Emma gripped the arms of the uncomfortable folding chair then loosened her hold.
"Obviously, the people who ransacked the excavation and attacked me at Grant's RV
have something to do with Grant's murder." She sighed. "Maybe Grant was involved
with antiquities theft. His business wasn't doing well and perhaps he thought he could
sell some of what we found at the site to acquire money for the company."
"And did Shane think that Wilder was a threat to you or his family?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, not really. What I mean is that Shane's the type of man
who would take a bullet for someone he loves. He wouldn't kill in cold blood." She
shifted in her chair. "I thought you trusted him."
Looking perturbed, Reddins hooked his thumbs in his belt. "He's hiding something
from the police. I know that."
Annoyance and fear mingled together inside her at Reddins' insistence. "Why
would he do that?"
He shifted restlessly from one foot to another. "That's what I was hoping you could
tell me. There are a damn lot of pieces that don't fit together. The chief told me that
Shane once worked with an elite branch of the government."
Now she was surprised. Maybe, if the chief told Reddins about Shane's other life in
the secret agency, maybe they were suspicious of Shane. Alarm bells that triggered in
her head told her to keep mum about what she knew of Shane's past and that he still
worked for the agency.
"Shane told me he used to work for the government. That's all I know."
Skepticism marred his face. "Have you found any of Sadie Cutley's so-called
treasure yet?"
"No."
He nodded, and some of the ire seemed to leave his body, draining the uptight lines
around his mouth. His abrupt questioning style and continual twisting of the subject
made her mind spin. Weariness made her body sag in the chair.
The door opened and Johnson stepped into the room.
"Hank, the chief wants to see you. Are you almost done here?"
Reddins took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm done." He nodded at her. "You and Shane
can go. We'll be in touch if there are any more questions."
Disturbed, she retreated from the room, barely looking at Johnson as she passed
him at the door. When she reached the front office, Shane sat in a chair waiting for her.
Shane stood and walked toward her. He clasped her arm gently. "Is he done
questioning you?"
"Yes."
Definite relief entered his eyes.
Once inside the truck, she turned to him. "Hank Reddins was acting very strangely.
Some of the questions he asked implied that you and I were to blame for Grant's
death."
He started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't say anything.
Disturbed by the silence and the tight line of his jaw, she asked, "Is everything all
right?"
"Did Reddins ask you about my involvement with the government?"
She bristled a little at his brisk tone. "I didn't tell him anything other than that I
knew you worked for the government at one time." She made a scoffing noise. "When
you think about it, it's probably good I don't know more about your hush-hush job. He
told me that the chief explained to him about your past involvement with the
government. I didn't tell him that you're working for them now."
He glanced at her quickly, surprise clearly written on his face. "Why?"
She thought about it for a moment. "Because I couldn't do that to you."
Her throat tightened as she waited for his reaction.
His gaze warmed. "Thank you. We don't need this investigation to turn more
complicated than it already is."
"He also asked me whether we'd found the treasure yet. As if we would have kept
that from him."
He nodded. "I know what you mean. He was tough with the questions, but I've
been questioned by far better interrogators and under far worse conditions." He
glanced her way, and she saw a curiosity there, lingering in his eyes. "Still, you could
have told him more about me. Why didn't you, Emma?"
I don't know. "I was afraid if I said the wrong thing he'd take it the wrong way. And
I don't want anything to happen to you."
"You mean you're afraid I'd get thrown into jail."
"Yes."
"They'd need a lot more evidence than they've got right now."
They were almost at the ranch house when he asked, "Emma, you don't think I had
anything to do with Grant's death, do you?"
Involuntarily, she reached to squeeze his shoulder and let her fingers linger on his
biceps, enjoying having him so close, so alive. "God, no. Do you think I'd be with you
here now if I believed that?"
He seemed reassured but said nothing, and when they arrived at the house, Shane
made a call to the hospital. After Charlie greeted them with her usual enthusiasm,
Emma wandered to the shower to wash away the heat and grime.
While Emma lingered in the shower, Shane made the call and talked with his aunt
and uncle. After telling them about Grant's murder, Shane asked if they could arrange
to visit their friends in Arizona after Clement left the hospital.
"Why?" Clement asked, his tone worried.
"I don't want you anywhere near this area," Shane said.
"You should worry more about keeping Emma safe than being concerned about my
old hide."
Shane chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm keeping her very close."
"Aha. So that's how it is."
"Humph."
"I'd say you more than care about her, Shane."
"Yeah, well…"
"Okay, okay. It's none of my business. I'll see what I can arrange with the Airlies.
We're probably due for a vacation as it is."
