“That’s Gina.”
She jumped, almost dropped the frame.
“We were childhood sweethearts.” His voice was brusque.
Emotions were churning through the room in a thick undercurrent. “You still have her photograph? You must have really loved her.”
His eyes were stark against his tanned skin. “She waited for me the whole time I was inside.” There was something in his voice that gave away some terrible tragedy.
Anna stared at the photograph and tried to steel herself. “What happened?”
“She was murdered. Last spring. I broke up with her because she wanted things I couldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, she got involved with someone else and ended up dying because of it.” His expression darkened. “Bad things happen to people around me. Maybe you should leave.”
A full body shiver took hold of her. This man exuded menace. He’d killed. People around him died. Her silence sounded like a condemnation and his expression hardened. He started to turn away.
“What happened to your brother?” She needed to know. The boy in the picture looked like a live wire.
“The one person left alive in those photos, you mean?”
“You’re alive,” she pointed out.
A veil fell over his eyes.
Something else he’d learned in prison? Give nothing away? Lock himself inside his mind where no one could touch him? She’d learned that trick too.
“Finn found himself happiness with the love of a good woman.” A cynical smile formed at the edge of his lips. That smile said he didn’t believe in love. Neither did she.
“You ever think you’ll be happy? Truly happy?” Up until a few days ago she’d thought she was happy. Now she wasn’t sure she even knew what it meant. Her father’s death had shown her all the fault lines in her life, fault lines that snaked back to the day he’d been arrested for theft.
His smile grew icy. “I’ve got money in the bank and the greatest view in the world. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
“That’s not an answer.” She touched a finger to the cheek of that girl in the photograph and Brent flinched. “Do you have a new girlfriend?” Murderer or not, she didn’t want to complicate this man’s relationships. Staying here would do that and he’d suffered enough.
“Christ, no. I prefer my own company.” He padded to the fridge and pulled out a beer. “You staying?” he asked as if he didn’t give a damn. But she could see the rigid, unbending line of his back, and the stiffness of his shoulders.
He’d loved her father. He’d loved that girl, Gina, and he loved his little brother.
It was enough. “For now.”
CHAPTER 5
Katherine stood ready to serve the volleyball. Ed was watching her with what he probably assumed was encouragement, but what she felt as pressure. Her shorts were too snug, her hair kept getting in her eyes, and Davis was dead.
Anna wasn’t answering her phone. Katherine had called twice and left a message. Now she needed to tell Ed. Except then she’d have to tell him she’d lied, and that was the one thing he never tolerated—lies. She was trapped by her own duplicity, and if anyone knew how being lied to hurt, it was her.
Katherine had grown up in a household where her father had repeatedly cheated on her mother. Davis had always been overly romantic, trying to prove he’d never betray her that way. Instead, he’d stolen and gotten arrested. She’d known she shouldn’t have fallen in love with the man, known it and done it anyway. She and Anna had both paid the price.
She batted the ball over the net and scored a point. Their opponents were a couple they’d met at breakfast the previous morning and started spending time with—the Montgomerys. Harvey was OK, but his wife, Barb, was a little sharp for her taste. She did everything with a competitive air that set Katherine’s teeth on edge.
You really must see the pyramids before they’re gone.
Well, yeah, that would be nice.
Katherine served an ace. Harvey was nice but wore a Rolex with the relaxed carelessness of the filthy rich. That sort of wealth unnerved her. Reminded her of Davis always telling her that one day he’d give her the world. Her mouth went dry. He’d never cared about appearances or if she ate two donuts for breakfast rather than a bowl of bran flakes, but he’d wanted to give her diamonds.
They’d struggled to make ends meet. Struggled to pay the mortgage and car repairs, and to send Anna to a decent school. She’d nagged him terribly. Some days Katherine wondered if everything had been her fault, that he’d stolen that money just to stop her nagging.
Poor Davis.
“Come on, love,” Ed urged.
She jerked back to the present. Wiped her brow and batted the ball but it went wide. Ed looked angry for a moment but hid it. His competitive streak was starting to irk her. After eight years of marriage, she should be used to it.
Harvey hit the ball toward her and she returned it with an easy dig. Barb blocked it by pounding it straight in her face. Pain exploded in her nose.
“Sorry,” said Barb.
Katherine covered her face with her hands and felt arms curl around her shoulders.
“Are you OK, love?” Ed. Always, Ed.
Her nose stung but she nodded.
“Let’s have a look at you…”
He gripped her chin and she forced herself to hold still. He was just trying to help. Most people liked being fussed over.
“Nothing Malcolm needs to fix, that’s for sure.”
Malcolm was her stepson. A neurosurgery resident in Seattle with the ego to match.
Ed kissed her cheek and rolled the ball back to the opposition. He did not like to lose.
Harvey caught the ball and picked it up. “Are you OK? Do you want to stop?”
Both Barb and Ed looked staggered by the suggestion. They’d play to the death.
