“Are you going to tell me what I’ve done now that we’re back or leave me guessing?”
In the glow of that flower moon, her features looked beautiful and fragile and as distant as the stars. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, her voice stiff.
“Seriously? You want to play the ignorance card? You have hardly exchanged three words with me since we left Mountain Home.”
“I was listening to music.”
“You were avoiding conversation.”
“Maybe I didn’t have anything left to say to you.”
He nearly staggered backward from the impact of that direct hit.
“Wow. Okay. I guess that’s it, then.”
“What do you want from me, Elliot?”
“An explanation would be nice. I would think I deserve that, at least after what we...after everything. What did I do wrong?”
She looked at him for a long moment, then gazed out at the lake, where the flower moon played in the ripples.
“It’s not what you did. It’s what you’re about to do.”
“I wasn’t aware you were psychic.”
“I’m not. Robots act predictably. They do what they’re programmed to do. I should have seen that before.”
Her words wounded with tiny, sharp daggers. “You must know, then, that I’m about to pull out my hair, trying to figure out how everything suddenly changed. Is it because I kissed you? Or because I told you I had feelings for you?”
“You don’t have to pretend, Elliot. I’m another source to you. You’re very good at what you do. You’ll say whatever you have to in order to get the information you want.”
Those daggers sliced harder, deeper. “I haven’t lied to you. Not about anything.”
Her mouth tightened. “Oh. Haven’t you? I saw the text from your editor, okay? I didn’t mean to snoop but it flashed on the screen of your phone when you were pulling water bottles out of the cooler at dinner.”
“What text?” He frowned. “I didn’t know Joe had been in touch.”
“Yes. You’ll be happy to know, I’m sure, that he’s already read the manuscript you turned in and loves it. He’s sure you’ve got another bestseller on your hands. Oh, and he can’t wait to read the next book you’re doing on Elizabeth. You know, the one you’ve been telling me and everyone else all along you had no intention of writing?”
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the notifications. As she said, Joe praised his latest book—at least he had that—and made a reference to him writing Elizabeth’s book.
When he had first come to Haven Point and began looking into the case, his editor had pushed him what was next after he finished Blood Vengeance. Elliot had told Joe he intended to take a break for a few months. In their conversation, he had casually mentioned he was pursuing some leads in a local cold case.
After Elliot shared a few details with him, Joe had been intrigued enough to suggest it would make a great next project, especially because of his personal ties to the case, his friendship with both the victim and the suspect.
Elliot had told him outright the publishing house would be doomed to disappointment because he had no intention of ever writing about Elizabeth.
Obviously, Joe was still lobbying hard. Elliot understood how Megan could read the text and come to a different conclusion. He couldn’t blame her.
It hurt more than he wanted to admit that she didn’t trust him, that she jumped to conclusions without reason. Didn’t the past few days between them count for anything?
“Next time you decide to be angry with me, you might want to get my side of the story first,” he said, striving for calm.
“What side of the story? It’s obvious you’ve been playing me from the beginning. You told me you didn’t plan to write a book about Elizabeth’s case, but you were only saying that because you thought that’s what I wanted to hear.”
“I told you that because it’s true. I thought about it, yes, when I first started looking into the case. That wasn’t my core motivation but the possibility was real. I didn’t lie to you, though. I knew early on that I never could.”
“Because writing about the case would mean exposing your father.”
“That, yes. But more important, I won’t write the book because I don’t want to hurt you or your family. You’ve been through enough. I won’t make it worse.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DESPITE THE FURY and sense of betrayal that had shifted from white-hot to cold, simmering red, Elliot’s words seemed to reach straight into her heart.
He sounded so sincere, so earnest. She wanted to trust him, but how could she—especially now, when she had spent the past hour carefully reconstructing all those barriers around her heart?
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
She couldn’t answer, her heart aching.
The memory of the tender moments they had shared the last few days seemed to crowd her mind. Elliot was a good man. Her heart told her he was. If he said he wasn’t writing a book about Elizabeth’s case, she knew he wouldn’t lie to her.
That didn’t change the central issue, that regardless of the evidence, regardless of how persuasive she was in defending her brother, Elliot had made up his mind that Luke had somehow caused Elizabeth’s disappearance. How could they ever get past that?
“I wish you trusted me. Since you don’t, I’ll have to prove it.”
He stalked to the door and down the porch steps, each footstep as sharp as a gunshot on the wooden planks. Cyrus whined, alert to the tension between them and perhaps even aware of the ache expanding in her chest.
She stood for a moment in uncertainty while a soft breeze blew off the lake.
Finally, she grabbed her dog and carried him up the steps to her own cottage. The moment she set him down, he waddled to his familiar bed and pulled out his favorite toy, shaking it back and forth as if to remind it the boss was back.
