Easy enough to make it appear that way. If you know how. I knew how.
Easy enough. She swallowed, hard, trying to get rid of the knot in her throat, the bile that kept trying to rise. Dazed, she sank down on the chair. He’d said he’d see it through this time. Why hadn’t she already put this together?
“Lana?”
She just shook her head. “I’m trying to picture that old man hunting down those monsters, putting them down like a couple of sick dogs.”
“That’s what they are.” Adam shrugged, looking unperturbed. He grabbed the chair next to hers and swung it out and around, straddling it as he sat down facing her. “Next thing up. What’s this shit about you killing Diane? You said he took her into the house. Did he kill her?”
Lana crossed her arms over her chest and shuddered. “I did.”
“Says who? You said you don’t remember. Did he say that?”
Swallowing, she looked at Adam. “No.” Her gut twisted, cramped. Rage started to pulse, pound, inside her as the enormity of what he was getting at hit her.
She’d never once questioned what she’d been told at that cabin. That soft, steady voice, those calm eyes. Relaying the words she’d thought had come from Judge Max, a man she trusted implicitly. She’d been sick, in shock, scared. Somehow, those words, planted on such fertile ground, had taken root and she had never thought to question. Not anything. With those words delivered in such a guileless tone, with such a matter-of-fact tone, with such a compassionate face, she’d had no reason to doubt.
Or so she’d thought.
She rose and once more started to pace as that slow-burning rage flared back to life. “He’d told me that he’d trusted a friend … and then he said he’d trusted the wrong person. They were lies, Adam. All of this time, everything I’ve believed in … it’s all been a lie.”
He came up and caught her when she would have turned away.
His hands felt scalding against her icy skin and she wanted to jerk away, take off running. Find Max. Find answers. Were they still there? Could she find them? Force them to give her the answers that she needed.
“Look at me.” Adam’s smoky, soft voice cut through the fog in her mind.
She dragged her eyes to meet his. He let go of her wrists, shifted his hands to her face. One thumb stroked across her lower lip. “You didn’t kill Diane,” he said, his gaze intense. “She was alive when she left, because I don’t see Max Shepherd shooting a woman who wasn’t a threat to him and Diane couldn’t be a threat to him on her best day. He would have made sure she stayed there—somehow—but he wouldn’t have killed her. Then he would have had plans to go back and figure out how to handle her. So something else happened to her.”
Something else … Lana closed her eyes. “Somebody else went back and killed her. Somebody else knows about that night, Adam.”
* * *
Caine sat out on the porch, wrapped in the darkness of night, thinking.
Max Shepherd.
Caine didn’t have a lot of use for that old man.
But then again, Caine didn’t have much use for a lot of people.
Sybil. He did care about her, as much as he could.
And he liked the boy. He wasn’t her son by blood, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t hers. Caine did care about Drew.
Caine respected Noah.
He even had a grudging respect for Adam Brascum, the miserable son of a bitch.
And his family here.
If he loved anybody, it would be Abraham, the man sleeping in the little house at the bottom of this hill.
The house was quiet now, but it wouldn’t be for long.
Before dawn, that household would be moving, Abraham up as he always was, despite the fact that he was coming up on eighty years. His daughter, Sarah, almost forty, and unmarried. It was an uncommon thing among the Amish, but it seemed her heart was in caring for the farm and her father, who’d been widowed almost twenty-five years earlier.
Caine understood the need to care for somebody, to protect that person. Maybe that was why he was out here, brooding, thinking, when he ought to be trying to sleep. He never did sleep well, though. Not until he was about ready to pass out.
Sometimes, if he was wrapped around Sybil, he could find a little bit of peace. Beyond that, though, until he was worn-out, his mind wasn’t calm enough to sleep, and he wasn’t one for lying in bed while his thoughts spun in circles. So he sat out here, brooding. Or he was out in the garage working. Sometimes he crawled under that old truck of his and worked to keep it from falling apart. It was almost thirty years old. It had been old when it had come to him and he liked to think it was an odd mix of desperation, determination and just plain dog-headedness that kept that old piece of shit going. Spare parts for it were just about impossible to come by now, and at some point soon he’d have to just let it go. Then he’d have to start the tedious process of getting his hands on another truck.
And there he was, thinking about getting another vehicle instead of thinking about whatever in the blue fuck old man Shepherd might want.
Letting his lids droop, he slumped in the seat and stared up at the sky.
It could be any number of things.
For all he knew, the old bastard was pissy about the roofing job the boys had done on the garage last summer.
It didn’t have to be anything important.
And maybe, just maybe, the sun would rise in the west and the Easter Bunny was real and Caine could get a nice, peaceful night of sleep before he saw the old man.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The woman in the bathroom mirror looked like a stranger.
Lana should be used to that.
Logically, after all this time, the woman in the reflection should be who she was. She’d worn a mask for twenty years—shouldn’t she be that grim-eyed stranger in the mirror?
But as the clock crept closer to 2:00 a.m., her eyes gritty and tired, she couldn’t sleep and she found herself staring at a woman she didn’t know.
