But as the door to the kitchen swung open, she caught the scent of Roz’s familiar perfume and managed to bite back a sigh.
“Hey, Lena!”
The forced gaiety in her friend’s voice almost had Lena gritting her teeth. “Roz.”
“I was thinking about going into Lexington on Sunday … you wanna come with me?”
“Sorry.” Fortunately, she even had an excuse. She had some vague idea of doing a cookout—she had already planned on making Law bring Hope. Both of them needed to get out of the house. “I’m having Law and Hope over.”
“Oh … well. Some other time.”
The despondent tone in Roz’s voice poked at Lena’s conscience as she made her way over to the opposite side of the kitchen and knelt down, slipping Puck off his leash. “I’d invite you over, but I imagine you’re still not overly comfortable being around Law.”
Take that, conscience.
“Lena, that’s not fair,” Roz said, her voice soft, hurt.
“Fair?” Lena shook her head. Hell. Her conscience could get screwed sideways. “No, Roz. What’s not fair is you thinking he could have killed that girl. So don’t bitch to me about fair.”
“How long are you going to stay mad at me about this?” Roz asked quietly.
“I don’t know. Maybe when you admit you were wrong?”
Roz was quiet.
Lena sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. “You won’t do it, will you? You know, I hate it when I screw up just as much as anybody else, but when I am wrong? When I’m unfair to somebody, I do try to own up to it. Whether I like it or not. Law’s a friend of yours and you were ready to all but throw him to the wolves—you never even gave him the benefit of the doubt, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Shit, Lena. You’re acting like I was ready to go and lynch him or something.”
“You thought he’d killed that woman,” she said, her voice low, angry. She had to fight not to yell. Her hands curled into fists and blood roared in her ears. “He wasn’t even in town, but screw that, it shouldn’t have mattered to his friends—it shouldn’t have mattered to you. I believed in him from the get-go. I can understand some people in town thinking that shit, but you know him and—”
She stopped, made herself take a deep breath.
She had to stop this, had to get past this, or she and Roz were going to push this friendship beyond any hope of repair.
She took her time hanging up Puck’s leash and went over to the sink, washed her hands. “You know him, Roz. You’ve known him for years, but you didn’t trust him, didn’t believe in him. That wasn’t fair and I’m having a hard time forgetting that, or forgiving that.” She dried her hands off on a towel and then turned around.
“Lena, it’s not like I wanted to think he’d do something like that,” Roz said, her voice hesitant. “I just …”
“It was easier for you to go along with thinking everything the rest of town thought than to think for yourself?” Lena lifted a hand. “And you didn’t want to think it? You know, when I don’t want to think something—I don’t. It’s that simple. Then again, I’ve never been one for letting people think my thoughts for me. But that’s me. Maybe it’s not you. Whatever. For now, I think maybe you and I will be better if we just … take a break. We have to work together and right now, I’m sorry, but Law needs me a hell of a lot more than you do.”
“Are you saying … what, you don’t want to be friends anymore?”
With tears pricking her eyes, Lena shook her head. “No. What I’m saying is, right now, Law needs his real friends—those who are going to stand beside him, no matter what. And I’m not going to be pulled in two. If you’re ever able to be that friend to him, fine. But until then, until things are more settled around here, we have to work together, but that’s all I want.”
Roz said nothing.
A few seconds later, Lena heard the soft swish as the door swung closed.
Then she leaned back against the counter and wrapped her arms around herself.
One crazy thing she’d discovered about friends—you never really knew just who they were until everything went to shit.
She would have sworn that Roz would have stood beside Law. Solid and sure.
But she would have been wrong.
Considering how very little information he had, it sure as hell amounted to an awful lot of paperwork, Remy realized.
It was pushing eight thirty and outside, it was dark, the cool, brisk breeze heavy with the scent of fall.
He had an early morning meeting with another DA. He’d spent the past few hours coming to the realization that he couldn’t handle anything remotely connected to this case. He was too fucking close to it.
If it was just Reilly, he’d be fine.
If it was just the one murder victim, he’d be fine.
But throw Hope Carson into the mix … and fine went out the window.
And they were connected. Somehow, they were all connected. He knew it in his gut. Of course, if Nielson didn’t turn up some sort of evidence soon, this case could very well end up going absolutely nowhere.
With his mind on the case, and on Hope, when the phone rang, he wasn’t entirely thinking when he answered. “Jennings here.”
“Remington Jennings?”
It was a familiar voice and just the sound of it had Remy’s back up.
“That’s me,” he said. Years of practice let him keep the edge out of his voice, but he found himself squeezing the receiver and realized his other hand had curled into a fist.
“It’s Joseph Carson.”
Remy waited in silence—it was either be quiet or start snarling like a chained, trapped wolf.
When he said nothing, Carson elaborated. “Detective Joseph Carson … we’ve spoken a few times about my wife?”
“Ex-wife,” Remy said. Ex-wife, you fucking bastard.
There was a brief pause and then Carson said, “Of course. As I’ve said, I still have the hopes that we’ll reconcile.”