She couldn’t even muster a smile. She was cold, suddenly, though the May evening was pleasant. After a moment of shivering, she hit the switch for the gas fireplace and sank into her favorite armchair, wanting to wrap her arms around herself and weep.
She had known the pain in store for her if she allowed herself to love him. That was the reason she had fought so hard against it.
What was she supposed to do now? Her heart felt bruised, achy. Broken.
She should be doing something. Unpacking her things, perhaps, or starting a load of laundry. She couldn’t make herself move to deal with inconsequential things right now, when her emotions felt so heavy and raw.
Before she could convince herself to do more than sit here and brood, her door burst open as Elliot came back without knocking. He crossed to the chair where she sat and threw down onto the coffee table a manila folder bulging with a thick stack of papers.
“There you go.”
She stared at the stack. “What’s this?”
“Every scrap of paper, every file, every phone number I found in Elizabeth’s case. The whole thing. I can’t give you the official case files from the sheriff’s department, but this is everything I’ve been working on myself.”
“I... What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Whatever you want. Give them to Luke. Put them in a scrapbook. Burn them, if you want. I’m done with this case. As far as I’m concerned, Elizabeth left on her own free will.”
“You believe Peg,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “She is convinced Elizabeth is the woman she picked up that night and drove to Oregon. If she’s right, that means Elizabeth left Haven Point on her own and made her way to that truck stop.”
His words slid over her, warm and soft like one of the hand-knitted shawls McKenzie Kilpatrick sold in her store.
This was exactly what she’d wanted—for him to believe her. She wanted to wrap th
e feeling around her, to stay there cocooned in the safety of trust.
Sweet relief washed over her. She felt as if she’d been fighting a battle alone for a long time and finally had someone standing at her back.
His next words, however, made it clear that someone wouldn’t be Elliot.
“I’m not saying I believe Luke is wholly innocent, Megan. You have to understand that. Peg reported that Elizabeth was afraid and bleeding, which would indicate someone hurt her. I don’t know if that person was her husband, but given her previous police report, that’s the logical conclusion.”
“Except she was lying when she filed the report.”
His expression plainly conveyed his doubts. “While I admire your faith in your brother, faith is not the same thing as fact.”
He tapped the papers. “Whatever the case, there were countless eyewitnesses placing him here in Haven Point that evening and again the next morning. I don’t believe he could have driven to Pendleton, killed her, disposed of her body someplace that no hunter or hiker has stumbled over the last seven years, then made it back here to fit the timeline we have for his movements.”
“He didn’t do it. That’s what you’re saying.”
He looked down at the papers, then back at her. “That’s what I’m saying. I’ll tell Marshall about Peg and give him her information and suggest the sheriff’s department follows through and see if they can find any other eyewitnesses from that night. I’ll also pass along my belief that Lucas wasn’t involved.”
He paused. “You do know what this means, right?”
“What?”
“This now becomes a federal case, as it crosses state lines. If there were any evidence a crime has been committed, which right now we don’t have, the FBI would take over the case.”
“Would you take charge?”
“No. I’m too close to things and it’s not a Colorado issue, as far as we know. Any further investigation would probably be handled by the Boise or Portland field offices. I’ve got good friends in each and will make sure it’s handled well.”
“Thank you for that.”
He studied her, his features remote again. She had hurt him by her mistrust, she realized. Would he be able to forgive her? Did she want him to?
“I’ll remind you, there is no law against a person picking up and moving somewhere else. She has every right to leave Haven Point and start a new life somewhere else if she wanted. If there is no evidence any laws have been broken and no proof that someone deliberately harmed her, there will be no further investigation. Not officially by the Bureau and not unofficially by me.”
He was walking away? His sisters called him a bulldog, tenacious and tough, fiercely committed to justice. He had risked his own career—and his life—to rescue those girls.
Elizabeth had been his friend. After all his digging into Elizabeth’s case, would he really be able to accept not finding more answers?
“Just like that?”
“Yes. Just like that.” He stood in the doorway, one hand in a fist against the jamb, the other shoved into his pocket. He studied her for a long moment, his features distant and somehow...sad. “What choice do I have? Even we unfeeling robots sometimes know when to give up.”
Was he only talking about the case?
She looked sharply at him but could read nothing in that remote, stiff expression. He had once more returned to the formal, unapproachable investigator, the man who shoved his emotions inside for fear they would cloud his reason.
“How do I know you don’t just have copies of everything?”
His features hardened. “I suppose you can’t. Not really. I guess for once you’ll just have to trust me.”
She wanted to. The urge was overwhelming to throw everything at his feet and simply lean against his strength.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t go through the pain again. She had lost herself after Wyatt died. The world had become gray and cheerless, all her photos black-and-white and filled with despair. She was in a good place right now, a place filled with color and light. She was ready to embrace life again.
She couldn’t let Elliot break her heart all over again.