A woman she didn’t want to know.
Her hand shook as she reached out and opened the cabinet.
She’d seen the shears in there before, and now her fingers trembled as she pulled them out.
Back in school, her hair had been her vanity. She worked odd jobs, babysitting, walking dogs, helping with yard work, whatever she could to make money, and most of it went into the bank for college. But every two months she let herself have one frivolous thing.
She’d adored her hair.
And ever since then, she’d punished herself by stripping away that part of her identity, dying it that awful, boring shade of brown. Pulling it back into that tight braid to conceal the curl, growing it too long and keeping it untrimmed, everything that was going to make it unflattering.
Now she couldn’t stand to look at herself and she was so tired of it.
Adam’s words echoed in her mind as she raised the scissors with one hand, gripping her braid with the other.
You didn’t kill Diane.
All this time.
She had to half-saw at the thick cable of her hair, and halfway through, she really was panting. Odd little noises emerged from her, and if she hadn’t swallowed them down, she might have been sobbing.
A soft noise echoed out in the hallway just as she lowered the scissors, the mutilated remains of her braid hanging in her hand.
Turning her head, she stared at Adam as he moved into the bathroom.
He reached up and pushed his hand through her hair, not saying a word.
Then he stroked his hand down, took the rope of hair from her hand. Her breathing hitched as he tugged it away and tossed it into the waste can. She stumbled a little as he nudged her over, moved her to stand in front of the mirror.
His eyes met hers over her shoulder and then he leaned over, reached for the scissors, a comb.
She held still as he started to comb the strands, and her heart stuttered as he smoothed them out. “You always had the most beautiful hair,
” he said, shattering the silence.
“Not now.”
His fingers brushed the nape of her neck. “The color isn’t the only thing that made it beautiful.” He tangled a hand in it, tugged. “Soft. I loved the curls. And the color will come back if you let it.”
He straightened the uneven ends, using the shears like a man who’d done more than a few haircuts in his time.
“Since when were you a beautician, Adam?”
“Doesn’t take a genius to straighten out crooked hair,” he said easily. “I can’t do much more, but you can go anywhere for that.”
A few more minutes passed and she closed her eyes, tried not to think.
When he started to comb his hands through her hair again, she blurted out, “I don’t know what to do.… I ran away because I couldn’t remember what had happened, because I was led to believe I’d killed somebody. Because I was told that it was the best way to protect a guy who had already gone through hell. I’ve been gone for twenty years—I know how fucking guilty I look showing up, but I came back because I wanted to make sure everything actually stopped this time. Now…” She let her voice trail off. Sighing, she opened her eyes and stared at Adam in the mirror. “Now I don’t know what to do. What do I do now, Adam?”
He had no immediate answer. He put the comb down, the scissors, feathered his hands through her hair once more and brushed his broad palms across her shoulders, snippets of hair drifting to the floor.
Then he leaned in, his arms coming around her as he caged her in. “I think right now the one thing you need to do is sleep, darlin’.” He nuzzled her neck, pressing his lips where it curved into her shoulder. “It’s late and you never look like you sleep as well as you should. Tomorrow is soon enough for you to worry about how somebody else’s tragedy has to ruin your life.”
“It’s already ruined mine.” Slowly, she turned around and lifted her hands, curling them in the soft, worn material of his shirt, pressing her head against his chest. The smell of him flooded her head. Warm man, something spicy—the soap he wore or aftershave—she liked it. Rubbing her cheek against him, she murmured, “It’s ruined my life for twenty years and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to let it ruin my life anymore. That’s why I’m trying to figure out what to do next.”
“I already told you. Sleep.” He rubbed his lips against hers and then said quietly, a thread of steel in his voice, “Tomorrow, we find answers. For now, though…”
He slid his hands down her back, cupped them around her hips. He boosted her up, and when she twined her legs around him, it was a sweet, sweet bliss. “Maybe the answer to that is think about you. You’ve lived your life day by day, always thinking about keeping your secrets. We need to figure out how you can reclaim your life, but you can’t do that in the dead of night. So for now … think about you. What you need.”
He dipped his head and caught her lower lip between his, bit her lightly.
“What do you need, Lana?”
A slow shudder racked her body and he decided he liked it. As he lifted his head to peer down into her eyes, she stared up at him, her gaze cloudy and heated. “Are you suggesting that maybe the answer to this lies in getting naked?”
“A temporary answer.”
A sweet smile curved her lips and she tucked her head against his shoulder. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Not a bad idea at all.”
* * *
Moonlight fell across his bed as he laid her across it.
His bed.
And his woman … for now.
If he had his way about it, she was going to be his for always.
He’d find a way to take the shadows from her eyes, and maybe he couldn’t fix all the hurts, take away the pain the past twenty years had put on her, but he could make sure the rest of her life was better.
Coming down across her, Adam tangled his hands in the shortened strands of her hair and took her mouth, slow and soft.
When she tried to hurry, he held her back.
