Charlie detected an edge to her words and followed her. “Is something wrong?”
Lane’s pace picked up as she got closer to the outcropping of trees lining the border of her parents’ manicured lawn. He kept up as she ducked between two large oaks and kept moving until she came upon a wooden structure on stilted legs and went inside. It looked like it might’ve been a child’s playhouse at one time. But years of weather had taken its toll on the wood, leaving it rotten and the nails rusting.
“Will you talk to me?”
Lane spun around. Water streaked down her face . . . no, they were tears. She was crying. Something was definitely wrong.
“I just . . . I have all these feelings. Inside.” She put a hand to her chest. “And it’s because of you. You’ve given me something back that I haven’t had since I was married to Mathias. And no matter how hard I try to fight it, I can’t help the way I feel.”
Charlie’s heart pumped faster. “I have feelings for you too—”
“But it’s not fair.” Lane held up her hand. Her face twisted with words she wanted to speak but was fighting back. “You deserve better.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not whole, Charlie. I’m broken. My emotions are here one second”—Lane lifted her hand in the air and then dropped it—“and here the next. Seeing you with that reporter reminded me of what I’ll never be, and I can’t ask you to wait for me to change. This . . . who I am will never change.”
What was she talking about? And then it hit him. Lane had witnessed DeMarco crawling all over him, looking for something she could headline for the ten o’clock news.
“That woman was begging for a story. There’s nothing in her that I find desirable. You’re the kind of woman I want in my life.”
“You barely know me.”
The tin roof above them dripped with the passing seconds.
“I know you cut your cinnamon roll in half and only eat the center. I know you always make double the amount of food you need for Friday Night Club so you can send extras home with families who need it.” Lane lifted her gaze to meet his. He swallowed. “I know that when you look at Noah, you twist the wedding band on your finger.”
Lane’s breath hitched and the desire to wrap her in his arms and kiss her was almost more than he could bear.
“I know that when I got the call that you were in trouble today, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest and I couldn’t get to you and Noah fast enough. That if”—his voice cracked—“if anything happened to either of you . . . my life would never be the same.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Lane moved in closer, placing her palms on his chest, sending a current of emotion rushing through his body.
Charlie leaned his forehead on hers and closed his eyes against the temptation warring inside him. Lord, don’t let me mess this up. Opening his eyes, he found hers looking up at him expectantly. Every nerve was on fire. Taking her face in his hands, he lifted her chin, letting his thumb brush her cheek. Lane’s lips parted and his heart thudded with each shallow breath he took until his lips met hers.
The kiss started soft. Lane’s fingers curled into his shirt as he slid one hand to the nape of her neck. Lane’s body melted into his and Charlie tucked her close, allowing the kiss to drown out the world around them.
It was over too quickly. Lane eased back but stayed in his arms, resting her cheek against his chest. “The rain stopped.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Charlie said, kissing the top of her head. “The fact that you did means I need to work on some things.”
Lane glanced up—a sparkle was in her green eyes he hadn’t seen before. “Practice makes perfect, right?”
Grinning, Charlie kissed her forehead and then let his lips move over her delicate features until they found her lips. This time he kissed her longer, allowing passion to guide the moment.
“Almost perfect,” she said breathlessly once they parted.
Charlie tickled her, enjoying the sound of her laughter blending with the crickets serenading them as fog lifted off the grass and cast the property in an ethereal beauty.
“What is this place?”
“A secret hideout my Pops built for me when I was a little girl.” Her slender fingers intertwined with his. “When I needed some time alone—to think or get away from the spotlight—I’d come here. It’s where I felt safe.”
The echo of a cell phone cut through the air. Charlie groaned. “Well, that killed the moment, didn’t it?”
Lane stretched up on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips. “Promise we can make more moments?”
For the rest of my life. Charlie kept the thought to himself and simply returned the kiss before answering the phone.
