Not even the small pang of guilt she felt at not saying goodbye to Willie was enough to compel her to set foot inside. Just like the way Jack’s presence was still in the car, Caitlin De Angelis would be haunting the sheriff’s station.
She couldn’t do it. No.
Instead, Tess strained to remember the path to Lucas’s office. She was willing to bet that she would find him there. She had to. With him spending all of his spare time at Ophelia, there was no reason for her to discover where his home was. But she knew he was a workaholic—he had to be at his office.
The candy apple red Mustang in the driveway was a pretty big clue that she was right.
Tess parked behind his car. She left her purse on the floor of the passenger seat, making sure to grab her car keys before she climbed out. There was no way she was letting those babies out of her sight any time soon.
Her eyes flickered to the chipped brick on the front of the building. Six days ago she’d been walking down this same driveway, visiting the doctor in his office for the first time. It was amazing how drastically everything could change in less than a week. The sheriff was still alive then. Lucas hadn’t been shot yet, either.
No one had ever been charged for that crime. Mason adamantly denied shooting at Lucas and Tess. Of course, he also tried to convince her that he had nothing to do with Jack and Caitlin’s murder so there was that.
Tess strode forward. She thought about knocking, then decided against it. With a deep breath, she let herself in.
He wasn’t in the waiting room—she didn’t expect him to be—and after looking for him for a few minutes, she found Lucas in his lab. He was sitting at a low table, bent over a microscope, staring intently at something on a slide. If he heard the echo of her heeled shoes against the tile, he didn’t act like it. His attention stayed on his work.
Tess tried not to let his lack of reaction sting. She cleared her throat. “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”
“I thought you’d be by sooner.” Lucas kept his eye pressed against the microscope. His voice was curiously empty as he added, “The funeral services were yesterday.”
“I know.”
Tess had almost gone. Just because she signed off on having Jack’s remains cremated immediately, it didn’t mean that Caitlin wasn’t going to have a funeral befitting of her status in Hamlet. According to Maria, the whole town had shown up to pay their respects to the fallen sheriff. It wouldn’t have been out of place for Tess to go, if only because she was tied to Caitlin through the tragic circumstances of her death.
Which, in the end, was the precise reason why she stayed away. No matter which way she looked at it, she was the reason why Caitlin De Angelis was in a casket.
“You didn’t show,” he pointed out needlessly.
“It didn’t seem right.”
“But you took the time to visit Walsh.” He lifted his head up from the microscope, pushing it away. The chair swiveled so that he was facing her. “Maria buzzed me when you came back that night. Why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
Looking back, she should have. She knew it. Lucas was just as involved in this whole mess as she was. When his first instinct had been to go after Mason Walsh, she was the one who convinced him that it wasn’t worth it. When Detective Rodriguez returned to Hamlet with the news that the deputy was responsible for both deaths, she had honestly thought it was over. Case closed.
But the more she thought about it, the more determined she was to face him herself. So she didn’t invite Lucas, and it never occurred to her that Maria would go running to her brother the same way she told Deputy Collins that Tess wanted to go home. Even though she should have. Maria was sweet, but she could always be counted on to pass along anything she was told.
Hmm. Maybe she wouldn’t send that check after all.
His eyes were a blast of arctic chill, his beautiful face set in unforgiving lines. She’d obviously upset Lucas by not telling him about Mason. But for all the apologies she’d been handing out, this was one she wasn’t going to give.
“I couldn’t leave without seeing him one more time. You didn’t have to be there.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She could tell from the clenching of his hands and his cold gaze that he wasn’t only upset. He was absolutely furious.
“I should’ve been.”
“Doctor—”
“Is that all I am to you? The doctor?”
She blinked. “You want to do this? Now?”
“No. No, you’re right.” Lucas sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I was out of line. Forgive me, Tessa. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here for me to snap at you over Walsh. I don’t like that you went without me, but I get it. You had to have your peace.”
Tess didn’t think she would ever really have peace. It had seemed like such a good idea to go see the deputy. If she was being honest, though, it only made her feel worse. It was one of the reasons she wanted out of Hamlet so bad. Besides the whispers, the prejudiced eyes, and constant stares that made her feel like the only motive behind the double murder, she couldn’t stand that she had some part to play in putting Mason Walsh in jail.
“I did,” she told him, without mentioning that she hadn’t found it. “It was the only chance I had. I— I’m leaving, Lucas. I’m going home.”
“When?”
“Maria helped me pack up my car already. Deputy Collins told me I could pick it up from the sheriff’s station and go.” Her laugh was hollow as she remembered how quick he was to basically kick her out after Caitlin’s funeral. She didn’t blame him, but still. “I think the rest of Hamlet wants me out of here more than I want to go. I’m happy to oblige.”
Lucas ticked his jaw. “Not all of Hamlet. I’d like it if you stayed.”
It felt nice to hear him say that. She knew his goodbye would be the hardest of all, and she remembered Maria’s request that she let Lucas down gently. At the time, she thought it was ridiculous—Lucas De Angelis was the type of man who never let anyone see what affected him. But she thought she knew him as well as he seemed to know her by now. He would appreciate her blunt honesty.
