Rae stared at the space where they’d gone.
How could the baby still be sleeping? But aside from the two slammed doors, it had all been very quiet. Still was. Too quiet.
A few minutes passed before the larger man emerged from the woods and jogged to her back door.
Twenty-Seven
Brady searched the downstairs. Nothing seemed out of place. The pantry door was open in the kitchen, but otherwise, everything was as it had been earlier.
He climbed the stairs and peeked in Dorothy’s room. Empty. The light was on in Rae’s parents’ room. The chest he’d helped her with earlier lay open on the bed.
He continued down the hallway and knocked on Rae’s door. “It’s Brady,” he whispered.
He pushed the door open and peeked inside.
It was dark, the only light coming from the full moon outside her window. Rae was standing in front of the crib, a sheer white nightgown ending above her knees. The moonlight shining behind lit her silhouette.
Oh, boy.
He blinked. Forced his gaze to her face. Her eyes were wide, her jaw set. Then he looked at the thing she held high in her right hand. Was that a giant brass pen?
“You can put that down now.”
She lowered the thing in her hand, tossed it on the bed.
“You know,” he whispered, “that’s just an expression. The pen really isn’t mightier than—”
“I didn’t have a sword.” Then she started to giggle.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room and down the stairs. No need to wake Johnny because of his mother’s sudden fit of laughter.
She was hysterical, and not in a good way. Panic had always given her the giggles.
He got her to the sofa in the living room. “Sit.”
She sat, laughed harder.
“What is so funny?”
“I like your pants.”
He looked down at his clothes. Red and black plaid pajama pants and a gray Patriots T-shirt. “There was an accident on the highway, so the guys on duty tonight were busy. The chief knows I don’t live far from you. I didn’t take the time to change.”
She nodded, still laughing.
“There were two men in your house, Reagan. It isn’t funny.”
A sob escaped her throat. She wiped the tears streaming down her face. Panic always made her cry too. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She swayed, then fell sideways on the couch.
Brady sat beside her. “You all right?”
She folded into a fetal position.
He focused on her face, not allowing himself to see anything the flimsy nightgown wasn’t covering. “You’re safe now.”
He rubbed her back until the sobs subsided. Finally, she sat up and straightened her clothes. “Sorry. I’m a mess.”
He bumped her shoulder with his. “You’re safe.”
Another sob.
“Hey, really. They’re gone.”
She leaned against his shoulder. He could feel her trembling and wrapped his arms around her. The thin material of her nightgown wasn’t leaving nearly enough to his imagination, and his imagination didn’t need any more material to work with. He stood, grabbed an afghan from the back of the club chair, and tucked it around her. Then he sat and pulled her back into an embrace.
Perfect.
Except that he’d just chased two men from inside her home. Whoever these prowlers were, they were getting bolder.
What were they looking for?
Twenty-Eight
Johnny’s cry seemed louder in the mornings.
“Shh.” Rae patted his back while she walked down the stairs, whispering, “We have to be quiet.”
The baby babbled louder.
She rushed across the foyer and into the kitchen, glancing at Brady on her way. Lying on his side, he faced the back of the couch. The house was cold, and that thin afghan didn’t seem warm enough. Maybe she’d get him another. It was too early for normal people to face the day. The sun had barely cut into the darkness.
She settled the baby in the bouncy seat and had grabbed the formula when Brady stepped in the kitchen. “Morning.”
She blushed and turned away. Pajama pants, crumpled T-shirt, and bedhead. He probably had morning breath too. So why had the word sexy popped in her mind?
“Sorry about the hour. Coffee?”
“Sure. Right back.”
She shook her head. Too early for those thoughts. Not that there was a good time. She started the coffee and fixed a bottle. She was seated at the kitchen table feeding Johnny when he returned.
Brady pulled two mugs from the dishwasher and poured their coffees, adding cream to hers. Observant, that man. He placed a mug in front of her before he sat.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.”
He sipped, set the cup down.
She said, “We have to stop—”
“Just what the doctor—”
They’d both spoken at the same time. He nodded to her, so she started again. “We keep having coffee together. We’re like boring characters in a chick flick.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She stared at her coffee mug, calling to her from just a few inches away on the kitchen table. If only she had a straw.
“Thanks for staying,” she said. “Seems stupid now, but last night...”
“What are they looking for, Rae?”
“How would I know?”
“They’re looking for the same thing you’re looking for. Out in the barn. In your parents’ closet. What is it?”
She studied her baby’s face, considered lying, and kept quiet.
“At least you’re not denying it.” He pushed his chair back. “Mind if I make some food?”
“Not much to choose from.”
He opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of eggs. “How do you like them?”
“Whatever you want is fine.”
He grabbed a package of cheese. “No ham? Bacon?”
“Sorry.”
He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet. “You’re not the only one who’s had bad things happen, you know.”
She sighed. “I’m a reporter. I make my living reporting bad things.”