After he finished talking with his uncle, he phoned the SIA and put in a
background check on Hank Reddins.
* * * * *
Feeling better after the shower, Emma dressed in some loose cotton pants and a
baggy T-shirt, hoping the lightweight material would serve her better in the heat than
jeans.
She heard Shane talking on the phone, and for a moment, a twinge of the old doubt
threatened. She did trust him, though she knew she didn't understand many things
about his life. Whatever demons he harbored ate at his soul. For her part, she flinched at
shadows and worried that whoever had killed Grant would come for her.
What about Shane? The very idea of him being harmed generated pain so thick
tears prickled in her eyes.
God, Emma. You've got it bad.
Once she walked into the living room, she saw Shane seated on the couch scribbling
away frantically on a notepad. He was still on the phone. When he saw her he smiled,
and his hot, admiring gaze sent excitement through her system. How different he
looked when he gave her that wide grin. Nothing like the tough, disagreeable man
she'd met that first day at the excavation.
"Thanks. I owe you," Shane said, and clicked off the phone.
"Did you reach Uncle Clement?"
"Yes. He's arranging to visit relatives in Arizona when he's released."
She nodded and sat next to him on the couch. She saw the notes he'd scrawled and
spied a name. "Hank Reddins?"
"Yeah."
His steady appraisal made her feel vulnerable and worried at the same time. "Did
/> you find something?"
"No. But I don't trust the man. Not after what he asked us. It's a feeling in my gut."
"He's a police officer."
Shane grunted. "You know as well as I do there are crooked cops."
She recalled that she hadn't told Shane that Reddins had followed her the day
before. She explained how Johnson had confirmed that the car she'd seen in the parking
lot belonged to Reddins.
Shane looked doubtful. "It's pretty stupid of him to follow you that way."
"Do you think he suspected me of something and followed me because of that?"
"It's possible."
Fatigue seeped into her limbs. Tired of rehashing in her mind the sight of Grant's
body in the hole, and acknowledging that stress had wearied her, she stood up. "I'm
going to bed."
She longed to slip into his arms and forget everything that happened today.
Instead, she turned away, hoping to escape the room before she did or said something
incriminating and he'd understand her vulnerability.
Shane took the decision from her, making an exasperated sound in his throat and
following her, catching up and putting his arms around her from behind. Just like he
had in the hotel room. She stiffened but he didn't release her. Slowly she relaxed, and
he pulled her closer, so that she felt the press of his hard body—chest, hip, thighs—
tantalizing, taunting. His musk scent, the heat of his muscles served to drive her insane
with need for him. For his touch.
When she didn't say anything he spoke into her ear. "Fuck it. I said I wouldn't
touch you. That you'd have to come to me. But you wouldn't have covered for me
today if you didn't care for me." He sighed and pressed closer. "What's torturing you?
Why can't you let yourself feel? Why are you distancing yourself from me?"
She sucked in a swift breath as he kissed her neck, nuzzling her skin. Tingles raced
across her skin, zigzagging like electricity. "If I cross the line again with you, I'll feel like
I have to stay. And if anything goes wrong, I…I won't be able to run this time."
"What have you been running from?"
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Grant is dead and I've lost my job."
"Where will you go once this situation ends?"
His arms tightened a fraction, and she allowed her head to fall back against his
shoulder. She continued. "Archaeology is perfect for me. I can go anywhere I want, do
what I need. There's nothing to hold me here."
"What about your parents? No relatives? No one who loves you?"
Love. God, the word rumbled in his throat, a husky sound that rippled along her
nerves, drove her to want and need.
"My parents are in Longmont. But they don't love—" She stopped, unable to say
the words. For saying the words would make it more real.
Tears burned, suddenly hot in her eyes, as they had so often in the last few days,
and a deeper shame came with them. She hated this weakness. This uncontrollable
avalanche of emotions that had assaulted her almost from the moment she'd arrived in
Gambit Creek and set eyes on Shane O'Donnell.
"They must love you. You're their daughter," he said.
"No. They blame me. After all these years." She shook her head. "Never mind. You
don't want to hear this. It isn't important."
"It must be. You tensed in my arms when you said it. If you think your parents
don't love you—"
"I don't think. I know."
"When you listened to me talk about my father it took away a lot of my pain." He
paused, and she felt his chest rise against her back as he drew in a breath, slowly,
deliberately. "Let me do the same for you."
So she explained, letting the words trickle from her lips like water in a slow stream,
and she allowed his embrace to warm, to satisfy her need for human touch while she
poured out a piece of her soul. "My little brother Doug was about ten when it
happened. I was thirteen and supposed to be watching out for him. We'd been fighting.
We were always fighting."
