt about her, she blinked, trying to adjust, wondering where the hell she was. The last thing she remembered was being in MacLain’s truck.
Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Marnie jumped. “Shit!”
Elizabeth was staring. Her straight brown hair was tucked into a long ponytail that fell to her waist. Skinny, all elbows and knees, the young girl stood biting her nails. Marnie stared back, acutely aware that, unlike Elizabeth, at twelve she’d been picking pockets and stealing food. Elizabeth was something Marnie had never been, and therefore was foreign. What was there to say to a foreigner?
“Biting your nails will give you worms.” As a conversation starter, it lacked finesse, but it got Elizabeth to drop her hand.
Her boots were in the corner, but Marnie saw no clothes in the room. MacLain—his hands on her, stripping her while she slept. The memory was blurry at best, but it was there. Her body heated at the thought. With Elizabeth hovering and dissecting her every face twitch, thinking about MacLain touching her would have to wait. She tucked the quilt around her and threw her legs over the side of the bed. “I need pants.” Marnie rubbed her itching nose against the quilt. Elizabeth said nothing. Right. Mute.
The hardwood was cold as she hurried past the girl, out of the old-fashioned bedroom, and into the hall. Voices downstairs led her to the kitchen. MacLain and Harper were sitting at a tiny Formica dinette set, drinking coffee, and the room was warm from the ancient woodstove fired up in the back.
Harper stood, watchful. “Elizabeth, come here.” The girl had followed Marnie downstairs and to Harper’s side, so now MacLain’s sad little family tableau was complete. Marnie had never felt her outsider status so acutely.
“I need my pants.” She hugged the quilt tightly about her body.
MacLain sipped his coffee and indicated she should enter the kitchen rather than hover at its entry. “Harper, Elizabeth, this is Marnie Somerville. Marnie, this is Harper, my sister, and Elizabeth is my daughter.”
Marnie instinctively knew she wasn’t supposed to be here. It was one thing to eavesdrop into a MacLain family gathering via Skype and another to show up in the flesh, uninvited, barefoot, and hungry. She didn’t want to enter the kitchen; she didn’t want to get involved. She wanted her clothes, and she wanted to recover from yesterday out from under the scrutiny of a family that couldn’t help but think her odd. Mostly, she wanted to leave.
“Your clothes were trashed,” he said. “Harper?” He waited for his sister to turn her gaze from Marnie to him. “Do you have something Marnie could wear?”
“Of course.” Harper’s arm remained over Elizabeth’s shoulder, ever vigilant. She had something on her mind. “Dane says you know who killed Alice? How could you know that?” Ah. Harper was smart. She didn’t trust Marnie.
Marnie shifted her weight, itching her nose with the quilt again. It was weird being interrogated without pants. “Keeping me naked won’t keep me here.”
MacLain’s jaw dropped, he blushed, and whatever he meant to say disappeared as he intercepted Harper’s shocked expression.
“Getting pants.” Harper hurried off with Elizabeth reluctantly in tow.
Marnie pried MacLain’s coffee mug from his hand and drank it gone. “Nice little family.” He was looking at her feet, the only thing not covered by the quilt, and it wasn’t her imagination that MacLain looked good wearing a blush.
“My family used to be bigger.”
Tortured widower, despite the estrangement. A man like MacLain protected what was his. She understood how the kidnapping and the murder would mess with his identity more than most. It’s what made him…him. “What do Harper and Elizabeth know?”
“I told Harper what happened at the cabin. It shook her up.” His gaze traveled the length of her, and she could tell he was trying to be cool about it. Marnie wet her suddenly dry lips but stopped as soon as he caught her doing it. Even covered from neck to toe, the man had the ability to make her feel naked.
“She’s young,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
He arched a brow. “Harper’s twenty-four.”
Marnie wasn’t like other people. “Like I said. Young.” MacLain was expending a lot of effort trying to understand her, and if things were different, she might even have extended herself to help, but time was short and she didn’t belong here. “I hope you didn’t go into detail with her.”
“Harper is stronger than she looks. She’s had to be this last year.” He leaned back in his chair, and his gaze made her self-conscious. Yes, she knew the dried mud in her hair was making it stick up, and the streaks of mud on her face and hands made her resemble a golem. Her nose was itchy with it. So why was he looking as if he could eat her alive?
Marnie nudged the empty mug closer to him. “Any more of this?” She scanned the old-fashioned kitchen. “That refrigerator is older than my mother.”
“It keeps threatening to die on me.”
Just like her mother. “Does it have food in it?”
“Help yourself.” He took the mug to the counter and poured her a fresh cup.
When she grabbed the refrigerator handle, she lost her grip on the quilt and it slipped to the floor. Surprised, she turned to see if he noticed and was delighted to see that he had. The man was transfixed. Her heart fluttered, and little butterflies danced in her belly. Even covered in dirt, she still had it. Wrapping back up, happy now, she opened the refrigerator, retrieving eggs, milk, deli ham, cheese, and sliced tomatoes from its ancient interior. All went on the counter.
Harper came back with clothes. “What are you doing?” she said.