“I know. But I can’t. I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m driving home tonight.”
“Do you— would you ever come back?” he asked.
Tessa’s smile was sad yet firm. “I think we both know that I was never made for Hamlet.”
Lucas thought about what she said. He couldn’t argue with her, so he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Do you ever think things happen for a reason?”
“Like fate?”
“If you like.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I think things happen because they do. One person gets an idea in their head, and they act on it. Did Jack have to be strangled? Maybe. Did Caitlin have to be shot? I don’t know. But someone made the decision and it happened and, well, I can’t take it back. All I can do is get past it. If there was one thing I learned in the last two weeks, it’s that life is for the living. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to do just that.”
For the first time since she walked into his office, Lucas seemed at ease. “Good answer, Tessa. And I have only one thing to say to that.” He blinked slowly, his thick lashes shuttering the icy depths of his gaze before he locked eyes with her one last time. His lips quirked. “Until we meet again.”
“That’s so much nicer than goodbye,” Tessa told him.
And nicer still because she knew he meant it.
24
Six weeks later
Lucas had just ended another radio conversation with the new sheriff of Hamlet when he heard the irritating chime of the front doorbell ring out in his office. Slapping his communicator down on his desk, he bit out a curse.
Jesus Christ. He’d kill for five minutes peace.
Not that he blamed the other man for finding excuses to buzz. Like his predecessor before him, Collins clearly wanted to have a good working relationship with the town doctor. Lucas just wished Collins’ deep voic
e didn’t rub him the wrong way, like the grate of sandpaper against his nerves.
It always had, ever since the first time they met, when the newly hired deputy came to Maria’s rescue the night Turner attacked her. Sure, he’d be forever grateful that Collins had been there for his sister when she needed someone. Didn’t mean he had to like the guy.
Even if he should—and, albeit grudgingly, did—show respect to the new sheriff of Hamlet. At least he tried.
The emergency election had been unanimous; Sylvester Collins was sworn in two weeks after they buried Caity. Lucas had to admit the retired Marine was a good man, one who actually seemed to believe in the drivel Maria painted every year on the Hamlet sign. Plus Collins was good to Maria. He’d answer the sheriff’s buzzes for that reason alone.
Rubbing his temples, he debated if he should do the same for his door.
His head felt heavy on his neck. Dropping his hands to his side, he rolled his head back and forth, trying to relieve some of the pressure.
It wasn’t getting any better.
He was tired. So fucking tired.
Time dragged. The calendar said only a month and a half passed since Caitlin’s murder and Walsh’s arrest. It lied. Lucas barely remembered what life was like before a pair of outsiders found their way to Hamlet, leaving nothing but a maelstrom of loss and confusion in their wake.
As if he couldn’t stop himself—or didn’t want to—his mind lingered for a heartbeat on Tessa Sullivan before he angrily shoved it away. Then, raising his fingers to his forehead, he exhaled a rough breath as he brushed the strands of his hair, ensuring it was perfectly in place.
There were patients to be seen, and he’d put off re-opening his practice long enough.
With the exception of stitching up a gash in Liam Johnson’s forehead last Sunday, Lucas had managed to avoid most of Hamlet. His neighbors were allowing him to grieve and he found himself taking full advantage of that.
It was one of the reasons why he tended to spend most of his time in his office instead of at his house. Too many people thought it would be just fine and dandy to check up on Lucas when he was at home. They were way more hesitant to crowd Doctor De Angelis. And the mountainside of town was quiet and content, the perfect setting for his unsettled mood.
But the bell had rung, once again cutting into his imposed solitude. If someone was at his door, it might just be an emergency. He had to check. The doc had responsibilities that his—
Lucas paused. His stomach wavered, his hands folded into fists. Six weeks and he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t know what had him so fouled up. He never thought he’d miss her so much but hell if this wasn’t loneliness—
Flexing his fists again, he forced himself to push past that, too. He had goddamn responsibilities that this loneliness wouldn’t stop him from seeing to.
With a quick massage to his tightened neck muscles, Lucas fought to erase the scowl that etched its way on his face. Leaving his office, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to Tessa once more.
To Tessa and the flippant advice he had given her right when she was trying to process the shock of her husband’s murder. He told her that it had to be worse before it didn’t hurt so bad; only with pain could she finally heal. Wasn’t that the truth?
The bell didn’t ring out a second time. No surprise then, when he opened the door, that nobody was standing out on the porch.
But someone had been by, he saw. Because, placed neatly on the ledge outside the nearest window, was a manila envelope addressed to Dr. L. De Angelis.
They didn’t have a real post office in Hamlet—just Phil Granger who accepted all the mail from the next town over and spent his afternoons driving around Hamlet in his repurposed golf cart, delivering letters and packages to the townspeople.
For most of the townspeople, he would’ve held onto the mail until it could be delivered in person. But Lucas was the very busy, very respected town doctor. Even before the events of the last few weeks, no one in Hamlet bothered him if they didn’t have a very good reason to. So that meant ringing the doorbell and dropping the manila envelope off on the ledge in case he didn’t get an answer.