“This is Lynch.” Charlie let his tone reflect his annoyance at the interruption.
“Whoa—did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Sorry, Frost. No. What’s going on?”
“Sydney’s phone is back online.”
“Repeat that.”
“We’re getting a signal from Sydney’s phone,” Frost said slowly.
“How?” Charlie’s heart rate picked up. He’d all but written off Sydney’s phone as another dead end. “When?”
“Agent Padello and I have been checking every day, hoping we’ll get a hit. Someone must’ve found her phone and turned it on. Had to, otherwise we wouldn’t have found it.”
“So, someone has her phone. Do we know where?”
“Sydney’s iPhone has a track feature,” Frost said. “I’m dropping you a pin.”
“Dropping me a pin?”
Frost chuckled. “Sorry, soldier. I’m sending you the coordinates. Sheriff Huggins wants you to meet him there.”
Charlie glanced down at Lane. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
There was something in Frost’s voice. He was holding back. Why? “I’ll head out now.”
“Everything okay?” Lane asked when Charlie ended the call.
“Work.”
“Probably need to head back to the house anyway.”
Lane started toward the house, but Charlie pulled her back to him. He pressed his mouth to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off her feet. When he set her down, he noticed her cheeks were flushed.
“Yeah, we definitely need to get back to the house. Where there are people.” She took an unsteady step back. “And people.”
“If I’m not out too late, maybe I can stop by your place on my way home?”
Lane nodded. “Sure.”
Charlie kissed her forehead and then hurried to his truck, anxious to get to work and then get back to Lane. As he followed the directions Frost had sent him, Charlie let the reality of what had just taken place settle in. He’d kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. He put his knuckle to his lips, a faint trace of Lane’s perfume on his skin. This was where he was meant to be. Here with Lane. Proving himself—for as long as it took and as many kisses as it took—to be the man deserving of her trust and love.
TWENTY-THREE
CHARLIE PULLED HIS TRUCK off the side of Coastal Highway and parked behind a Walton squad car. Sheriff Huggins stepped out, the lines on his face tight and his eyes locked on Charlie. Charlie grabbed his service weapon and secured it in his pocket holster before clipping his badge to his belt and climbing out of his truck.
“This isn’t too far from where Sydney’s body was discovered.” Charlie noticed a narrow dirt inlet and saw two more squad cars. Deputy Wilson was poised, alert and ready. “This isn’t just some random location, is it?”
“That path leads to Miguel Roa’s house.” Sheriff Huggins pointed at the path to the left of the two squad cars parked on the highway shoulder.
Unless someone had taken an actual sledgehammer to Charlie’s chest, the blow of the sheriff’s words could not have been worse. Miguel. The same man Lane helped at her café. The one who hit her. Anger and nausea churned in his gut.
“Thi
s isn’t going to be a normal situation, Charlie.” Sheriff Huggins’s radio cackled, but he turned it down. “I already told you Miguel has some issues, but I’ve never known him to be violent. Ever. Let’s do our job professionally but with an extra level of compassion—until we know the truth.”
“I understand, sir.” And he did. Charlie knew plenty of wounded warriors who battled the psychological damage of war long after they left the battlefield. It didn’t excuse them from their actions. Especially murder. “Do you think he’s our killer?”
The sheriff looked troubled. Like a man who knew what had to be done but was burdened by the decision. “Only one way to find out.”
The deputies spread out in a v shape. Their feet crunched over twigs and leaves as their flashlights lit the way down the path and through the outcropping of trees and bushes. It didn’t appear as though anyone lived out there, but soon a dilapidated home covered in leaves and pine needles came into view.
The porch creaked under Charlie’s boots. The loud boom of his knuckles against the rotting wood echoed. He kept his free hand on the gun at his hip. Miguel was a veteran, trained to kill, and when cornered . . . his reactions couldn’t be predicted. There was no room for mistakes.