Moonlight and darkness wrapped around them and he stripped her naked, watching as the pale silvery light painted its way across her body, long, lean and strong. He caught one nipple between his teeth, tugged lightly, watched as she arched and reached for him.
“What’s your hurry?” he asked, catching her wrist and pressing his lips to the soft, sensitive skin on the inside.
“I’m empty,” she said, her voice stark. “I’ve been empty for too long. I hate it.”
The plan had been to make this last.
But that was an unspoken plea he couldn’t ignore.
Sometimes an emptiness went too deep, cut right through the soul. Adam understood that—he’d been living with it for too long himself. Settling back on his heels, he held her eyes as he peeled his shirt off, tore open the button of his jeans. She never looked away.
He left the bed long enough to unzip his jeans and shuck them off, grabbing one of the condoms he’d gotten on the way to the bedroom.
Then he came to her, tearing the foil wrapper open.
She took it from him and he held his breath, enjoying each excruciating little pleasure as she unrolled it, her fingers steady and sure. As she lay back, her hair fanned out around her. “I want to see you like this in the sun,” he whispered, coming down over her. “I know a spot on the river.… I can take you there. We can go fishing, have a picnic … wait there until the sun starts to set and I’ll make love to you there. All night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Bug bites.”
“It would be worth it.”
“Yeah…” She looped her arms around him and tugged him close. “It would. Make love to me, Adam.”
Tucking the head of his cock against her entrance, he caught her gaze, and as he sank inside, they watched each other. Her pussy was a silken, snug fist and he didn’t stop until he’d buried himself completely inside.
A moan echoed in the room—he didn’t know if it was hers or his. Didn’t care.
He only knew that she was here … with him.
“Stay with me,” he panted, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss to her neck as he surged against her.
“I’m here.” Her hand stroked up his back as she rocked to meet him.
He didn’t dare say he meant for more than this.
It wasn’t time for that … not yet.
But the time would come. And he’d probably be ready to beg.
* * *
“You look like a man with heavy thoughts.”
Caine had managed maybe two hours of sleep, but he’d gotten by on far less and he sat down at the table across from Abraham, ready to have a cup of coffee, ready to go and face whatever demons he had to face.
If he had to destroy those demons, then so be it.
He should have done it a long time ago.
“Heavy thoughts doesn’t quite touch what’s going on in my head, sir,” Caine said, summoning up a smile for the quiet man who sat at the head of the table. Abraham Yoder had been the head of his small household for nearly sixty years. He would be eighty in a few short months. And now, save his daughter, Sarah, and Abraham, his household was empty. His wife was gone. Three years ago, one of his sons had died. Paul had been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis early in life and he’d always been prone to illness. That year, the flu had hit their small community and Paul had caught it. Abraham had no male children left. There were numerous nieces, nephews and cousins. But none of them lived here.
Abraham had Caine and Sarah.
Really, the old guy deserved more.
A lot more.
But Abraham had been the man to teach Caine that they all made do with what they had.
Abraham was actually happy with what he had.
Over the mug of his coffee Abraham studied Caine with faded, tired eyes. Abraham’s simple, wire-framed glasses couldn’t hide the speculation in that shrewd gaze, and Caine decided he should have spent a little more time focused on his breakfast. If he had, Abraham wouldn’t have had a chance to glimpse all those sec
rets Caine had never been able to hide.
“Something is troubling you.”
Caine shrugged and looked away. “I have to go see Max today.”
A thick grey brow rose. “Ahhhh. I see. And you don’t wish to go.”
“I don’t see the point.”
“Then why go?” Abraham sipped his coffee and then put the mug down.
“Because he asked me to.”
“Well.” The old man nodded, reaching up to stroke his beard, thinking that through. “Max is not a man to ask for things without reason. You must make the decision on your own, but he wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Caine didn’t respond.
“You’ve already made that decision.”
“There’s no decision, really.” Caine folded his hands together, the way he might if he were the kind of man to pray. Resting his chin on them, he stared at Abraham. “We both know there aren’t many reasons he’d make the request.”
“Sometimes you can cling to the past too tightly, son. That’s a lesson neither of you ever learned.”
Caine rose. His plate was untouched in front of him. Sarah could eat his food. Anything he tried to eat would sit like a stone in his belly anyway. “My past is like a chain to drag me down. I can’t get away from it.”
“Perhaps it’s time that you break those chains,” Abraham suggested gently.
* * *
Max smoothed his wife’s hair down and smiled at her. “You look lovely, Miss Mary.”
“Oh, stop.” For a minute she looked at him with something that looked like recognition in her eyes, and then she frowned, gazing around with confusion. “We need to get some new drapes. Where is my sewing machine? We can get some new material. Something bright and cheerful. It would brighten up this drab room, don’t you think?”
“Of course.” He bent down and kissed her cheek, caught her hand as she continued to fuss about the bedroom. He’d painted it lemon yellow a few years ago, hoping the bright color would help cheer her up. It hadn’t. The change seemed to confuse her even more, but now he worried that changing it back would only make things worse.
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