Marnie ignored her and took a large bowl off an open shelf. If Harper looked long enough, she’d figure it out.
“She’s hungry.” The way MacLain said it made Marnie glance at him. His eyes were burning. Oh, yeah.
“I’m hungry,” Elizabeth said.
MacLain, mouth agape, stared at his daughter. It was hard to watch. Harper, too. Her eyes were filling with tears, and she was covering her open mouth.
This was a big moment. Too big. It was a family moment, and Marnie didn’t belong. No one knew what to do, and Elizabeth was no help. She kept her puppy dog eyes on Marnie, begging for a crumb of attention. “I’ll make enough for you, too,” Marnie said.
Harper’s sobs started. Great gobs of sobs. Ugly, happy crying. While MacLain was busy giving his sister overt cues to pull it together, Elizabeth was ignoring the drama, as if she was set apart from it. Marnie took her cue from the girl.
“Do you want to crack the eggs?” At Elizabeth’s nod, Marnie waved her over and pushed the egg carton toward her. “Everybody eating?”
MacLain hugged Harper, eyes tightly shut. People in Marnie’s world knew enough to hide their vulnerability. In this house, it seemed constantly on display. Proof positive they weren’t accustomed to it. Live with vulnerability long enough, and you learn to bury its signs lest it be used against you.
“Crack all the eggs, Elizabeth,” she said. “I’ll b
e back when I put some pants on.”
She grabbed her coffee and the borrowed clothes and hurried to her room. It was exhausting to be around the MacLains. They were raw and reactive. She figured it came from living in limbo for so long. She showered, dressed, all the while wondering if MacLain would notice she cleaned up well. She hurried downstairs and found that Harper and Elizabeth had whipped up omelets.
“Don’t worry about us, Dane,” Harper said. “My classes are done. Elizabeth and I will find plenty to do here. Won’t we, Elizabeth?”
“Thanks for your patience, Harper. I promise. This won’t be for long.” He ran his fingers over the length of Elizabeth’s ponytail. His daughter was ignoring them, keeping her gaze on the toast she buttered.
Marnie knew the moment he noticed her, because he steeled himself, as if she were a threat. Great. She wiped nervous sweat off her palms. She was intruding. That’s what happens when you don’t belong anywhere. You’re constantly not wanted.
“Marnie is going to help me,” he said.
No, Marnie is not. She kept her counsel, not wanting to drag Harper and the kid into their argument. MacLain scowled at her, as if he’d read her mind. “What?” She hadn’t said a thing. He waited, for what she wasn’t sure. Her to acquiesce? That was unlikely. Then he swore under his breath and stormed out of the room, the house, and slammed the front door after him. Elizabeth startled.
Harper was confused. “What was that about?” She looked toward Marnie for answers as she hurried after him.
MacLain was being an ass, expecting her to toe his line, and when she refused, he stormed off. That’s what that was about, but explain that to his sister. Not going to happen. With forced nonchalance, Marnie refreshed her coffee, thinking she wasn’t there to make friends. She’d cratered her life. Time to clean up her mess and start thinking about building it back up.
While eating her weight in toast and omelet, Marnie brooded while Elizabeth sat across from her and stared. Harper wandered back into the kitchen at some point and cleaned up. It didn’t go unnoticed that she, too, was staring at Marnie. After two months of staring at this family, they were finally in a position to stare back. She didn’t like it. And she didn’t like being dumped in the middle of their drama. If this was normal, it blew.
When she was full, Marnie pushed the remaining toast toward Elizabeth. The girl picked it up and nibbled. Harper disappeared down the hall to do who knew what. The woman was perfection personified—kind, smart, funny, beautiful. Marnie wouldn’t be surprised if she had bluebirds and woodland creatures helping her with the chores.
“So what do you think about all this going on?” Marnie said. Elizabeth shrugged. “A shrug? Use your words.”
Elizabeth didn’t say anything for a while. She continued to nibble on toast, playing with random crumbs. Just as Marnie had given up on a response, Elizabeth flipped her ponytail down her back and glanced over her shoulder, presumably to see if they were still alone. “We’re all gonna die.”
Marnie choked on her coffee. Shit. Elizabeth continued to chew, continued to stare. “Sooner or later everything dies. Right?” Marnie said. Elizabeth nodded, but she didn’t fool Marnie. The girl had humoring adults down to an art form. “Why do I have a feeling that’s not what you’re talking about?” Elizabeth shrugged again, but now she avoided Marnie’s gaze.
It was hard to argue with the girl. If something wasn’t done, the MacLain family would be dead as soon as they left the safe house. Whitman’s organization had decided MacLain was a threat to their ongoing profits, and like any other blip in their profit margins, he was being dealt with. Going for groceries, lax security—something would trip this family up, and they’d be found if Marnie didn’t dismantle the company first. It was unacceptable. No way was she allowing anyone to hurt Elizabeth again. She’d talk to MacLain about bumming a ride to the nearest town. It was past time she got to work.