Over my dead body. Forcing his muscles to relax, Remy said, “What can I do for you?”
“I was just wondering if everything was okay with Hope. It’s been a few days since we talked. I wondered if anything new had been discovered. I’ve been worried.”
Yeah, I just bet you’re worried. Remy had no doubts that Carson had been doing the exact same thing as him—investigating, checking up on things—things made so much easier by the Internet. Ash might be smaller than hell, but they did have a little, locally run newspaper, with a website, and plenty of people who’d talk to an out-of-state cop who knew how to ask the right questions.
“Ms. Carson is fine, as far as I know,” Remy said, keeping his answer noncommittal and impersonal—the last thing he wanted the bastard knowing was … well, much of anything about Hope.
“There haven’t been any more incidents?”
“None,” Remy said as he fantasized about creating his own incidents, mainly by doing bloody, brutal things to the man on the other end of the phone.
Then, reason started to override the rage, and he began to wonder just what in the hell the guy was expecting to hear. Why the hell was he calling?
Frowning, Remy checked the caller ID. Yeah, it was the same number he’d called when he’d spoken with the man.
“Has there been any progress made on the investigation?”
“No, but it’s early yet. Besides, I’m a DA, not a cop.”
“Yes, well, that didn’t keep you from calling me. Besides, if your small town is anything like my small town, sometimes the DA ends up doing a bit more investigating than the cops would prefer … asking all those questions like you kept asking me,” Carson said. “You still think she was attacked, though? No changes in that theory?”
“Oh, we’re pretty certain she was attacked, all right.”
“Seeing as how you’ve got some crazy stuff going around … well, it would be an easy way for her to manipulate those details. Get you and the local boys into thinking whate
ver she wants you to think,” Carson said softly.
Remy damn near bit his tongue to keep from telling the bastard to shove it up his ass—hell, there was definitely a manipulator afoot, but it wasn’t Hope.
Carson mistook his silence and sighed. “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t check into things a little, did you?”
“Oh, I’m sure you did check into things,” Remy said, keeping his voice level, despite the fact that his free hand was now gripping the edge of his desk so hard, the beveled wood was all but cutting into his flesh. “You’re a smart guy, after all. You probably talked to people around town, people who know me, that sort of thing. Now, here’s a thought. I’m a pretty smart guy, too. I’ve also talked to people, people who know you, people from your neck of the woods. You’re right, you know. I did a bit of my own investigating. And Hope’s not quite the … troubled woman you wanted me to believe. So why don’t we just table that discussion?”
Now it was Carson’s turn to be quiet.
Remy smirked. “What’s the problem there, Detective? Were you banking on people buying into that deal with her being crazy?”
“Hope spent months inside a mental facility. Her problems are well documented,” Carson said.
Remy heard that slight fracture in the guy’s voice, though. The slightest rumble of rage leaking through.
“Oh, yeah. I know. I found out all of that information … and I suspect her rights were violated six different ways to Sunday. She’s not crazy. You know it. Was she getting ready to leave you, Carson? Is that why you had her put away?”
His voice sly and cool, Carson said, “No. She overdosed on a nice little cocktail of whiskey, antidepressants, and anti-anxiety agents. If I hadn’t come home from work unexpectedly, she would have died. Does a sane woman do that?”
“Depends on the hell she’s trying to escape.” Remy paused, then asked, “Tell me, what sort of hell was it, being married to you?”
“What sort of lies has she been telling you? The same sort of lies she tried to spread around home? She tried to ruin me,” Carson said, his voice ragged, harsh.
Oh, temper … Remy grinned, feeling rather savagely delighted with those not so subtle signs.
“You should watch out,” Carson continued. “She’ll do the same to you, you know.”
“Will she?”
“Yes. You think I can’t tell why you suddenly changed your mind? What did she do? Throw herself at you? Try to tell you how she needed help? How afraid she was? She did the same to that Reilly bastard, you know. She’s got him so fucking wrapped—he’s like her fucking slave, sniffing at her skirts everywhere she goes. I’m surprised he never tried to kill me—all she had to do was ask him and he would have tried. Watch your back around him, because he just might try to stab you in it.”
Remy rolled his eyes. Shit. Talk about a quick-change artist. The guy went from suave to sleaze in seconds, from calm to clusterfuck in a heartbeat.
“So what am I supposed to watch for? Hope ruining me? Law killing me because she asked him to? And … why, again, for either?”
“You think this is a joke?” Carson snarled.
“No, I’m actually starting to think you are.”
“Fuck you.” His breathing hitched again. Then, abruptly, it smoothed … calmed. “Stay away from my wife, Jennings. She is mine, and I will have her back.”
Then the phone went dead.
CHAPTER
NINE
YOU NEVER FORGET YOUR FIRST …
Hope sat in bed, wide awake, at three a.m., shuddering and shaking and remembering.
No.
People didn’t forget their first.
Their first car.
First job.
First lover.
The first time they were hit.
She could still feel the nasty dregs of the nightmare pulling at her and if she had the strength in her limbs, she would have forced herself out of the bed and into the shower.