She smiled at Harvey, whose eyes softened. “I’m fine. Thank you.” And then she got into position because she wasn’t going to be outdone by someone who took pleasure in another person’s pain. If she could just stop thinking about the past she’d be fine. She kept her eye on Barb. She wasn’t big on forgiving or forgetting and that probably made her a bad person. But life had stopped being all sunshine and roses the day Davis had been arrested and she’d been interrogated for hours in a sweaty horrible police station surrounded by prostitutes and junkies.
Perhaps if she could reach Anna, she wouldn’t be so upset over Davis’s death. Who would have thought that after all these years he’d still have the power to hurt her?
Rand went slowly through the mail. Flyers and a meter reading card, a credit card bill that he pocketed to examine in detail later, a couple of begging letters from charities. No manila envelope that would put an end to this goatfuck.
Marco came down the stairs with a shake of his head. Lucky for the Plantains they were currently on an Alaskan cruise, which Petrie had discovered courtesy of hacking into their e-mail accounts. Unlucky for Rand and Marco, Anna wasn’t here either.
Someone, probably a well-meaning neighbor, had piled the mail up on a table beside the front door. They needed to be careful someone didn’t walk in and catch them here, unless it was Anna. She could walk in anytime and he’d be fucking ecstatic.
It had crossed Rand’s mind that if you knew the right people you could do a lot of disappearing with sixty million. Even though she was squeaky-clean on the surface, Anna had access to all the right people through her father’s prison connections.
He called Kudrow. “She’s not at the mother’s house. Nor is the envelope.”
Kudrow swore. “Nothing at her place or Davis’s apartment. Where the fuck did he mail it?”
If Rand knew, he wouldn’t be standing here like a spare part. “Any luck tracking her phone?”
“Nothing. She ditched it.”
He didn’t bother asking if Petrie had found the money because he’d have already heard if he had. They were running out of options. He scratched the back of his neck. “
Where’d Davis serve his time?”
There was a shuffling of paper. “Wilkinson Prison.”
“Any details on the mother or stepfather?” He knew they were away on a cruise but didn’t know when they were due back.
“They get back next Sunday night. Petrie put a tap on the mother’s and stepfather’s cell phones just in case Anna reaches out to them.” Kudrow swore. “Davis Silver is as much a pain in the ass dead as he was alive. No wonder she left the prick.”
Rand rang off without saying good-bye. Davis had been a thorn in his side since this began, but at least he’d shown some balls. He rubbed his chin in memory of the uppercut Davis had delivered just before he’d fallen to his death. He walked into the living room, and saw a photograph of Anna looking miserable in her graduation gown. Picked it up and kissed the cold smooth glass.
He liked women OK. Naked. On their hands and knees. Or backs. Legs spread. Mouth shut. Or not—depending on his mood. He didn’t like the feeling he was running out of time. He didn’t like some bitch having access to his cash or holding the key to his jail cell. Frustration was starting to work its way through his body and mind, bringing with it an anger that would only be assuaged by reducing sweet little Anna to a bloody mess. And it was true that maybe he’d learned some of his finer dating skills in countries where women’s rights were as advanced as clockwork computers, but that’s what you got for Uncle Sam turning him into a soldier rather than throwing his ass in jail.
The sun was slipping down the horizon as they ate in silence at the massive breakfast bar that doubled as a dining table. Anna figured Brent didn’t hold many dinner parties. The silence was awkward. Uncomfortable. Brent looked like he’d rather be slopping out cells than sitting opposite her and sharing a simple meal.
What had his family life been like growing up? Had they sat together for meals? Talked over school homework at the kitchen table? What kind of man had his father been?
Brent’s expression told her nothing. His plate was wiped clean but she didn’t know if that was another remnant of prison life or if the food actually tasted good. She couldn’t eat more than a couple of bites. Instead she took a big gulp of wine to moisten her throat.
“What was it like?” she asked finally.
“What?” He stilled and then warily his head came up. “Prison?”
She nodded.
Brent pushed his plate away. “It was hell.”
“But you were allowed to paint?”
A fleeting smile cut into one side of his cheek. Damn, he was handsome. She dated people who looked ordinary. Nice. Reliable. She didn’t hang out with people who looked like they could hold their own with Hollywood bad boys.
“After a rough start, I managed to get my high school diploma and then sat on my ass for two years with nothing to do except cause trouble.” There was a glint in his eye that suggested she didn’t want to know the sort of trouble he’d caused. “At the start I wasn’t exactly a model prisoner.” He leaned back in his seat, crossing tanned strong-looking arms. “They finally figured out that letting me paint kept the insanity levels manageable. By the time your dad arrived, me and the warden had figured out a compromise. Did your father never talk about any of this?”
“The only thing he ever said was he’d rather die than go back inside.” Her eyes rose to meet his. “And that, without you, he wouldn’t have lasted a month.” She realized suddenly that her father hadn’t exaggerated. Brent Carver might be a killer but he’d saved her father’s life—that’s why Davis trusted him so much. “Thank you.” The words tied knots in her throat as she struggled to get them out. “For looking out for him when he was just a stranger to you.”