With a jolt, Lucas recognized the return address. He blinked, narrowing his gaze at the type as if that would explain why this envelope was waiting for him.
It was sent from the outside lab he partnered with whenever he wanted a second opinion on his findings, or when he needed more advanced equipment than what he had at hand in his office in Hamlet. The lab did good work, even if they were usually too bogged down for a quick turnaround, and they insisted on mailing out a hard copy of their findings so that they couldn’t be tampered with.
Only… what findings did they have for him? He couldn’t remember having contracted them any time recently.
It hit him a second later: Sullivan’s samples.
He’d forgotten all about taking samples from Jack Sullivan and sending them out. It was routine, something he did whenever he was acting as the medical examiner. It was so incredibly obvious how the outsider died—ligature strangulation performed by an unknown assailant—that Lucas never really thought about it again once Sullivan was gone from his morgue.
Then Rodriguez arrested Walsh for the crime and Lucas accepted that his part was over. It was now up to the lawyers and the judges and the shrinks to figure out why the hell the deputy did what he did.
They already knew how. Rodriguez and his team carted off the rope and the guns before they took Walsh down. The samples wouldn’t change anything. He should just file them away, wash his hands clean of the whole thing. The case was over. The outsider detective solved it.
Slapping the manila envelope against his palm, Lucas lasted about three seconds before he shook his head and reached for the metal clasp on the back. He slid the thin stack of papers out of the envelope, quickly shuffling through them as everything the lab found in the samples reaffirmed his initial findings.
Until one word jumped out at him. Lucas blinked. His fingers crumpled the edge of the report. He scanned it again, just to make sure it said what he thought it did.
It did. And he still couldn’t believe it.
Fucking hell.
Knock, knock.
Tess was scrolling through her phone, an absent gesture because she was far too restless to do anything else. The soft rapping at her front door stole her attention away from another series of addictive cat memes that barely even merited a second glance, let alone a giggle.
She couldn’t remember the last time she laughed. Back in Hamlet, she decided. That small town took so much away from her, kept so much from her. Her laughter too, it seemed.
Knock, knock.
Her grip tightened on the edge of her phone. Her heart sped up, though she willed it calm. By now, she should’ve been used to random visitors. Ever since she arrived back home and started to make the arrangements to live in a world without her husband—letting those who knew him learn what happened to him—she’d had more than enough people come by.
And to think, when they first drove into Hamlet, she actually thought no one would miss them if they were gone. It was a big world out there. Just not big enough.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she hesitated. Someone wanted her to open up pretty badly. They weren’t going away. Even if she thought she should pretend she wasn’t home, her car was parked in front of the apartment. All it would take was a nosy neighbor to point it out. And since her visitor was still knocking, eventually someone would poke their head out into the hall.
Might as well see who was out there.
The well-wishers and guests coming to offer her condolences had trickled away after her second week back. And though she had enough casseroles in her freezer to last her a year, she prayed that it was a salesperson or something like that lurking on her doorstep. Jesus, if one more person told her that they were sorry for her loss, she was going to lose it.
In another life, Tess w
ould’ve tossed her phone to the couch, then peeked through the peephole to see who was out there. That was the old Tess. The new Tess, the one who fled from Hamlet with the ghost of her husband as her passenger… she didn’t like the idea of being without the safety net of her phone for any longer than she had to.
Without loosening her grip, she slowly approached the door. She stood on her tiptoes, the angle of the peephole distorting the features of the dark-haired man on the other side.
Tess recognized him anyway. There was no way she could ever mistake those icy blue eyes.
The door was locked. The deadbolt she had installed the night she returned home was tricky and it took her a second to remember how to undo it. She knew how easy it was for someone to get in to do harm. She refused to make it even easier for anyone to get close enough to hurt her again.
He was still standing there when she finally managed to get the door open. His hair parted precisely, that sly dimple that appeared in his right cheek as he offered her a friendly smile that didn’t quite meet those guarded, icy cold eyes.
Her heart thumped wildly.
“Doctor De Angelis. What are you doing here?”
Lucas was dressed in civilian clothes. Freshly pressed khaki slacks and a blue button-down shirt without a single wrinkle in it despite the fact that Tess’s home was at least a seven-hour drive from Hamlet—five, she considered, if he sped like a demon in that Mustang of his.
If she didn’t know he was a doctor, she never would’ve been able to tell. He was too pretty. A model, maybe. An actor. She’d had that same thought the first time she ever saw him. He had had the face of a movie star, the hands of a healer, and a determination that forever unnerved her.
Standing outside of her apartment, Lucas deliberately adopted a pose to put her at ease. One hand in the front pocket of his pants, the other relaxed at his side as he idly twirled the ring of his car keys around his index finger.
She remembered him telling her once how his patients complained about his bedside manner. Tess called bullshit. Lucas was a pro at projecting a carefree air. And he could read body language like no one she’d ever known.
Don't Trust Me (Hamlet Book 1) Page 24