Colder Than Ice

by Maggie Shayne

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  “Beyond ridiculous, Beth. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I, uh…I like you quite a lot.”

  “So did he.”

  He lifted his head, stared down into her eyes.

  “But at least with Mordecai I always knew exactly what he was. Dangerous. Insane. With you—I get the feeling I don’t even have the first clue.”

  “What can I do to make things easier?”

  She lifted her head, stared into his eyes, and he could see her answer there. She was pleading without a word. Just tell me the truth. Her eyes were so needy he couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head and kissed her, deeply, slowly, and more tenderly than he could remember ever kissing anyone in his life. She tasted of grief and teardrops and fear. And she trembled in his arms.

  When he lifted his head away, she said nothing, just stared up at him, her eyes probing for a long moment. Then she turned and hurried away from him, through the doorway into the dining room, beyond it to the living room. He heard her footsteps retreating up the stairs and the closing of her bedroom door, and he knew damn good and well he hadn’t given her the answer she wanted. The answer she needed.

  He lifted a fist to slam it into the wall and just barely stopped himself before bringing it down. He hated lying to her. Hated it.

  He lowered his hand, shook his head and reminded himself that he was only doing what he had to do. He’d destroyed this woman’s life once. This time he was here to protect her. It looked as if he might have to break her heart to do that, but that was a small price to pay for keeping her alive.

  Hell, why couldn’t anything ever be simple?

  He was distracted by a knock on the front door. He went to it to find Chief Frankie and one of her officers, each carrying a box. Other boxes were in the open trunk of Frankie’s car. The boxes held Beth’s belongings, he realized. All she had left from the wreckage of her house. The wreckage of her life.

  Chapter Eleven

  Beth turned on the shower but didn’t get in. Instead, she tiptoed down the hall and, giving a quick glance down the stairs, caught a glimpse of Josh with the telephone in one hand and the Blackberry-Pinedale telephone directory in the other. Swallowing her fear, she kept moving along the hall to the room he was using and quickly slipped inside.

  His bed was made. Not neatly, but made. Maude’s quilt, patterned with little patchwork houses, was spread over the pine four-poster bed. Knotty pine dresser, matching rocker. Brown carpeting. She went to the dresser and slid open the top drawer, pawed through the socks and underwear there. The next drawer held shirts, and the third one jeans. She went to the closet and searched that. Two suits, some dress shirts, a couple of ties, shiny black shoes standing toe-to-toe with brown leather Timberland work boots. Frowning, she looked closer. Hell, those were not cheap suits. Maybe he’d underplayed the size of his consulting business.

  Interesting.

  There was a briefcase on the overhead shelf in the closet. She pulled it down and pressed the button, but it didn’t open. Locked. Dammit. And not a key in sight. It was as she was putting it back that she bumped against one of the suits and was surprised by the weighty object that bumped back. Frowning, Beth set the briefcase carefully in its spot and ran her hands over the suit, then realized something was inside it. She released the jacket’s button, opened it to see the trousers, neatly pressed and suspended from an inner hanger. But that wasn’t alarming at all. What was alarming, was the gun. Its holster was suspended from the coat’s hanger by a long leather strap. The gun it held was large and black.

  “What the hell are you doing with a gun, Joshua Kendall?” she whispered. A lot of people had guns, she reasoned. Shotguns, rifles. Few people saw the need to own a handgun. She’d had handguns. But she also had damn good reasons. What reasons did Joshua have?

  Josh’s footsteps came quickly up the stairs, and her blood rushed to her feet.

  “Hell.” She closed the closet door fast, then darted into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door loosely. Then she hurried to the other side of the bathroom and opened the other door off it, stepping into Bryan’s room. Thank God the boy was out.

  She closed his door behind her just as she heard Josh entering his bedroom. Then she slipped through Bryan’s room toward the door and the hallway beyond it. But she stopped short when she saw the item on the floor, a white strap just peeking out from beneath the bed. If she didn’t know better she would think that was a…

  She bent and picked it up.

