by Teresa Hill
His voice rose on every word, anger creeping in. But his arms tightened around her at the same time. He'd been worried about her. Allie took a breath and snuggled closer to him.
"I'm not sure," she said.
"You haven't been camping out in this attic, have you?"
"No. Why?"
"There's a sleeping bag in the back corner, tucked into a dusty, old box. A bit of food and a few clothes. And a laptop computer."
"A laptop?"
Stephen nodded. "Someone's been staying here."
"Casey?"
"That would be my guess. I saw a tall, skinny boy in a pair of ratty jeans and a black T-shirt take off through the backyard." Stephen pointed to the window in the corner. "That opens onto the roof, and there's a trellis leading to the ground. The window was unlocked. That's how he gets in and out."
Allie was so glad he was safe, that he'd found a place that was warm and dry. She wished he'd trusted her with the truth, too, but they could work on that when he came back. Surely he'd come back. Surely she'd have a chance to help him.
"Did you know he was here?" Stephen asked.
"I heard footsteps a few times. At least, I thought I did. I couldn't be sure. But I never saw him. I just thought I was hearing things."
"Is that all, Allie? Footsteps?"
"It's noisy here," she said. "The wind. Tree branches. Drafts coming down the chimneys. Everything creaks and moans. I'm not used to that. The house my mother and I had in Connecticut wasn't this old."
"That's all?" he said. "A few creaks and moans?"
"What else would there be?" she said nervously.
"You tell me." His hands settled on top of her shoulders. He kneaded the muscles there, his touch inviting her to lean against him, to rest there in his arms. "Allie, please? I'm worried about you."
"You'll think I'm crazy," she said. "I think I'm crazy."
"Tell me."
"I'm remembering things. I told you that."
"That's it? Memories?"
"They're so vivid sometimes. It's like I can hear their voices," she admitted. "My mother's. Mine. Megan's. I could swear I heard her playing the piano the day I saw the bruises on her arms. Sometimes I feel like I could reach out and touch them."
Stephen frowned. "I know it's been difficult for you to be back here. I know you haven't been sleeping well. I know you're under a lot of stress."
Allie leaned against him, let him wrap his arms around her waist. "You think I'm losing it."
"No," he insisted, his arms tightening around her. "Is that all?"
Allie sighed. Was she truly going to trust him? She'd spent the night sleeping in his arms. She'd made love to him, and a part of her was ready to topple right over the edge into love with him. How could she not trust him with the rest of it?
"Tell me," he urged.
"The private detective I hired says he's not the only one looking into Megan's accident. Someone else is asking questions..."
"Allie, I hired someone the other day to do the same thing. I didn't know anything about this man you hired, and I didn't want to take any chances. I have a man I've known for years, someone I trust. He's been in Macon since yesterday."
"Why?"
"I told you I wanted the truth. I told you I was going to find it for you. I meant that." He frowned. "So we've got two private investigators chasing each other through Macon, Georgia. What else?"
"Greg found a man in Lexington named Mitch Wilson, who knew Megan when she was in Macon."
Allie told him all about Mitch Wilson, including the fact that someone supposedly tried to kill him simply for asking questions about Megan and that Megan was desperately afraid of a man from Dublin, that she thought she saw him in Macon the day before she died.
Stephen paled at that. Every ounce of color drained from his face. "Shit."
"You didn't know any of this?"
"No." He swore again. "Anything else?"
"Yesterday I remembered my mother and my father talking the day we found out Megan was dead. And my mother said my father should be happy that Megan was gone, because that was what he wanted."
"Why in the world would your father want her gone?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything else at all. Except that I'm scared. Right now, I'm really scared."
"You're not in this alone anymore. Remember that." She thought he was going to kiss her again when they heard the sirens down the road, coming closer. "And you and I need to talk."
"I know." She cautioned herself against presuming too much. Just because he'd spent the night.... But she didn't have time to ask. The sirens came closer.
"Come on," Stephen said. "Let's see if we can explain this to the deputy."
"Wait a minute. Just about Casey, right? We don't need to tell the deputy anything about Megan or Mitch Wilson or anything like that, do we?"
"I'd rather handle that ourselves. But I want to know why this kid is camping out in your attic."
"He must have thought the place was empty. It has been for years."
"He has a laptop. What's a runaway kid doing with a laptop?"
"I don't know, but I don't want the sheriff chasing after him like he's a criminal."
"He is a criminal. He broke into your house, and he scared you," Stephen growled. "He's a lot bigger than you. He could have hurt you, Allie. He could have done anything he wanted to you."
"He didn't. He wouldn't," she claimed.
"You don't know that. You don't know him. I bet nothing he told you is true. I know his name isn't Casey Adams."
"I can't believe you're this hard-hearted, that you'd be this tough on a kid in trouble."
"He scared you," Stephen repeated, sounding like the growling businessman she'd spoken to on the phone the day before.
"And that's an unforgivable sin?" she asked, fighting a grin.
"It's no way to get on my good side." He frowned. "And what's so funny?"
