by Dawn Brown
His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw flicked against his skin. “Of course. I do, however, need to speak to you.”
“I'm tired, Dean.”
“I won't be long.”
“Fine. I need a drink. Do you want anything?” She shrugged out of her coat and dumped it on the armchair in the living room.
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
He followed her to the kitchen. She didn't need to look back to know it. His presence practically charged the small room. She dumped the roses on the counter and grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack built into the cupboards.
“Are you seeing someone?”
Haley glanced at him. He nodded to the flowers, his expression inscrutable.
“No. Those are probably because of Michelle.”
“Probably?”
“There was no card. For all I know they’re for my next door neighbor.” Sadly, a distinct possibility. Even though Betty was seventy-eight the woman’s social life was far more active than Haley’s. But then, nuns had more active social lives than she did.
She dug through the drawer, searching for a corkscrew. “So, talk.”
“I wanted to know how you did today. What you found out.”
“Why? So you can twist it all around?”
“Is that what you think I would do?”
She didn’t reply as her fingers closed around the corkscrew in the far corner of the drawer. When she attempted to push the pointed coil into the cork, Dean stopped her, taking it from her. Her hands still shook, not as badly, but enough for him to notice. She hated that she couldn't stop them. Hated letting him see any weakness.
“I’ll do this,” he said. “You get the glasses.”
She brought two down from the cupboard and set them on the counter. He poured a generous amount into her glass, but was far more conservative with his own. She eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m driving,” he replied to her unspoken question. “Besides, you look like you could use it. Actually, you look like you could do with something a hell of a lot stronger.”
“I don't have anything stronger.” She didn’t drink often. The fear of winding up like her mother loomed ever-present.
He nodded and followed her to the living room. She sat on one end of the couch, he on the other. For a moment neither spoke. She lifted the glass to her lips. The smooth, dry wine slid down her throat and pooled in her empty belly. More likely than not, she wouldn’t need anything stronger. She had skipped dinner and it wouldn’t take long for her to feel the effects.
“What's with you?” Dean asked. He sounded impatient. “Why are you so upset?”
“I'm not upset,” she snapped. “But if I was, finding out my father wasn’t who he said he was and scrambling to save his reputation might have something to do with it.”
“You can’t believe I'm enjoying any of this? Do you honestly think I wanted it to be him? I admired your father, looked up to him. You were right, he did save ‘my sorry ass’. He gave me a chance when one else would, but he also let me twist in the wind for Michelle when he knew I didn’t do it.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong.”
“Even you have to admit, there are a lot of coincidences where your father is concerned.”
“And I would think you of all people understand just how damaging coincidences with nothing to back them up can be.”
“Don't try and guilt me. I'm here putting up with your mouth, no easy feat I might add, hoping you found something that would mean I was wrong.”
She sighed, thinking of what Paige had said about the police surely learning what Dean had. “Nate confirmed everything you told me. I wish I had something more. We even went to where Michelle had been buried—”
“What do you mean?”
“Paige and I went to my grandmother's house."”
His lips curled in distaste. “Why would you do that?”
He had good lips. Thin and nicely shaped. He'd be a good kisser. What was she thinking? That’s it, no more wine.
“I don't know.” She leaned forward and set the glass on the chest. “I guess we thought we'd find something the police had missed.”
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but that house no longer belongs to your family.”
“I know, but the people who own it haven't lived there since Michelle was found.”
“Breaking and entering is still a crime, even when the owners aren't at home.”
“Yeah, well, you would know.”
“Very funny.”
“I did wonder about something.” After she had freaked out and all but run screaming from the house. “I couldn't figure out why those people would dig up the floor.”
“What did they tell the police?”
“They were doing renovations.”
Dean shrugged. “There you go.”
“That doesn't make sense. Why would they dig up a dirt floor to start renovations?”
“Maybe they planned to finish the basement.”
“The house is over a hundred years old. Only a crazy person would try to finish the basement down there. And if they were that crazy they wouldn't be able to do it themselves, they'd have to hire a professional contractor to dig out the basement.”
“Why would they lie about it?”
“I don't know. I do know the house needed a new roof, windows and the floors refinished, so why would anyone start their renovations by digging holes in the dirt floor of the basement?”
“They were probably repairing something structural. With a house that old it stands to reason that something in the foundation might need repairing.”
“Maybe.” She leaned back, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Was it coincidence, or had Dean helped things along a little? Could he have told the Kearneys where to look? Or could Dean be right about her father?
No. Her father had loved his family. He never would have hurt Michelle.
“I don't get where you're going with this. Do you think these people knew that Michelle was there?”
“I can't think of any other reason why they would just happen to dig a hole in the basement and find her. Unless someone told them where to look.”
“That's not a completely unreasonable assumption.” He looked thoughtful, but not threatened.