“I may have stopped him from becoming someone’s fuck buddy”—her eyes widened at the shocking imagery—“but you’re the one who kept him sane.”
“Were you ever…raped?” The reality hit home. That it could happen to anyone, even someone as strong and intimidating as Brent. No one should have to suffer that kind of degradation.
Slowly he shook his head. “They tried a couple of times.” His eyes darkened. “I was too big, too volatile, and too damn violent to be worth the risk.” He cocked a brow. “They knew I’d kill them if I ever got them alone.” His honesty was compelling and she found herself leaning forward, drawn to him despite herself. “I had nothing to lose back then, and wasn’t exactly known for my forgiving nature.” Echoes of brutality flickered through his gaze. She shivered, imagining all the things he’d done to survive that terrible place. “You kept me sane too.”
His words shocked her.
“Oh, God.” The kitchen clock ticked in time to her pulse. “He read you my letters, didn’t he?”
“My favorite was the time you put ice cubes in your stepfather’s gas tank when he dumped your cat at the humane society.”
Her hand covered her mouth. She’d forgotten about that. Damn, she’d hated Ed that day, even though Ginger had shredded his favorite leather recliner.
“And the time you did an English assignment on To Kill a Mockingbird.”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember that one.”
“You told your dad that if Atticus Finch had been alive, you’d have married him and made a good mother to Jem and Scout.” He eyed her carefully. “Your dad was quiet for days after that one.”
Her stomach churned.
“You didn’t come see him very often.”
“No.” She bit her lip. The guilt just kept on building. She’d really been the worst daughter. “I went every Christmas, but it was so hard seeing him in that place and not being able to take him home.” It had been awful, even after she’d gotten used to the security measures and probing stares of both the guards and inmates. “Mom wouldn’t come with me so I’d go with Gran.” That had made it slightly easier, having someone’s hand to hold. “Writing letters was easier.”
“They meant a lot to him.” He looked out of the window. “Every time you wrote, he’d read and reread those letters endlessly. Hell, I can still recite some of them in my sleep.”
She clamped her eyes closed. This man had been privy to her innermost teenage thoughts. He knew almost everything about her. Embarrassing. Humiliating. Worse…
He turned back to face her. “Why’d you do it, Anna? Why’d you try to kill yourself?”
Inside her chest her heart imploded. She’d never told anyone the answer to that question and even though she knew he’d understand, she couldn’t describe the shame and disgust that had led to her near drowning. Her hands shook, but she swallowed the rest of her wine anyway. She went to pour herself another glass, but Brent covered her hand with his much larger one.
“Don’t,” he said.
The touch of his hand sparked a reaction through her body that she didn’t want to recognize. She licked her lips and his eyes flicked to them.
Was that desire? Her stomach flipped. She didn’t want him to desire her. She didn’t want to think about him that way either. She wasn’t who he thought she was, and he was exactly the sort of man she couldn’t handle.
She pulled her hand away, his honesty deserving at least some of the same in return. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t think I consciously wanted to die.” She paused for a long moment, but he didn’t interrupt. “I just put myself in a…difficult…position.” The Pacific. At night. During a storm. The waves mocked her as they broke against the beach outside. She still wasn’t brave enough to be completely honest.
His chest swelled as he inhaled. “Why?” He watched her like the answer actually meant something.
“Didn’t you ever think about ending it all?” she countered.
Dark history shrouded his eyes and she wanted to know his secrets, but he wouldn’t tell her any more than she would tell him. Not the whole story, never the whole story, where the truth lay.
The phone rang and Brent leaped at the distraction. Anna cleared plates and shook her head at herself. She needed to find conversation that didn’t revolve around
death or prison. Trouble was, they didn’t exactly have a lot in common, and small talk seemed puerile.
“Send it to me via a secure account.”
Anna’s head shot up.
“Yeah, see if you can find out who’s doing the surveillance. I need to know exactly what we’re up against.”
Anna poured herself a glass of water and watched Brent put on coffee as he talked into the phone. He hung up without a good-bye.
“News?” she asked.
He clenched his jaw. “The private investigator I hired spoke to that woman in your daddy’s building who he was friends with—Viola Bernstein. The guy also paid the rent for the next few months so you don’t need to worry about it.”
She hadn’t even thought about that. “I’ll pay you back—”
“No.”
“I can’t take money from you.”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “Why not? You think you’ll owe me?” He stalked closer, so much bigger than she was. “Don’t you get it yet?” Pain and fury burned in his eyes. “Yes, I thought about killing myself. Often. Getting out of that insane asylum any way I could. You know what saved me in the end? Your daddy saved me. So if you think I wouldn’t give my last cent to help him and you, you’re mistaken.”
She sucked in air. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you more than you want to admit, and you don’t like it,” he said bitterly. “Welcome to my world.”
She averted her gaze because, despite what he thought, he didn’t know everything. Her father wasn’t the only liar in the family, and the truth still cut her to ribbons. She should have moved past it by now. She had moved past it—it was just that her father’s death had stirred up the memories.
Dark Waters (2013) Page 8
