“Not at all. But after the things Thomas told me about you—”
“You expected me to be some slathering, scarfaced Hun with pointed teeth, a crooked nose, and a naked woman tossed over my shoulder.”
She gave him the once-over. “You forgot the part about the wooden leg.”
“I left it at home. It makes a helluva racket on parquet floors.” He gestured to her throat. “That’s a pretty pendant. Family heirloom?”
She touched her neck, covering the gold crescent moon with her fingers. “It was my mother’s. She said my father gave it to her.”
“I see.”
Once again she caressed the pendant. “My mother liked to have fun,” she offered quietly. “She was the original party girl. Drinking, drugging, it didn’t matter. Fun, fun, fun. Eventually, it killed her. No more fun. No more Maggie O’Dell.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes. I loved her very much. I miss her. I miss her every day of my life.” When he didn’t say anything, she laughed. “I guess I went first after all. Your turn.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “In a nutshell, Heyworth broke up my parents’ marriage. He ruined my family on every possible level. He was greedy and selfish and didn’t care who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted.”
She knew Thomas was a bit on the rough side, but had never heard of him doing anything so underhanded. “I… I can’t believe that. Not of Thomas. Oh, Max. How on earth—”
“Until the great Thomas Heyworth came along,” he said gruffly, “my parents had a pretty good marriage. My dad was a police officer and my mom dabbled at archaeology. Sometimes, she’d take me and my sister Frankie with her on digs. Every summer she’d go somewhere new. She loved it. We did, too.” He paused for a moment, apparently letting the memories roll over him, through him, until he seemed saturated with fury. “She met Heyworth one summer my first year of college. Bottom line, the bastard seduced her away from my father. When she divorced my dad, he lost it, started screwing up on the job. He ended up being shot in the back by a suspect he’d just collared.”
“No. Oh, no. Oh, Max, I’m so sor—”
“After they were married,” he rushed on, “Heyworth brought her to this fucking island. Kept her here like a prisoner. Wouldn’t let me see her. A few months later she died. It nearly destroyed Frankie.” He pushed away from the table and went to stand in front of the window, his hands on his hips, his face turned to stone. She came up close behind him.
“And you, Max?” she whispered. “Did it nearly destroy you, too?” With trembling fingers she touched her hand to his shoulder.
He turned his head a little. “My mother was… special. She was smart and fun. I couldn’t believe it when she left my dad like that. But it was Heyworth. That goddamn son of a bitch. It was him. He promised her things, I guess, and she fell for it. Oh, I don’t blame her. I’m sure he was really something back then. I swear to God, I could have strangled him with my bare hands.”
Evie removed her hand from his shoulder as a cold feeling surged through her system. She tried to get her mind around it, but her brain had frozen at his words.
“Was it you?” she whispered.
“Was what me? What are you talking about?” He turned to face her.
She took a step away from him and looked up into his eyes, horror and disbelief constricting her heart. Thomas’s words came back to her.
One of you killed me… and I know which one…
“Did you do it, Max? Did you kill Thomas?”
Chapter 12
Dear Diary:
I love llamas. There are five of them and they live on the island all the time, and Thomas told me I could take care of them from now on! They're really soft and they hum. Not like people hum, but it's a totally cool sound. Daisy is going to have a cria, that's a baby. Thomas says that if it’s a boy, we’re going to call him Fernando. He laughed and thought that was really funny, but I don’t get it.
Evangeline—age 11
Max looked stunned, as though she’d just slammed a frying pan upside his head. Then she watched as his eyes seemed to turn to green flame.
“Excuse me?” he drawled, anger simmering just under the softly spoken words.
Evie frowned as she said, “I had no idea how much you despised Thomas, or why. Did you hate him enough to—”
“I did not kill Heyworth,” he growled. “Not my style. I’m a police officer, Evie. Sworn to uphold the law.”
“And nobody sworn to uphold the law has ever murdered anybody.”
“You know they have,” he snapped. “I’m just not one of them.”
Flipping back the edges of his jacket, he shoved his hands into his pockets—to keep from choking her, she was certain.
“Do you think I’m capable of cold-blooded murder, Evie?” His glare was hot enough to melt titanium.
“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”
“Look at me. Look into my eyes. Do you see a killer?”
“I’ll bet Al Bundy used that same argument.”
“It was Ted Bundy, and I can’t believe you’re comparing me to some slimy serial killer.”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying that you apparently had a very real motive for wanting Thomas dead. And being a cop, you also had the means. You carry a gun and know how to use it. Thomas was shot by somebody who was an excellent marksman, or terribly, terribly lucky.”
She paused for a moment, eyeing him. “However, in spite of the fact you’re a lout, I’ll grant that even you aren’t stupid enough to have put your career and your life on the line just for revenge.”
“Wow, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “You really know how to pump up a man’s ego, sweetheart.”
“Your ego is healthy enough to withstand a little deflating.”
Stepping closer, he reached up and ran his finger along her jaw, tipping up her chin. “What about opportunity, babe?”