“So, come with me to talk to the Kearneys.”
“What? No. Forget it.” His expression was hard to read. He frowned, but he didn't look at all nervous.
“You said you wanted to be wrong. This could be what you need. What we both need.”
He didn't say anything, just studied the untouched wine as he swirled it in his glass.
“Before you destroy a man's reputation, don't you think you owe it to him to investigate every possibility?”
His eyes locked with hers. Pale green, and swirling like the sea before a storm. “We're going to look like a couple of idiots.”
She smiled. “Billy gets to the store at three-thirty. You can meet me there then. I would do this earlier, but I can't leave Allister alone.”
Dean nodded. “I don't know what you think you'll accomplish. I doubt they’ll tell you anything they didn't tell the police.”
Maybe not, but the real question was, would the Kearneys recognize Dean? “I would feel better if I spoke to them.”
“Fine,” Dean stood. “I'll meet you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Sucker.
Chapter Ten
Jonathan pretended to read his newspaper while waiting for his wife to put in an appearance. He checked his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. Damn it, where was she? He had a meeting in less than an hour and no time for her stupid games. She was still avoiding him, after nearly a week. About the same time Lawson had turned up.
He drank from his coffee cup, the bitter liquid now tepid, but he hardly noticed. She was probably hiding in her room, waiting until he left.
The cup clattered on the table when he set it down and stood. A slow simmering anger built inside
him as he left the kitchen and started up the stairs. Did she actually believe she could avoid him forever? That simply staying out of his line of sight would protect her? And had she honestly thought he wouldn’t find out about Lawson?
Outside his wife’s room, he rapped loudly on the door before entering. Lara sat at her vanity dressed in a long, sage, silk robe, her eyes wide with surprise.
She was a remarkably beautiful woman, with her smooth, ivory skin and nearly black hair. Fresh from the bath, the still-damp locks curled slightly under her chin.
He admired her as he would a fine piece of art, acknowledging the beauty on the surface. Though, he would likely have felt more passion for a painting than for his wife.
She said nothing, only continued to watch him in the mirror.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” He demanded. She paled and perverse delight filled him. “Answer me.”
“I—” she hesitated. “I hoped you wouldn’t.”
“I’m sure you did. So tell me, what did he want?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Many things,” he agreed. Then slowly, as if speaking to a small child, he asked again. “What. Did. Lawson. Want?”
“Dean?” she said, as if joining the conversation at last. “You mean Dean?”
“Yes, Dean. Who did you think?”
She let out a breath and some of the tension left her. “I only spoke to him for a moment.”
“I didn’t ask how long you spoke to him. I asked what he wanted."
“Nothing, really.” She waved her hand airily. To his amazement her features turned cool and inscrutable. “Just to say hello.”
Lying bitch! But why? “Is that why he accosted you in your car the day of the funeral?”
“How did you know that?” Her eyes, wide and a little afraid, stared at him from the mirror’s reflection.
“What did he want?”
Her hand trembled as she ran it through her hair and she moistened her lips. Was she working on another lie, trying for something more believable this time?
“The best lies, Lara, always hold an element of the truth. So let’s start with the truth. Does he know that you started the rumor?”
“I didn’t—”
“You did. Does he know?”
“How did you find out?”
“I’ve always known, but the question at hand is does he?”
“Yes.” The word escaped her in a breathy whisper.
“Did you deny it?”
“No. I offered to admit it to the police if it would help clear his name.”
Jonathan chuckled. “And why would you do that? Are you seeking absolution?”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
This time he laughed hard and deep. “Since when have you cared about doing what’s right? You take care of you, and you always have. There’s no honor among thieves is there, Lara?”
She didn’t speak. Good, because she would listen. They all lived in this purgatory together, and she had less right to an escape than anyone—except maybe him.
“You will admit nothing, do you understand?
“I’m not one of your employees.”
“No, you’re my wife, but if you don’t stay away from Lawson, you won’t be for long. I’ll divorce you. I have grounds, thanks to the way you’ve been carrying on with Richard.” He smirked and added in mock horror, “My own brother?”
“All this time and you knew?”
“You should have been more discreet and taken a lover outside my family.”
“I see. But how could admitting what I’ve done possibly matter to you?”
“I’m late.” He turned to leave. At the door he stopped and faced her. “I’m as responsible for what happened to Michelle as you are.” As much and more.
Dean had just stepped out of the shower and was drying himself with a faded gray towel that may have been white at one time, when a light knock at the door stopped him. He left the bathroom and picked up his watch from the corner of the dresser. Not quite noon. It couldn’t be Haley.
The knock sounded again, light and somehow distinctly feminine. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. The denim stuck to his still damp skin. Fumbling with the fly, he opened the door.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
Dean met Lara’s pale gaze. A faint smile played at the corners of her lips as she swept an appreciative glance down his bare torso. Struck by the urge to cover himself with his arms, he turned away from her instead, snatching the shirt off the end of the bed and pulling it over his head.