“Miguel Roa, this is Deputy Lynch and Sheriff Huggins. We’d like to talk to you.” He listened for movement. Sheriff Huggins signaled some deputies to go around back. Charlie pulled open the screen door and paused. The front door was open. “Miguel Roa, this is Deputy Lynch.”
There was no response. With the toe of his boot, Charlie pushed the door wide open and raised his gun. The house stunk of turpentine and varnish. He flipped on a light, illuminating the house. Dishes and some trash were scattered around. Sheriff Huggins stepped in behind him with his gun raised. They cleared the house in a few minutes.
“We got another building here in the back,” Wilson said over the radio. “It’s clear. No sign of Miguel.”
As Charlie holstered his gun, his eyes were drawn to a pile of rags with brown blotches on them. Was it blood? “Does Miguel have a car?”
“I haven’t known Miguel to drive in forty years.”
“How does he get to town?”
“Walks.”
“Lynch.” A deputy was standing next to a couch and pointing at a cell phone with a hot-pink rhinestone case. “This what we’re looking for?”
Charlie slipped on a pair of latex gloves as the sheriff’s words tickled his ear, “Only one way to find out.” He hit a button on the phone and Sydney’s smiling face appeared with her two best friends next to her. “It’s her phone.”
Sheriff Huggins’s shoulders dropped an inch. He looked as sick as Charlie felt. The whole time the killer had been sitting under their noses. And now he was gone. Charlie assigned two deputies to drive the area between the house and town. Walton didn’t have a K-9 unit, but they could borrow one from Savannah Metro if necessary. They weren’t going to lose him.
Deputy Wilson walked into the house, carrying a painting in his latex-gloved hands. “Sir, the building out back appears to be a workshop. We found this out there.” He lifted the canvas.
Bright yellow streams of sunlight bathed large trees with thick green foliage. At the center was a sculpture carved out of a tree trunk, with birds flying upward from the base of it as though they had been set free.
“Did Sydney paint it?” Sheriff Huggins asked, looking over his shoulder.
Charlie took the canvas from the deputy and studied it. The scenery was peaceful, not like the other colorful abstract paintings. Like the others, there was no signature. Charlie ran a finger along the brush strokes. Yellow paint lifted. “It’s not hers. Paint’s still wet.”
“Follow protocol. No mistakes. I’m going to put out a BOLO,” Sheriff Huggins said as he stepped outside. Resignation was etched deep into the sheriff’s face.
Did the sheriff believe Miguel was incapable of murder? Or was the weight of finding out someone you thought you knew was capable of killing finally getting to him?
“Lynch.” Wilson held up a piece of paper with a crayon drawing of a dinosaur on it. Scribbled in the corner was Noah’s name.
Charlie’s jaw clenched as the acid rose up his throat. “I need to get back to Lane.”
Lane felt like one of those Disney princesses who drifted on fluffy white clouds after an encounter with their Prince Charming. Or was Prince Charming just for Snow White? Lane couldn’t remember and Noah wasn’t too keen on watching movies with sappy singing princesses in pink.
“Either you snuck the last of the éclairs or you’re falling in love.” Meagan leaned her elbows on the railing of the back porch. “Soooo?”
“Those éclairs are magical, aren’t they?” Lane tucked her chin, hiding the blush rushing to her cheeks. She picked up a soggy napkin and tossed it onto a pile with the others she had collected. Was she falling in love? The thought of using that word felt sudden and too intimate to share, but it also felt sort of right.
“Nice try.” Meagan collected a few stray glasses and set them on one of the catering tables. “You know Dad hired a crew to do this?”
“I know, but they won’t be here until tomorrow and—” Lane looked up. The storm clouds had cleared the way for an inky sky glittering with stars. The truth was, she wasn’t ready for the night to end. So, she lingered, reliving her and Charlie’s caught-in-the-rain moment. “I’m enjoying the night.”
“Says the girl pretending she’s not in love.” Meagan winked. “What were you two doing out by your old fort?”