“Thank you,” she said, doing her best to keep the trembling out of her voice. “For...these files and for...everything. I’m sorry I doubted you. Whatever you write next, I’m sure it will be wonderful. Good luck with everything.”
Though her heart felt as if it would never recover, she spoke the words firmly, with clear dismissal in her tone.
She was saying goodbye.
That was how things had to be. She was broken by her childhood, by losing Wyatt, by all the years of doubt and sadness over Elizabeth. She couldn’t give Elliot the love he needed, couldn’t be the kind of woman willing to open her heart and embrace all the possibilities with him. She had doubted him on the slimmest of evidence.
He deserved more. So much more.
He studied her intently and she could see the moment he understood everything she had left unspoken. His expression tightened, and for the first time, she could clearly read him.
She had hurt him.
The knowledge burned in her throat.
He looked as if he wanted to argue but he must have sensed her mind was made up. They could never share more than a few heated kisses and the possibility of what might have been.
“You’re welcome. Good night, Megan.”
His words had the ring of finality to them as well. He turned and headed for the door, and it took every ounce of strength inside her not to call him back.
* * *
SHE SLEPT POORLY, her dreams fitful and tortured. Elizabeth showed up, lovely and troubled and laughing at all the pain she had left behind. Luke was there as well, his features remote and overwhelmed and sad at the same time.
When her alarm went off, she wanted to chuck it out the window so she could stay wrapped under her blanket and shove the world away for the next year or two.
She sat up, blinking away sleep. Her eyes felt achy, gritty, swollen. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep. That was what she told herself, anyway. It had only been all the pollen that floated in from sleeping with the windows open to the night sounds.
Right.
The sun wasn’t yet up but she forced herself out of bed anyway. She had been gone for two days and could only imagine the work that awaited her at the inn’s front office.
Cyrus gave a long-suffering whine from beside her bed and she sighed. “I know. You need to go out. I’m sorry. I’m coming.”
She shivered as her feet hit the floor. The first thing she saw when she opened the door was the dew clinging to the grass and the delicate branches of the trees, as if all of nature wore sparkling diadems.
The second was more of an absence, really. Something that should have been there but wasn’t. Elliot’s vehicle was gone.
She frowned. Where was he, so early? The sun was barely cresting the Redemptions to the east. Had his sleep been restless, too?
It didn’t matter. What he did or didn’t do was not her business. She had made that clear to him the night before.
Her cell phone rang just as she was stepping out of the shower. Her brother, she saw when she checked the caller ID.
She had to reveal what they had found. Oh, she didn’t want to. How could she tell him it appeared his wife had left him and their babies of her own free will? Megan had always believed it, but now they had solid proof.
She cleared her throat before answering the call but her voice still sounded ragged. “Good morning.”
“Morning. Just checking to see if you made it back to town okay.”
“Yes. We rolled in late last night.”
“We?”
For obvious reasons, she hadn’t told him she was going to Colorado with Elliot. Now she didn’t see how she could avoid it. In order for her to discu
ss the interview with Peg McGeary, she would have to tell him the process by which the interview came about in the first place.
She drew in a deep breath, hoping her relationship with her brother would survive what Luke would certainly see as a betrayal.
“Yes. Cyrus came with me.” She paused. “So did Elliot Bailey.”
As she might have expected, a long, tense silence met her disclosure. “Is that right?” Luke finally said.
She winced at the distant coldness in his voice. She should have told him before she and Elliot left Haven Point. She should at least have mentioned it when she impulsively had changed her mind and called him from the road to tell him about Harry Lange’s shocking offer.
Harry Lange.
She hadn’t even had a moment to think about selling the inn and what it might mean for her future.
She pushed the thought away. Right now she needed to focus on Luke and how she could tell her brother about the progress she and Elliot had made toward solving the mystery of his wife’s disappearance.
This wasn’t the sort of thing she could discuss over the phone, she suddenly realized. She had to tell him in person. It seemed the right thing to do, when you were about to tell a man it appeared his wife voluntarily left him behind to face years of whispers and accusations.
“It’s a long story,” she said, a master of understatement. “I need to talk to you.”
“If you want to talk about Elliot Bailey, I’m afraid I’m not interested.”
“It’s about Elizabeth. Are you home? May I come over now?”
“I’m just heading over to the job site. I was checking to be sure you were safe and see if you need to talk more about Lange’s offer.”
“Do you have ten minutes to drop by on your way? I can make you breakfast.”
She could call the front office and let them know she would be late that morning. Surely she had a few things in the refrigerator and could whip up an omelet for him.
“Will Bailey be there?” he asked, his voice stern and condemning.
“No! It’s not—We’re not—” Her words faltered. She and Elliot were nothing. She had made sure of that the night before. “I don’t know where he is. His car is gone from next door.”
The Cottages on Silver Beach Page 23