  “Bra strap,” she muttered, as she pulled the white bra from under the bed. “Oh, my God.”

  Licking her lips, she glanced nervously toward Josh’s room, could hear him moving around in there. Telling him was out of the question, at least until she could be sure just what was going on with Bryan and how Joshua would react.

  A voice in her head told her that just because he had a gun, it didn’t necessarily mean he was dangerous.

  But until she knew for sure…

  Besides, if she told him about the bra, she would have to explain what the hell she was doing in Bryan’s room in the first place. No. She wouldn’t say anything just yet. There was enough strain between him and Bryan already.

  She would have a chat with the boy herself. She shook her head slowly, wondering how Bryan had managed to hook up with a girl already. Had to give the kid credit, she thought. He worked fast.

  She wadded the bra up in her hand and carried it with her as she slipped into the hall and back to her own room, where she tucked it into a drawer for safekeeping. Better than leaving it for Josh to find, should he happen to walk into Bryan’s bedroom. Then she stepped into her own bathroom and took her time in the shower.

  “Now remember the cover story,” Bryan said, totally ignoring the little voice in his head that was telling him he sounded just like his father. “You’re just passing through town, on vacation with your family, who stopped to enjoy the scenery and are thinking about staying for a couple of days.”

  “I know, I know, and you and I just happened to meet,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He nodded in approval, choosing to ignore her sarcastic tone. “And I’m here because Maude was a relative.”

  Dawn crossed her arms over her chest, tipped her head to one side. “I thought that was why you were here.”

  “It is.”

  “Then why are you rehearsing it?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re drilling yourself as if your cover story is as bogus as mine.”

  “Look, you’re the one who said Beth might be in trouble. That someone might be after her. I’m just trying to help you out here.”

  “And I’m glad for the help—not that I need it,” she added quickly. “But meanwhile, how do I know you’re not an informant or something?”

  He gaped at her, astonished he was as lousy at this spy game as he was. God, she saw through him already.

  “Hey!” someone called. It was a teenage boy, one of the small group who’d been tossing a football around in the town park when Bryan and Dawn had arrived. He was heading toward them, blond and bulky, and while he offered a friendly smile, it was aimed at Dawn, not Bryan.

  “Hey,” she replied.

  “You new in town?”

  “Just passing through. Family vacation—you know how that goes.” She shook her head and tossed her hair. The wind picked it up, adding to the magic of the action.

  “Boy, do I. You here for long?”

  “They’re undecided on that. I’m Dawn, by the way.”

  “Tim,” he replied. “This your brother?”

  “No,” Bryan said before she could reply. “I’m not her brother.” Did that sound a little hostile? What the hell had brought that on? The guy outweighed him by twenty pounds, and his pals were heading this way now.

  “Wait,” Tim said. “I’ve seen you around town. You’re the one stayin’ out at the old Bickham place.” He’d l
ooked a little huffy at first, but that look vanished now. “I was sorry to hear about Mrs. Bickham. She was a really nice lady.”

  “You knew her, huh?”

  “Yeah, I shovel her driveway for her in the winter.” He smiled. “She always paid me on time and sent me home with a box of cookies or fudge or something. I really liked her.”

  “Me, too,” Bryan said. And that, at least, wasn’t a lie.

  “You guys wanna get in on a game?”

  Bryan glanced at Dawn. “Touch or tackle?” she asked.

  “You’re gonna say no if I say tackle, aren’t you?” Tim replied with a grin.

  “Not if you don’t mind getting hurt.”

  He laughed, nodded toward the others who’d gathered around them, two other girls and three guys. “Touch. The local girls don’t trust us guys not to tackle them for the wrong reasons.”

  “Hey, they know you better than I do.”

  Tim laughed out loud and rattled off a pile of names that Bryan tried to commit to memory—without much luck. They played touch football in the park for the next hour and a half, and he had to admit, it was fun—except for the way the other guys were flirting with Dawn. He didn’t care much for that. Not that he had any interest in her—okay, maybe he did, but that wasn’t why it bothered him. It was a matter of principle. For all these guys knew, she might be his girlfriend, but they acted as if they didn’t care. Then again, the local girls didn’t seem too thrilled with the situation, either.