"You," she teased. "Growling at me like this. It's not like you."
"I'm worried about you, all right?"
"This is how you sound when you're worried?"
"No, this is how I sound when I'm irritated and worried."
"I know why you're worried. Tell me why you're irritated."
They'd reached the first floor and stood in the foyer near the front door. He was leaning against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way, his feet bare, his hair a bit of a mess, and he looked wonderful, even if he was cross as a bear.
Allie dared to reach out and touch him. She tried to smooth his hair back into place, and then started buttoning his shirt. This close, she could smell him, something warm and dark and distinctly him, a scent that had clung to his skin every time she'd been near him. Her fingers were clumsy and felt too big for the task she'd given herself. She could barely work the buttons through the little hoops, and she kept getting distracted by the sight of the chest she was covering up with every button she fastened.
"Why are you irritated, Stephen?" she asked.
"Oh, hell, I deserve it. I know that. I've kept things from you, too. But you were over here all alone at night, hearing footsteps in this damned house and God only knows what else, and you didn't tell me." He took her by the arms, holding her a few inches from his chest, his eyes blazing. "Dammit, Allie, I told you I was right over there. I told you if you needed anything, to come to me, and you didn't."
"I guess I'm not used to having anyone look out for me."
"Get used to it," he said.
She felt a quick, hot rush of warmth shoot all the way through her at the thought. "I might be able to get used to something like that."
"Listen to me." He took her chin in his hand, his voice soft and seductive and full of promise. "You can count on me. If I say I'll be here for you, I will, Allie. Anytime, anywhere."
Her eyes swam in a thick flood of tears. Of all the things he could have promised her, there was nothing she wanted or needed more. Nothing in the world.
"Don't say it unless you mean it,", she whispered.
Leaning down, he fitted his lips to hers. She wound her arms around his neck, kissed him with all the urgency of the night before. When he lifted his head, he looked down into her eyes and said, "I mean it."
She nodded, no words getting through her too-tight throat.
"Hey?" He smiled as he wiped away one of her tears. "There's a flip side to this. That if you need me, you come to me. If you're scared. If something happens that just doesn't feel right in the least, little way, you tell me."
"All right."
She thought she'd have to let him go then, but he lingered there beside her, still holding her loosely, close enough to nuzzle his cheek against hers. She breathed in that wonderful scent that was uniquely his, shivered a bit thinking about the pleasure he'd brought her this morning and hopefully of all the pleasures to come.
"I know we've left a lot of things unsaid," he offered.
Allie nodded. They'd made love, and it meant a great deal to her. But she had no idea what it meant to him.
"I don't want to let you go right now," he said, and only then, with the sirens stopping in front of her house, did she become aware of the tension invading his body. He gently separated himself from her, holding her at arm's length, waiting until her gaze met his.
Oh, no, she thought, too late to ever be prepared for being blindsided one more time. Oh, no.
"Allie, I've handled this whole thing badly," he began, his eyes dark and troubled, his expression grim. "And I'm sorry. This morning... I didn't mean for it to happen. Not so soon. Not before you knew... God, Allie, there's so much you don't know."
"What?" she whispered as her pulse started thundering. He knew things? Serious things. She could tell by the anguished expression on his face, and she couldn't believe this was happening to her again. That he'd done it to her again. "You said you didn't know what happened to Megan."
"I don't. But I have my suspicions—"
An involuntary, pathetic-sounding groan escaped her. He took a breath and looked away, guilt written all over him. She felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach and started backing away from him.
"I don't believe this," she said.
"If what I suspect is true, neither one of us is going to like it," he went on. "And dammit, I can't explain it right now. The deputy's right outside."
He was. She heard a car door slamming, heard the crackle of what she thought was a police radio. But she had trouble switching from one subject to the next. She wanted an explanation from Stephen. Right now. And yet, she was afraid of what he was going to say.
"Allie, this is between you and me. Not for the whole town, all right? But the deputy's coming, and we have to tell him something."
She supposed after calling so frantically, she couldn't just say it was all a mistake and ask the deputy to please go away. Which meant she didn't have time to fall apart. Later. Not now... She laughed a bit, edgily, right on the brink of losing control.
Stephen looked grim as ever. "Let's deal with the deputy. Just that. For now."
Chapter 13
The deputy looked excited by the prospect of trouble at the supposedly haunted Bennett house. They told him about Casey. A quick computer check showed no Patricia or Casey Adams within the county. The deputy, a lifelong resident, had never heard of them. He took a description and promised to check reports of missing teenagers, and then he was gone.
She was alone again with a man she definitely did not know. How many times had she told herself that? She did not know him.
Allie stood with her back against the front door, her arms crossed, hands buried in the crook of her elbows to hide the fact that they were shaking and maybe to keep herself from slapping Stephen's handsome face once again.
He'd made a call on his cell phone as she showed the deputy out, and now he slid the phone into one of his pockets and turned to face her.
"I've been in touch with a security firm I use from time to time on job sites. They're sending a team over. I want someone watching the house and you when I can't be here."