"Fighting about what?"
"Everything. You name it."
"It's not uncommon for siblings to fight. Especially when they're young."
"I know. We might have grown out of it." The pain stabbed her like a physical
knife, tearing into her flesh and returning memories she'd tried so hard to forget. "If
he'd lived."
Shane's arms loosened, giving her the opportunity pull away if she wanted. But his
caring, his tenderness unraveled her, moving her toward emotions she'd tried to
suppress all her life. If she bared her soul to him, at least his arms would be there to
save her from falling.
"Doug taunted me for weeks about Mother and Father loving him more than they
did me. I knew it was true because of the way they favored him. It's not that they didn't
love me. My father spent time with me in his library and I grew to love archaeology.
That's when I knew I wanted to be an archaeologist. Explore history firsthand through
more than the pages of a book. Despite this, Mom and Dad laughed off my desire to
become an archaeologist. They wanted me to do something practical. Something where
I could earn a good living."
"They thought you'd grow out of wanting to be an archaeologist."
"Yes."
"Yet here you are now. Working in the field."
She nodded. "My parents treated Doug like a prince and indulged him until he
became a brat. My father was particularly bad. Doug's ego grew to be monumental. I
had to work harder for anything I wanted. I didn't want to believe they loved him
more, but the evidence piled up. Doug knew it and used it to his advantage. He used to
blame me for things that he did and my parents would believe him. One day we were at
a pond on a picnic ground. Mom and Dad told me to watch out for Doug because the
pond was out of their view. We were wading. We had a fight and he started to swim
out to the middle of the pond. I yelled out to him to come back, but he ignored me."
Memories battered, unwanted and deep with pain. She shuddered as the agony of
that time surged like a volcano flow. She hadn't spoken of it in so long she'd hoped the
fear would have diminished by now. How wrong she'd been.
Shane waited and finally she continued. "I screamed to him that it was dangerous,
and I wanted to run to Mom and Dad and tell them what he was doing. But I was afraid
to leave him."
She let the tears flow freely and Shane turned her around in his arms. Though she
wiped away her tears, they kept coming. She couldn't look at him, afraid of what she
might see in his expression.
"I yelled for him to come back to shore. Then he got a cramp and went under. I
thought he was playing games with me."
She barely stifled a sob, and he cupped her face in both hands so she looked up at
him. She saw compassion and tenderness that penetrated her heart and eased some of
the agony.
"I finally realized he wasn't playing a trick on me. I was terrified and started
screaming for Mom and Dad. I went in after him. He struggled, and I reached for him.
But he strangled me with his grip, thrashing, crying out for me to save him. I tried to
hold him up but I went under. I'd always been a much stronger swimmer. I should
have been able to save
him."
She pressed her face against his shoulder. Sobs wracked her, mixing with the fear of
the last couple of days.
"It's all right. Cry all you want." Shane gently rubbed her back, cupping her head
and holding it against his shoulder, running his fingers through her hair, caressing her
arms. As she cried, keeping nothing back under his kind ministrations, her fingers
clutched at his shirt. Measure by measure, sweet comfort ran through her.
When her tears subsided, she looked up at him. "He drowned, Shane. My parents
heard our screams and they swam out to us. I was only half-conscious, still trying to
hold Doug up but he was already gone."
"But they must have thanked God you were alive and that you tried to save your
brother?"
"No. They've never been the same toward me. I was in the hospital for a day after
that, and before Doug's funeral, I already noticed their coolness toward me. At first I
thought it was grief…but then I heard…I overheard a conversation between them. My
mother told my father she'd never forgive me for not saving her little boy. I got a letter
from them the other day. I haven't opened it. I don't want to know what they have to
say."
She closed her eyes and felt Shane's warm lips on her cheeks, then her mouth as he
pressed a featherlight kiss to her lips. When she opened her eyes, Shane's anger shone
through, as if he'd been the one who'd lost a child, or a brother. "Damn it, Emma, how
could they do that to you? You've been carrying this grief around all this time? Feeling
that no one could love you?"
She nodded.
"It wasn't your fault. Not Doug drowning, and not your parents' reaction. They had
no right to blame you. You tried to save your brother and almost lost your own life." He
gathered her closer and kissed her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face with
tender strokes. "Thank God you survived. I can't imagine this world without you in it."
She stood within his arms and quivered with growing awareness, knowing that her
heart opened to him more deeply every day, each hour, each minute. "Tell me, Shane,
what happened to make you leave the agency in the first place."
When he looked down at her, she saw indecision in his eyes. "It wasn't the fact my
father died. Not really. I didn't love my father when he died, if you can believe that."
Shadows and Ruins Page 28