  It was after the game, when they were all sitting in the grass sipping Cokes from the cooler someone had brought, that one of the girls, Melissa, asked Bryan, “So how come you’re not in school? You graduate or quit?”

  “Neither. I just don’t want to commit until I know how long we’re gonna be here,” Bryan said, thinking his words through before speaking. “I’m taking tutoring from Beth Slocum so I won’t fall too far behind.”

  Shelly, the other girl, lowered her head. “She’s great, isn’t she? She tutored me all last summer. Got me out of summer school. I just wish my stupid mom wasn’t making me drop her.”

  “All because of rumors,” Melissa put in. “I mean, God, I know a stoner when I see one, and Beth Slocum is no stoner.”

  Bryan shot a look at Dawn. She looked angry and about to speak, so he cut her off before she could. “I gotta agree with you there. Dawn, you would, too, if you’d ever met her.” She met his eyes, got the message. She wasn’t supposed to know Beth. She bit her lip. “So who says she’s a stoner?” Bryan asked, returning his attention to the other two girls.

  “Who the hell knows? Gossip, you know. Someone heard that someone said that someone else heard, blah blah. Grownups in this town have too much time on their hands, if you ask me.”

  “The way I heard it, she was fired from her last teaching job for dealing drugs to students,” Tim said. “Weed.”

  “That’s what I heard, too,” another of the boys put in. Peter, Paul, something like that. “Only I heard it was coke. They’re saying that’s why she’s not teaching anymore.”

  “Still, it’s nothing but rumors. I mean, I don’t know why my mom is being such a total bitch about it,” Shelly said.

  “She’s not the only one. From what I heard, Ms. Slocum will be lucky to have any students left by the time the week is out.”

  “It’s not exactly fair,” Dawn said. “I mean, if they don’t even have any proof—”

  “Yeah, I was saying the same thing at first,” Peter-Paul said. “But then her house got blown up, and even I started wondering what the heck was going on. I mean, they’re saying it was a gas leak, but that kind of thing doesn’t just happen, does it? It’s more like something out of a movie. You know, like maybe she screwed her supplier or had a meth lab in there or something?”

  “Oh, come on. What do you think, she’s in the mob or something?” Melissa asked.

  “I was in that house for tutoring,” Shelly said. “It was tiny. If there was a meth lab, I’d have seen it.”

  “Me, too,” Bryan said.

  The boy shrugged. The third male, Greg, had been silent up to now. He was mostly quiet, blond, skinny, glasses, totally sucked at football. But he spoke now. “I heard someone say she might have had something to do with Mrs. Bickham’s death, too. Said maybe the old woman found out something, you know?”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” Shelly snapped. Dawn looked ready to hit the kid. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Mrs. Bickham was ninetysomething. Sheesh!”

  “Seventy-eight,” the skinny one said. “And I didn’t say I believed it. I just said I heard it.”

  Shelly rolled her eyes. “I don’t care what anyone says. I like Beth Slocum, and I don’t believe a word of it.” She pursed her lips.

  “She owns the old Bickham place now,” Tim said. “That’s what my dad heard, anyway. Damn lucky timing, with her own house gone.”

  “Yeah, damn lucky,” Greg the Geek said.

  “You and your father are still staying there, aren’t you?” Tim asked Bryan.

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think if she found a joint in the house she’d kick ass and take names. She’s straight up.”

  Tim nodded, his face serious. “I don’t know her, but from what I’ve seen, I think you’re right.”

  “I know I’m right.”

  “She’s hot,” Peter-Paul said, and when every female there turned to glare at him, he added. “For her age, I mean.”

  Tim and Greg nodded in agreement. “Anything up…you know, between her and your old man?”