Which meant fantasy time was over. This unexpected opportunity to rub shoulders with the MacLains needed to end. It was in all their interests that she leave. If she stayed longer, they’d get to know her. Really know her. It would be impossible to hide the real her for long. She’d tried in the past, and it never ended well. It always led to rejections and being shown to the door. Marnie wasn’t like these people. She didn’t begrudge them the reaction, she just wasn’t up to playing that game again. If MacLain wouldn’t give her a ride, she’d hitch. She looked up from her plate and saw resigned fear on the little girl’s face. She recognized the look, because she’d worn it herself a time or two. Elizabeth felt hopeless.
The girl took her plate and brought it to the sink. All very homey and domestic like. Harper had trained her well. Elizabeth was going through the motions of life, a victim of circumstance and good intentions. Something had to be done before it was too late and she ended up like…well, like Marnie.
Standing abruptly, she found herself shaking her head. When Elizabeth sent her a questioning look, she didn’t know how to respond, so Marnie rushed from the room, grabbed a jacket off the coatrack in the hall, and went in search of MacLain and a ride. She had to get out of here.
Only MacLain was nowhere. He’d taken his truck and left. Her heart sank. She’d have to hitch. Marnie covered her face in frustration. She could call her friend Caleb. He’d help her. He’d ask questions, probably give her shit for it, but she’d be gone by the time MacLain got back. Marnie dropped her hands and found herself staring back at Elizabeth. She was biting her nails again, looking worried.
“I’ll give him an hour,” Marnie said. Pivoting back to the house, she silently rolled through a litany of expletives, sensitive to young ears that shouldn’t be exposed to such violent imagery. When she slammed the door to the bedroom behind her, she found she was shaking. She was furious. At herself, because Marnie didn’t want to leave. What was wrong with her?
Chapter Seven
He met up with his ex-partner for lunch at Julian’s on Bridge Street. They served good food, breakfast and lunch, and it was all local traffic in there. It reminded Dane of his days walking the beat, when life was footloose and fancy-free.
Joe joined him at the table and didn’t meet Dane’s eyes until after he caught the waitress’s. As he ordered them their usual lunch, two cheeseburgers, the works, fries, and colas, Dane played with the idea of telling Joe about the flash drive in his pocket. Marnie had said it was useless without a decryption code, but maybe Marnie didn’t know everything. Last night, before he brought Harper up to speed on the events of the night, he’d called Joe and told him about the bodies at the cabin. “Did you connect them to Whitman Enterprises?”
Joe’s eyes were bloodshot. “You look like shit,” his friend said.
“Back at you.” Facilitating a crime scene with local law enforcement took finesse and lots of tugging of strings. When the crime scene was out of your jurisdiction, it took a miracle. Joe was fresh from doing just that, and from the looks of him, he’d never seen his bed last night. “Was there a hit on AFIS for any of the gunmen’s fingerprints?”
Joe rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I don’t know how long I can keep helping you and keep my job. That dick, Reynolds, has been watching me like a hawk. Every time I turn around, the guy is checking up on me, asking people about our friendship. As soon as I showed up at the precinct this morning, guess who was riding my ass? Didn’t get a cup of coffee in before that surfer dude started asking questions.”
“Reynolds?” Dane knew Reynolds. He’d been around for years and hated Dane’s guts. “He’s from Jersey.”
The waitress served them their drinks and then hurried off.
Joe waited until she was out of earshot. “Are you sure? Lean, tall, blond, blue eyed—”
“You just described yourself, and you sure as shit don’t surf. What did you do to piss him off?”
“I’m friends with you,” Joe said. “That’s enough.”
“Sorry.” And Dane was. Everyone he loved was touched by what had happened to A
lice. Joe had to work with people who despised Dane. It couldn’t be easy to be known as his best friend.
“The lieutenant wants a meeting today to discuss why I was involved in an investigation of a suspected shooting in the White Mountains. What the hell am I supposed to tell him? Certainly not the truth.”
Joe had been juggling loyalties since Dane was suspended and then fired from the force. They called it a medical forced retirement because of PTSD, to allow him to keep his pension, but everyone knew he was fired. Joe kept Dane apprised of any movement on the Tuttle case and kept an ear out if people started nosing around Alice’s case. It had always been a risk that the lieutenant, Dane’s ex-boss, would find out and Joe’s career would take a hit for leaking proprietary information. Dane didn’t like that reality, but he didn’t see a way around it, either. Without Joe, he had no in at the station.
“I’m sorry,” Dane said. “I’m an ass. I’m grateful. I am. We wouldn’t have survived those months after Alice was killed, with Elizabeth recovering—” In his pocket, the flash drive pressed against his thigh, an unanswered question. Was it fair to pull Joe in deeper, increasing his risk of exposure? The lieutenant was already asking questions. Giving Joe the flash drive might be the final straw. Attempting a decryption would require Joe to use police resources and tech, which required logged hours and authorizations. It could cost him his job, and Marnie seemed positive it wouldn’t work.
“Dane, stop worrying.” Joe held up his hand. He and Alice had been friends, too. Joe was as close as family and still grieving. “We can both be asses. It’s just your turn, and heaven knows you have good reason.” He absently tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ll handle Reynolds, the dead-eyed asshole. And I’ll handle the lieutenant’s questions. I always do.”
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 7