A commotion inside the house drew their attention, saving Lane from having to explain how she had run off into the woods like a lovesick teenager and indulged in a moment of weakness.
“Lane.”
Whatever warmth she’d been reveling in was extinguished at the sound of her father’s commanding tone. “Yes?”
“Sheriff Huggins and Deputy Lynch are here to speak with you.”
Lane frowned. Charlie was back? With the sheriff? She followed her father into the house as Meagan trailed behind her. A tiny tremor of anxiety curled over her shoulders and clawed deeper when she found her mom, Wes, Sheriff Huggins, and Charlie waiting for her inside the living room.
She took a seat in the leather chair opposite her mom and next to Sheriff Huggins. Her eyes cut to Charlie. It was clear by his expression and rigid posture that this was a professional visit.
“Judge Sullivan, do you have a list of all the guests who were present tonight?” Charlie asked when her father took his place next to her mom.
Meagan was perched on the arm of the couch, near Wes—her worried gaze bouncing between each of them.
“I have the invitation list,” her mother offered, rising. She went to the secretary desk and picked up a binder. “Not everyone on the list came, but Meagan has the names from the auction too, right, honey?”
“Yes.” Meagan left the room and returned with a clipboard. She handed it to Charlie. “What’s going on?”
Charlie looked over the pages. “What about the waitstaff? Valets?”
“There’s a tab in the binder containing the contract from the caterer and valet service, along with the names.” Her mother’s voice held an anxiousness Lane didn’t like. “Four servers. Three valets. And the bartender.”
“Five servers,” Lane’s father said. “There were five servers tonight.”
Lane’s mother shook her head. “No, dear. Only four. You wanted us to get five so we’d have a backup in case one didn’t show up, but—”
“Elise, there were five. I remember because one was wearing an earring and I asked him to remove it while he was working. I checked the other servers. Two women. Three men.” Her father’s eyes pinned Sheriff Huggins. “What does our guest list and the names of our waitstaff have to do with your visit, Sheriff?”
“There are only four signatures on the sheet,” Charlie said. The slight to her father’s question didn’t go unnoticed. “Mrs. Sullivan, I need you to call the caterer and find o
ut if they sent an extra waiter and get his name.”
“Now? It’s nearly midnight.”
“Sheriff?” Judge Sullivan’s tone was impatient.
“Judge Sullivan, we’d like to speak with Lane for a few minutes. Privately.”
Charlie addressed her father, his voice strong and assertive, positioning himself as the officer in charge. Under any other circumstance, she might’ve appreciated the boldness. But tonight there was an intensity in his tone that wasn’t sitting well with her or her father, judging by the deep furrow carved into his brow.
“Sir, I need you to verify the names of the staff the catering company sent.” Charlie remained poised and unfazed by her father’s challenging gaze. “When you return with those details and after I’ve had a chance to speak with Lane, Sheriff Huggins and I will discuss what we can with you.”
“Dad.” Meagan spoke up. “The caterers probably aren’t going to respond to a call this late at night unless it comes from you.”
The skin at her father’s jawline flexed a few times until her mom reached for his hand and urged him in the direction of the door. He looked like he was going to say something but stopped himself. Instead, he took the binder Charlie was offering and stalked out of the room, with the rest of Lane’s family following in his wake.
“What is it?” Lane fought against the tremor playing at her fingers. “Why are you here?”
“How’s Noah?”
“Good.” Lane didn’t like the way her pulse skipped at his question. Her gaze jerked to the family room, where Noah, Paige, and Owen would be watching a movie if they weren’t already asleep. The urge to go check on Noah pushed Lane to her feet.
“Lane.” Charlie’s tender grip at her elbow stopped her from rushing to Noah’s side. Her eyes flashed to his deep blue ones, which looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I only asked because I wanted to make sure we could talk with you for a few minutes.”
Living Lies Page 24