"You're going to watch over me?"
"Yes."
"Just like that?" She laughed bitterly. "You've decided?"
He stood there, unmoving, giving her a look that said he certainly had decided and that somehow, he expected to convince her to go along with his wishes. Obviously slapping him wouldn't be enough. Allie thought about strangling him instead.
"I know you're angry. I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "I know I owe you an explanation, but I don't have time to give you one right now. I have an appointment I have to keep—"
"An appointment?" she growled.
"I want to know about this kid hiding in your attic and have a talk with Mitch Wilson. I'd like for you to stay here until I get back."
"And you think I give a shit what you want right now?"
"No, I don't." He looked so calm, sounded so reasonable. It made her want to strangle him all the more. "But somebody invaded your house, Allie. Your house. He was here, probably watching every move you made. Have you thought of that? Have you thought about the kind of danger you've been in?"
"You can't possibly think Casey's part of... What? Some grand scheme to make sure I never find out the truth about what happened to my sister?"
"Mitch Wilson told you your sister was scared to death of someone here. She thought she saw him in Macon the day before she died, and then someone threatened to kill Wilson just for asking questions. Dammit, Allie. What does it all add up to? The fact that you're not safe."
God, he was unbelievable. He thought she was going to ignore all he'd done to her? The fact that she was furious with him?
"You think you're going to keep me safe?" she repeated.
"I am."
"And you expect me to just sit back and let you? Let you lie to me and then walk away from me? You think I'll be waiting right here when you come back to lie to me some more?"
"The security guards will be here," he said. "They'll stop anyone from coming into the house without your okay. Please be careful about who you let inside. And if you're too damned stubborn to stay here, they'll follow you. I hope you won't try to ditch them. Hate me for all of this if you want. I wouldn't be surprised if you refused to see me or talk to me when I come back. But I will be back, and until then I'm going to do everything within my power to see that you're safe."
"You're forgetting," she said, laughing bitterly, a world of hurt in the sound. "The thing I really need is for someone to protect me from you. Who's going to do that, Stephen? Who's going to keep me safe from you?"
She was rewarded with a flinch and a distinct tightening of his jaw, but it was little satisfaction given the pain of betrayal rushing through her.
He reached out—for her, she thought—and she skittered out of the way. There was no way she could let him touch her right now.
But it seemed he was reaching for the doorknob instead. He opened the door and picked up Casey's laptop from the table in the entryway.
"I think I'll wait outside. I hope to be back in a few hours, and I'll do the best I can to explain, if you'll listen," he said. "I'm sorry, Allie."
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Stephen stood on the back porch of his parents' home and lit a cigarette, his fifth of the day, thinking if Allie stayed here much longer he'd be smoking a pack a day, something he hadn't done in more than five years.
The first team of security people had arrived. He'd just finished briefing the man he was leaving in charge, telling him next to nothing, except that he didn't want anyone getting near Allie and that he wasn't sure she was going to cooperate in their efforts to protect her.
In the time he'd been waiting, he'd talked again to his man in Macon. He'd heard about the doctor who seemed to be holding out on them and asked for a background check on Mitch Wilson. He'd also fired up the laptop he'd found in the attic and discovered he couldn't make it past the pas
sword protection software installed on it. He knew a lot about computers, and most people's security systems sucked. The teenager spying on Allie had one of the best he'd ever seen. Which really worried him.
Hell, everything about this worried him, and he had to go in just a minute to that appointment he had to keep.
But for the moment he was smoking another cigarette and staring at Allie's house. He didn't want to leave her this morning, but if he'd stayed another minute, he was afraid he would have told her everything, absolutely everything. Which had to be the worst thing he could do at this moment. He saw that so clearly, just from the hint he'd given her that he was still keeping things from her. In attempting to ease his guilty conscience, he'd almost ruined everything.
If he told her everything, she would absolutely hate him, and she wouldn't trust him at all. He couldn't afford to have her completely distrust him now, not when he honestly feared she was in more danger than ever before.
He still couldn't forgive himself for the kid being in the house with her. Maybe he was nothing but a runaway teenage boy, and maybe he wasn't. But the whole time Stephen had been right here, so arrogantly thinking he could handle this situation all by himself, that he could keep her safe. While the kid could have done anything he wanted to Allie. He felt sick just thinking about it.
And that was just the beginning. Stephen's father was nervous as hell and likely on his way back from the Mediterranean at this moment. His brother had been dodging his calls for three days now, and as Stephen saw it, anything could happen in the next twenty-four hours. He was afraid it was all going to explode around them, and as soon as he kept his appointment this morning, he wasn't going to let Allie out of his sight.
When this was all over, when Stephen was convinced she was safe, he'd tell her. Maybe he'd say everything else he wanted to say to her first—like Stay with me. Like You belong with me.
But he couldn't tell her now that he'd been spying on her for his father ever since she came back here. Because he'd gone into this with one goal in mind—to make sure no one from his family hurt her, the way he feared they'd hurt her sister. He was going to protect her to the end. Even if it meant she never forgave him.