He pulled a fork from the drawer. “You need to trust me.”
“It’s not about trust. You don’t understand.”
“How can I?” He broke the eggs in the bowl. “You won’t tell me anything. I know you’re still angry with me about what happened with Sam. You took off without a word after eighteen years of friendship. Forget the fact that we’d been dating for three years. Forget the fact that we’d made promises to each other...plans. We were friends, Rae. You were the best friend I ever had.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that, you were gone.”
“You and Samantha. And that reporter—”
“I know, okay? I was there. And Mom didn’t know who the woman was. They’d met at the supermarket. The woman played her.”
“I realize that now, but—”
“And either way, I didn’t invite her.”
“You could have stood up for me.”
He blew out a long breath. “I should have. You shouldn’t have thrown away eighteen years of friendship because of two stupid things I did.” He looked into the bowl like he’d forgotten what he was doing. Then he pointed the fork at her. “But you did, and I forgave you. I’ve had too much crap in my life. Holding onto that anger just made me miserable.”
She shifted Johnny to her shoulder and patted his back until he burped. Then she offered him the rest of his bottle. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He started to say something, then stopped. He grabbed a pan from the cabinet and heated it on the stove. He beat the eggs as if the whole situation were their fault, then poured the mixture into the pan, where they sizzled and quieted.
She wondered about his comment. He’d had too much crap in his life. What was that about? Maybe she could just ask.
Johnny finished his bottle. S
he burped him and settled him in her arms. She wanted to ask Brady more about his life. She wanted to know everything. But what good would it do? Maybe it was better if she didn’t know. Once she found the treasure, she’d leave Nutfield forever.
He slid half of an enormous cheese omelet in front of her and handed her a fork. She tasted it. It was shockingly good. She’d already eaten three bites by the time he sat at the table beside her.
“Wow.”
“Thanks.” He had a bite, a sip of coffee. “What are they looking for, Rae?”
She sighed. She wanted to trust him, but what good would come of him knowing her secrets? If Julien found out about their friendship, it could only cause him trouble. She should have insisted he leave the night before, but she’d been too afraid to be alone.
So what would it hurt to share her secrets? And to learn a few of his.
“You first.”
He lifted one eyebrow.
“Tell me about the crap you referred to earlier. What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She should drop it, of course. So why did she lean toward him? Why did she look into those beautiful eyes? Before she could stop herself, she said, “It matters to me.”
Twenty-Nine
Brady leaned back, away from that imploring gaze. He sipped his coffee then poured himself a glass of juice without asking if Rae wanted any.
He couldn’t talk to her.
Rae wanted to know his secrets. Not that they were secrets, really. Anybody in town could tell her. Chances were good she wouldn’t ask anybody in town. He’d like to think that would stop her from finding out. But Rae was resourceful. It was only a matter of time before she learned about his tragedy. He should just tell her.
And why not? She’d trusted him, to a point, the night before. And he was asking her to trust him again. It’s not like he had anything to be ashamed of, not as far as most people knew. His family and friends felt sorry for him. But they didn’t know everything.
If anybody would understand how he felt, Rae would. She’d lived through tragedy upon tragedy in her life, and if he weren’t mistaken, she was bearing up under another one right now. She’d sympathize with him like most people couldn’t.
She’d get it.
So why was he chewing so slowly? He could’ve inhaled the whole omelet. Instead, he cut another tiny piece and popped it into his mouth, oblivious to the taste.
He worked through the story in his mind, working out how he’d tell her. Working out why he wanted to hold back. Didn’t take him long to figure it out.
What an idiot.
Rae was a married woman. Well, she thought she was. Or had thought. Or... Whatever. She sure as heck hadn’t been waiting for him. Nor he her. Hadn’t there been a string of women to take her place over the years? No one-night-stands for him, though. Nope. One of his girlfriends had called him a serial monogamist after he’d dumped her. “From one I-love-you-forever to the next so fast you never have time to update your Facebook status.”
Not entirely true. He’d never used Facebook. And besides, it wasn’t like he’d been dumping one woman to start up with another. But every relationship had reached that fish-or-cut-bait point, and he’d always cut bait.
Until Ashley. He hadn’t cut bait in time with her. Not that he hadn’t cared for her. He’d cared for all of them. Ashley had been beautiful. Pale skin. Strawberry-blonde hair. Hazel eyes. Freckles.
He looked across the table at Rae, who met his gaze.
He cut another bite of eggs. His attraction to Ashley had nothing to do with the fact that she’d resembled Rae.
So what if he had a type he liked? That didn’t mean anything.
He’d have cut bait with Ashley too.
And none of that was Rae’s business. If she wanted to know his secrets that badly, she could find out on her own. He couldn’t open himself up to her, not again. She’d already left him once, ripped a good part of him to shreds when she did. His heart couldn’t take any more mutilation at the hands of Reagan McAdams.
She carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it, then set about emptying the dishwasher before putting her dirty plate in the rack. She grabbed the pan from the stove and scrubbed it. “Have you decided yet?”
“The prowlers are looking for something. If you want me to figure out who they are—”
“I’ll figure it out.” She rinsed the pan and set it on a towel to dry. “Or I won’t. It’s not going to matter much longer.”
“Rae.”
“Caro will find out today if she got a part in the play.” Rae grabbed the eggs and cheese and returned them to the fridge. “If she does, I’ll have her contact you about the rehearsal schedule.”
Brady thought of all his good reasons to keep his story to himself. Were his secrets worth keeping if it meant she wouldn’t confide in him? “Look, I’ll tell you what’s been going on with me, okay? But I have to get home and shower if I’m going to get to work on time. Can I tell you later?”
She leaned against the counter and shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”
He waited while a wave of anger coursed through him. “Five minutes ago,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even, “you wanted to know all about me, and now it’s none of your business?”
“It’ll just make it harder.”
Make what harder? She was driving him crazy. “We still have to figure out what to do about the prowlers. I’m worried about you.”
“When I hear from Caro about the auditions, I’ll call you at the station and let you know.” She wrung out the dish towel and draped it over the spigot. “You’re going to be able to work out rides for her, right?”
“I wish you’d stay.”
The baby cooed in the silence.
She crossed her arms. “Thanks for being here last night.”
“Are you calling the alarm company, or shall I?”
“I’m not going to be here long enough to worry about it.”
“An alarm is always a good idea.”
She shrugged, and he forced his voice to stay calm. “If it’s the money—”
“I’ll consider it.”
“There are people breaking into your house. What are you going to do about that? You could stay somewhere else. You could—”
“I’m going to finish up here and hope they don’t get any bolder.”
“They were in your house, when you were home. I’d say that’s pretty bold.”
She nodded slowly. A normal person would be frightened by that. Rae had been the night before. But now, in the light of day...seemed Rae had something much bigger to fear.
Thirty
She had to put a stop to this growing...whatever it was with Brady. Right now.
He’d finally agreed to tell her his story, and she’d turned him down. Not that she didn’t want to know. She did, desperately. But the last thing she needed was one more tether holding her in Nutfield, and whatever Brady’s story was, no doubt it would grab her, make her want to soothe all the hurts in his life.
It was better this way. She had to move forward with her plan and keep a good distance from Brady Thomas. If they stayed away from each other, Julien wouldn’t discover their shared pasts. And she wouldn’t have her heart broken. Again.
After she put Johnny down for his morning nap, she headed downstairs, cringing on the creaky step, and paused in the entryway.
She was sure Dad had said something about stairs when he’d told her about the treasure. Rae had searched all around the stairs in the barn, the furniture beneath them, the stuff near the bottom of them, and right at the top in the loft. She’d climbed into the attic of the house and searched near the hatch.
She’d found nothing but a few trinkets and a whole bunch of junk.
So now she looked at the staircase in the house. A barrister bookcase stood on the wall adjacent to the stairs. Could it be that easy?
Rae grabbed the baby monitor and rested it on a table in the living room. Then she turned the
TV to a news program—she felt so out-of-touch with the goings on in the world—and returned to the bookshelf. She began at the top, pulling out each volume, one at a time. Maybe Dad had removed the pages from one of the books and hidden the treasure there.
Right. Dad had been a computer programmer, not a spy.
She’d spent too much time investigating criminals. How did normal people think?
The top shelf held a collection of encyclopedias. Their covers were worn and cracked. None of them held a secret stash.
Something on the news piqued her interest. “In Tunis late last night,” said a male voice. “The bombing occurred at a small cafe far from the city center...”
Rae rushed into the living room to hear. She stared at the screen, at the sign in front of the familiar cafe, the smoke, the wreckage.
The encyclopedia slipped from her fingers and crashed on the floor.
Rae sank on the sofa.
“Four dead…seventeen injured…expecting the body count to rise.”
She recognized the name of the terrorist group that had taken credit for the bombing, Ansar al-Tunis. AAT. She leaned forward, hoping for more, but the newsreader moved on to another story.
She flipped to another station. Nothing about the bombing. It was odd the first station had covered it—a bombing in an obscure part of a city in a country most Americans wouldn’t be able to place on a map?
What had made it newsworthy?
She ran upstairs, grabbed her cell, and navigated to the New York Times website. She found the story, which confirmed what she already knew and gave the text of the AAT’s message. Typical stuff about the evil West. She’d covered AAT before. Bombings weren’t their thing. They’d shot a government official they thought had become enamored with the West. They’d assassinated a foreigner who’d been too outspoken about bringing freedom to Tunisia, but that had been done with a high-powered rifle. She couldn’t remember them ever using bombs. Bombs couldn’t be trusted to take out your target. Bombs were messy. This group wasn’t messy.
Convenient Lies Page 14