“You didn’t. Come in and close the door.”
She did as he asked, then lowered herself to the corner of the bed. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall opposite her.
“I have some bad news,” she began slowly.
“Really?”
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you.”
His heart picked up the pace and a slow, seeping anger settled over him. Why did he feel like he’d been had?
“And why is that?” he asked, but he had a pretty good idea.
“Do you mind if smoke?”
He shrugged, pretending not to give a shit when, in reality, he wanted to toss her out on her ass. He grabbed the chipped ashtray from the desk and shoved it at her.
Her finely shaped black brows lifted a little, but she said nothing as he resumed his position against the wall. With almost painful slowness, Lara slipped the cigarette between her lips and lit the end.
“Are you comfortable now?” He didn’t bother to hide his contempt, but if she noticed, she didn’t let on.
“I am, thank you.”
“Good. So maybe you’d like to tell me what’s changed in the past few days.”
Days that he’d held off going to the police, all to suit Haley. She’d done a fine job stalling him. Now he knew why.
“I’ve had some time to think, and after careful consideration I think it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“You do, huh? Well, I don’t. You see, it’s my life that you screwed up with your little-girl games. So, we’re going to leave here together, right now, and you’re going to tell the detective everything.”
“I’m not, Dean. I’m sorry, but I can’t. There are too many people who will be hurt, whose lives will be disrupted. I’m sorry.”
“Lara, I will tell the police what you told me. All of it. You’ll look guiltier if you don’t come clean now.”
“Tell them anything you want. I’ll deny it. I’ll tell them you’re crazy. I’ll tell them I’m afraid of you. And they’ll believe me, not you. I’m Mrs. Jonathan Williams and no matter what you’re doing these days, you’re still Dean Lawson, the man who murdered Michelle.”
Hot fury made him lash out. “You keep telling yourself that, because no matter how many fur coats you buy, no matter how much jewelry you own, no matter how many rich men marry you and ignore you, you’re still Lara Kramer. You and I come from the same place, and if you think anyone’s forgotten that, you’re deluded.”
“This town may see me as a gold digger, and they’d be right, but that’s a long way off from a killer.” She squashed her cigarette in the ashtray and stood to leave, but he grabbed her arm.
“Who changed your mind?” He perversely needed to hear her name.
“No one, I just thought—”
“Give me a break, you haven’t thought for yourself in years. Someone put you up to this.”
“Fine. You’re right. A friend did remind me that I have a lot more to lose than you do to gain. Now, if you don’t mind.” Dean released her arm and she swept out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind her.
He half-sat, half-leaned on the edge of the dresser, not at all certain the brittle faux wood could support his weight. Well, he had to hand it to Haley. While he’d been wracked with guilt, she’d come at him from an angle he hadn’t even considered. God damn it, what now?
Haley drummed her fingers on the counter and stared at the door. It was quarter to four and still no sign of Dean. Would he stand her up? Stand me up? This isn’t a date. Still, the butterflies swooping and diving in her stomach couldn’t quite grasp that.
“Do you want me to finish for you?” Billy asked.
She frowned. “What?”
“The invoices.” He pointed to the pile next to the computer and then gestured to the spreadsheet on the screen. “Did you want me to finish entering them for you?”
Despite staring blankly at the screen, she hadn’t inputted an invoice in the past twenty minutes. She shrugged. “Sure, that would be a big help.”
Provided Dean showed up, otherwise she would have the rest of the afternoon to do it. She checked her watch again. Ten to four. So, where was he?
Holy God, maybe she’d been right all along. Maybe he was afraid the Kearneys would recognize him or give him away. Of course that would make him Michelle’s killer, and she still couldn’t quite believe it. Not that it mattered because he was going to stand her up anyway.
“Hey.” A sharp bubble of pain bloomed in her side as Billy elbowed her in the ribs and whispered, “That’s the guy, the one who came to see Al last week. I told you he’s out of Al’s league.”
Haley looked up from the computer to where Dean stood just inside the doorway, and her stomach flip-flopped.
Not a date!
Was she so hard up that trying to prove or disprove a high school crush guilty or not guilty of murdering her sister had become a social outing for her? She needed therapy.
“You’re late,” she snapped and slid off the stool, but froze in her tracks when she took a good look at him.
His catlike eyes practically glowed from the taut lines of his face. He stood stiff and unyielding, a harsh scowl etched into his expression. The tiny muscle in his jaw flicked wildly.
“Sorry I held you up.”
She frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is just great. Let’s go.”
“Okay.” Her heart rate quickened as she pulled on her jacket. The idea of Dean Lawson as a dangerous man seemed far more plausible.