  “Like I’d tell you guys if there was?” Bryan asked. “Sounds like she’s got enough trouble with gossip already.” He got to his feet, knowing it was time to leave. He had to relay all this information to his father as soon as possible.

  “Shit, you guys can be so tacky!” Melissa put a hand on Bryan’s arm. “Don’t leave, Bry. They’re not complete jerks. Not all the time, anyway.”

  Dawn cleared her throat, and Bryan looked her way, only to see her frowning at the pretty redhead with her hand on Bryan’s arm. Dawn said, “We have to go anyway. I promised my mom I’d be back in an hour, and I’ve been gone for three. And, uh, Bryan, you did promise to walk me back.”

  He blinked. Was she delivering a not so subtle message to Melissa? Hell, that made his day. “Yeah, we should go. Maybe I’ll see you guys around,” he said to the others.

  “You should come to school, Bryan,” Tim said. “You’re no slouch on the field. We could use you on the football team.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Cool.” Bryan reached a hand down to Dawn, who was still sitting on the ground. She reached up and took it, and he went warm all over as he tugged her to her feet.

  When Beth finished in the shower, she returned to her room to find boxes of her belongings stacked near the bed. More of her clothes had survived than she had expected—all of them freshly laundered and smelling of fabric softener. She went through the boxes, but there was no sign of her gun. Sighing, she picked out something to wear, relieved to have so many of her possessions returned.

  When she came back downstairs, Josh was clean, fresh, his hair still damp. He sent her a look, one that conveyed the notion he cared about her, or was perhaps designed to convey it, and asked, “Feeling any better?”

  “Not yet. I will be when this is over. How did you manage to shower so fast?”

  “I’m male. I’ve never been able to figure out what it takes you women so long to do in there.”

  “I can’t figure out how you managed to do more than pass briefly through the spray.”

  “I promise, I did more that pass through the spray.”

  She forced a smile she didn’t really feel. “I believe you.” At least that part was sincere. He smelled damn good.

  “You look nice.”

  She pursed her lips. Making funeral plans for a friend seemed to her to call for something more than her usual
jeans and sweaters. She’d put on dressy black pants with a slender belt, an ivory shell and a tailored black blazer. She’d even donned her most comfortable pumps, which someone had polished for her, and she thought Maude would forgive the trouser socks instead of nylons. No nylons seemed to have survived the blast. The way he was looking at her, Beth thought she might as well be wearing a slinky evening gown. Then again, he had never seen her in anything other than blue jeans or her running clothes. Or a T-shirt nightie. He seemed to like what he saw. Or was that just a part of whatever game he was playing?

  “Thank you,” she said, and before he could say another thing, she asked, “What did you find out from the funeral home?”

  He looked absent for a second, then stared around the room as if he’d lost something. Finally he headed for the coffee table and grabbed up the yellow legal pad that lay there. He sat down on the sofa and patted the spot beside him.

  Warily, she crossed the room and sat down. Josh nodded to one of Maude’s antique china cups on the table. “I made that for you. It’s still good and hot.”

  She blinked in surprise, felt her throat tighten just a little and wondered why. “You found Maude’s teacups.”

  “Yeah. And I remembered to add the honey.” He took the cup from its saucer and held it to her lips. “Taste,” he said. And she found herself complying, sipping just a bit of the tea. He withdrew the cup, watching her face. “How did I do?”

  “It’s perfect. Thank you, Josh.” She took the cup from his hand, so he wouldn’t feed her from it anymore. It was too intimate a gesture, too tender. She didn’t need him building her ill-advised, and perhaps self-destructive, attraction to him any further. Not when she wasn’t even certain she could trust him.

  He leaned back on the sofa, picking up the notepad. “Maude wanted only one set of calling hours, held at the funeral home, and a very brief graveside service the following day. She has her headstone and plot ready and waiting, her casket’s already been chosen, and Reverend Baker knows what she has in mind. The funeral director says he plans to hold the calling hours tonight, if that’s okay with us. Though I didn’t get the feeling we had much choice in the matter.”