Her eyes widened. He was touching her again. For much of her life she’d been wary of a man’s touch, welcoming it only on rare occasions with men she trusted implicitly. But Max’s touch seemed the most natural thing in the world, a realization that bothered her and made her extremely nervous. “Op-Opportunity for what?”
“You said I had means and motive. But what about opportunity?” He slipped his hand around to the nape of her neck and stepped a little closer.
In the coolness of the room, she could feel his warmth pulsing against her, and she stood there and let it wrap around her like a cloak. Her insides balled up. He was leading her down a path of subtle seduction, and to her own surprise, she wanted to go.
“Opportunity,” she mumbled. “Well, you could have gotten a skiff, come out to the island, hidden away until the right moment, killed Thomas, taken off again, and nobody would have been the wiser.”
“Anybody could have done that. If you think it was me, you don’t know me very well.”
“I don’t know you at all.”
“Yes you do.” His mouth curved into an extremely sexy smile. “Besides, maybe you killed Heyworth.”
She dropped the book and then smacked her open hands against his chest. “What? You moron. You know I didn’t do it! I can’t believe you would…”
Her voice drifted off as he laid his hands over hers and smiled down into her eyes.
She swallowed. More touching. Part of her wanted to run away and hide. Part of her wanted to ease herself a little closer.
Granted, she was a young woman and her hormones were wondering why in the world she never paid them any attention. They had lives, too. They wanted things. Sexual things, love things, relationship things. They kept quiet most of the time, but they certainly made their presence known whenever Max Galloway was around.
She’d had enough to deal with in her mother’s boyfriends. A few had grabbed at her, but none had hurt her. She’d seen that look in their eyes, though, and young as she was, had known those looks meant something bad. It had scared her, made her fee
l unclean, and she’d blamed herself.
Men, especially big men, were to be feared. They could overpower, hurt, take. That one time she’d been cornered, her mother had returned from the liquor store just in the nick of time and smacked the guy. He’d smacked her back.
And now Evie spent much of her life on an island—avoiding men, avoiding intimacy—all the while wanting it with all her heart.
“I—I was at school when Thomas was killed,” she stuttered. “I didn’t even know he’d returned. As soon as I got to the island, I went down to see the llamas—”
Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, “Hell, everybody knows those llamas would lie for you, Evie.”
“Let me go,” she said impatiently. “I—I need to go to the barn.”
“No you don’t.”
“I do,” she responded. “Lily’s close to birthing. She may need something—”
“Llamas have very little trouble birthing. She’s just fine.” He looked very satisfied with himself. He’d obviously done a little research on camelids, and was feeling pretty damn smug.
“Oh, I see,” she accused. “You think you can walk in here, start with the llama talk and have your way with me. Well it won’t work.”
“Won’t it?”
Without another word, he tugged her into his arms and kissed her. And the hunger she’d sensed in him, feared of him, had hoped for from him, overpowered her.
He caught her chin with his thumb, urged her mouth open then thrust his tongue inside. A moment later he pulled back.
“Come on, Evie,” he whispered against her open mouth. “You want this, I want this. Let’s see how good it can be.”
He took her mouth again, this time with every ounce of passion he had. He didn’t simply kiss, he conquered. He was greedy, demanding, rough. Her heart went flying, her pulse raced.
She stepped closer, unable to resist his pull. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she brought her body flush to his. He groaned as he tightened his embrace, keeping her hard against him, claiming her, body and soul.
She felt his thighs against hers. His erection, long and thick, jabbed her stomach. It should have terrified her, but it didn’t. Instead, the feel of him wanting her excited her, tempted her, made her desperate for closer contact.
Max lifted her off the floor and rolled his hips into hers. She felt him press hard just where she needed it, and a pulse of pure desire shot through her. She wanted to curl her legs around his waist, open herself to him, accept the pleasure she knew she’d find there.
Too soon, too fast, too much.
She broke the kiss, shook her head. Stop.
Had she said it out loud or only thought it? Max eased her down and stepped back. His mouth was damp, his breathing labored. He said nothing.
“I don’t want to do this,” she panted. “I don’t want to get involved with you.”
“You are involved with me,” he growled.
She tried to catch her breath, tried to hold onto her sanity while her body screamed for more. His hands on her, yes. That’s what she wanted. It didn’t even matter if it was his hands. His fingers, his mouth, his tongue, anything, everything, as long as some part of him was in contact with some part of her.
But she wouldn’t let it happen.
Shaking her head, she put words to her thoughts. “I’ll bet… I’ll bet you kiss women like that all the time. You’re smooth, and hard, and you—”
“You make me sound like a bowling ball.”
“You know what I mean, Max! You’re using me. I’m… I’m the only viable female of the species around, so you thought you’d just spend a little time seducing me. I’m convenient, and nothing more. Seducing me would be just dandy for you, but what about what I want? What if where I want to go is different from where you want to go?”
“Am I gonna need a map for this?”
Her heart raced. She wanted this to go exactly where he did, and it scared her half to death.
“Evie,” Max said, “this island could be dripping with naked mermaids and sirens and a thousand other viable members of the species, and I’d still notice you. You’d still be the one I want.”