Where she could stand under the hot, scalding water and scrub away the memory, scrub away the lingering ache of bruises long faded.
All because of a fucking haircut.
One that had never happened.
It’s insane the things that can bring on a bad dream.
Earlier that night, she’d trimmed Law’s hair.
And now she was shaking and all but sick over a nightmare.
The first time Joey had hit her had been because she’d mentioned getting her hair cut. He hadn’t ever liked it when she did more than trim it, and sometimes, if she had more than half an inch removed, he’d go days without talking to her.
She’d almost always had long hair, but she’d been getting tired of it, tired of the weight, tired of the hassle of dealing with it. One time, just once, she’d mentioned trying a shorter style.
That was the first time he’d hit her.
Oh, he’d been sorry after.
They always were.
A harsh, muffled sob escaped her and she reached up, clapped a hand over her mouth.
But when she did, she caught a hank of her hair, and for some reason, just the feel of her hair at that moment was enough to make her feel almost violently ill. Shaking, she slid out of the bed and made her way to the dresser. No, she was too weak, too shaky to go to the shower, but her hair …
Hell, if she had scissors, she might have chopped it all off just then.
But for now … she found a ponytail holder and wove it into a tight, heavy cable, tucked it back behind her shoulder.
A cable—a chain.
Fuck.
Even her own body parts, her own hair felt like chains.
Felt like restraints.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Law said as he turned his keys over to Hope.
“Yes,” she said as she took the keys. Her car was on its last legs, but she didn’t have the money for repairs. She had to get out of here, had to. Before she screamed, or worse. Before she went after her hair with a butcher knife—and as shaky as she was, she might cut herself and nobody would believe she hadn’t done it on purpose.
“Okay. Lena’s going stir-crazy, too, so …”
“Look, I’m the one who called her, asked if she wanted to go to town.” She gave him a tight smile. Tried not to let him see the strain she was feeling. “I’m okay, just need to … get out. And I promise, Daddy, I’ll be home before dark. Earlier, even, since Lena has to work this afternoon.”
“Smart-ass.”
She smiled at him, but didn’t linger. In another five minutes, she was out the door. Her hands were sweating as she gripped the steering wheel, and her heart raced.
She didn’t think—couldn’t think. If she thought, she was screwed.
She was doing something today that felt … drastic.
He took a week.
It was hell, but Remy took a week.
He should probably have taken more than that—and hell, if he had any sense of self-preservation, he should just steer clear of the woman, but he couldn’t do it anymore.
Now that he was no longer officially connected to any case she might be connected to, screw it.
But he did make himself take that week. If he was half as smart as he was supposed to be, he should have taken longer, but Remy couldn’t quite make himself do that.
It was hard enough just taking those seven days, even though he had plenty of things to keep his mind occupied. He needed to catch up on his work, he needed to check up on Brody … and his mom. He wanted to help his brother, although Hank didn’t want help, wouldn’t admit he might need it, and until the man opened up, there wasn’t a damn thing Remy could do.
But one week to the day from the time he’d seen Hope last, Remy found himself back on the road that led to Law Reilly’s place.
This time, damn it, he was going to find out at least one thing.
Whether or not there was something between Hope and Law.
Now if Law had feelings for Hope, well, fuck that. He didn’t have a problem
with Reilly, but he wasn’t turning away from that woman, either. May the best man win and all that.
If Hope had feelings for Law, that would make it harder.
But … he had to know.
Had to. If he was lying awake at night thinking about a woman he wouldn’t ever have, then he needed to know so he could figure out what in the hell to do about it, and how in the hell he could get over it. Although he didn’t have the slightest damn clue—even when everything had pointed at her being completely not the type of woman he should be interested in, he hadn’t been able to quit thinking about her.
Turning down the long, winding drive, Remy parked in front of the house, but instead of getting out, he found himself sitting there, staring up at the front door.
His heart was racing and his hands were sweating.
Shit, he hadn’t been this nervous since his first date.
Oh, shit.
The door opened and his heart stuttered in his chest, almost stopped.
But then Law’s face appeared and Remy started to laugh at himself.
Aw, hell. What was he doing?
His pretty little mouse was in town …
He watched as Hope climbed out of the car. The wind kicked up, tugging playfully at the strands of her ponytail. He imagined tugging the band out of it, smoothing that hair free.
He wanted to talk to her. Just talk. Even as part of him wondered about taking her, he knew she wasn’t meant for that. And he’d never taken anybody from around here. Not smart. He wouldn’t be that foolish.
But he’d like to talk to her, for a while. She wasn’t alone, though. As the long, slender redhead climbed out of the car, he sighed.
Damn it.
But he’d wait. He could definitely wait.
He’d been waiting awhile anyway.
“I want to cut it off,” Hope said abruptly, stopping in front of the beauty salon, staring up at the plate glass window, her mouth dry and her palms damp, sweaty.
The heavy cable of her hair was plaited into a braid.
Memory after memory slammed into her head.
Times when she’d had it trimmed and he’d given her the silent treatment for days after. Finally, it got to the point to where she had one quarter of an inch taken off, never any more.
If You See Her Page 12