She took another step away from him and cursed herself for being functionally frigid. What would be the harm in sleeping with Max? She wasn’t a virgin. She’d had sex with a couple of her boyfriends in college, made love thinking she was in love, and had awakened to discover that while she could go all way physically, she could only go so far emotionally.
It hadn’t been the fault of her boyfriends. They were nice guys looking for more than she was capable of giving. She’d been terrified that if she let her defenses down, she’d go wild and not be able to control herself, or end up hurting people she cared about.
I could just have sex with Max, she thought, a man I barely know. But then she’d be just like her mother, a party girl, indiscriminate, callous, never thinking about tomorrow or the consequences. And what if she stupidly fell in love with him?
“You think too much.” His eyes were serious, his voice soft.
“You don’t understand,” she said, then pressed her lips together.
“Maybe I do,” he said, lifting his shoulder in an offhanded shrug. His gaze meandered around the room, then settled on some distant spot outside the window. “For your own reasons, you’re afraid of getting close. Well, for my own reasons, I am equally afraid of getting close. But, Evie,” he said, looking at her now, “there’s something between us. I want to find out what it is. Maybe I even need to.”
“Between us, I think we have too much baggage.”
“Maybe we could repack it and take a trip. Together.”
“You’re putting a lot of stock in that one kiss.”
“It was a lot of kiss.”
When she said nothing, he blew out a long breath, then gestured to the book in her hand. “Is that ours?”
Remembering the little volume in her hand, she said, “The Last Straw.” She held it out to him, “Maybe you should read it tonight. Give you something constructive to do, Detective.”
“I’ll take it to bed with me,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “A little under covers work. Maybe you could join me.” His gaze settled on her mouth. “You do still owe me that tongue lashing.”
She blinked, then turned to leave. When she reached the door she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. In as bland a voice as she could muster, she said, “Just what kind of sucker do you take me for?”
* * * * *
Tuesday morning showed up clear and hot. But on the western horizon a mass of dark clouds lay in waiting. Given the direction of the wind, Evie predicted a cold rainfall by late afternoon.
She had dressed in her usual island attire—boots and jeans—and a pretty blue and white plaid shirt. As she filled the llamas’ trough with oats and alfalfa, a stiff breeze from the sea whooshed up from behind her, lifting bits of hay, tumbling them in the air in a twisting, twirling dance. A butterfly flitted over her head, then dashed off on the wind.
Fernando stood next to her, a sudden gust tickling his long fleece with phantom fingers. His ears went alert as his eyes fixed on something behind her.
She knew what it was… rather, who it was. He didn’t need to say a word. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened and her knees went weak. Her heart spurted into a sprint. Her breathing changed and her mind emptied of everything she’d been thinking. She’d either been poisoned or Max Galloway had come to stand directly behind her.
“I knocked on your door last night, Evie.” After only a few days the soft rasp of his voice had become familiar. Already her body had learned to anticipate it, want it, maybe even crave it.
Without turning, she emptied the contents of the oat bucket into the trough. “I may have been asleep. I do that at night sometimes.”
“I wanted to see how you were doing.”
She walked to the barn and set the empty bucket on the bench. It made a hollow sound as metal met wood.
He followed her. “I read the book.” There was that soft rasp again. Tiny chills scooted up her spine and down her arms and into every nook and cranny of her body. It was as though somebody had splashed warm champagne all over her naked flesh. “I have some ideas,” he said, “but we need to talk about it.”
The same electric charge she felt every time he was near zapped her again. He gave off enough sexual energy to power the entire northwestern grid.
“I can’t talk about the murder hunt right now,” she said. “I’m taking Fernando into Port Henry to the senior center.”
He eyed the llama. “Really? He doesn’t look that old to me. They have a special wing just for llamas?”
She turned to glare at him, but he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. His move surprised her, but she didn’t fight it, just let her body fall against his, limp, unresisting. Her arms dangled at her sides. Eventually he’d get the picture and let her go.
“Put your arms around me, Evie.”
Okay, maybe not right away, but eventually.
Into his shirt front she mumbled, “Nrph.”
He squeezed her tighter. Her head lay against his solid chest and she could hear the steady beating of his heart, feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the movement of strong bones under his firm muscles.
“Evie. Put your arms around me.”
Dammit. She was weak, and he was so… Slowly, she straightened and wrapped her arms around his chest, letting her open hands feel the strength of his back. He tugged her closer until not so much as a breath could pass between them.
“Evie,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I feel your heart beating against mine. I like that. I feel your breathing against my skin, and I feel how warm you are, how alive, how strong. And more.” He lay his cheek on the top of her head. “I hear the sorrow in your voice when you speak of your mother, and see the love in your eyes when you talk about Heyworth, the llamas, Edmunds. Jesus, I thought about you all night, Evie. I couldn’t sleep worth a damn. I can’t get you out of my mind. When this is over, I want to see what can happen between us. Give me a shot at this, will you?”
He raised one hand and cupped her cheek, tilting her face, gently forcing her to look at him.
Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie Page 12
