The Second Lie

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  His gaze sharpened as if he hadn’t known about that.

  “Traces of both were found in the fire.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Sam was shaking. Her hands. Her knees. Her lips. “I don’t know, Kyle. Do you think you need one?”

  “Am I being charged with something?”

  “As far as I know, it’s not against the law to purchase legal chemicals and have quantities unaccounted for.”

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  They were in a standoff. All that was lacking were holsters with guns that they could pull simultaneously and see whose trigger finger was fastest.

  “There’s circumstantial evidence, Kyle. You purchased five times as much ammonia as usual. And you’ve never bought methanol before. Large quantities of both are missing, though all storage tanks appeared secure. And you have a toxic fire on your property with evidence that could point to the making of methamphetamine.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” If his words were bullets, he’d just hit her hard.

  She was tired, too. Tired and scared. And she didn’t know him. Which scared her most of all. “You tell me! Talk to me, Kyle. Give me something. Anything.”

  She didn’t want to believe her best friend was making illegal drugs. Didn’t want to believe anything bad about him. Didn’t want to know that he’d slept with Sherry Mahon.

  “Why should I give you anything? You already believe I’ve done something wrong. I’m not going to change your mind.”

  “I love you, dammit!” Shit. The words weren’t supposed to have escaped.

  With narrowed eyes, he turned away from her. “And we’ve known for a long time, Sam, that, for us, love isn’t enough.”

  14

  “I wish you’d just go.” Kyle’s bones ached. His entire body ached. He wanted to sink down into his chair, tilt his head back and go to sleep.

  If he could.

  “Do you mean that?”

  Did he? Sure. He wanted her to get the hell out of his house. Out of his life.

  And he wanted her to stay, too.

  He was scared to death. Couldn’t fathom a single day in jail—let alone a string of them.

  He had an ailing grandfather to take care of. Kyle’s arrest would kill the old man.

  He’d lose his home. The farm. Zodiac. Lillie and Rad.

  His whole life would be gone.

  He’d never survive being locked inside.

  Intending to stand strong until Samantha Jones was out of his sight, out of his home, Kyle dropped down to the rocker his grandfather had made for his grandmother when Kyle’s dad was born. His father had been rocked in that chair. Kyle had been rocked in that chair. The upholstered pads had been changed a couple of times over the years, but the chair, the rockers, the steady rhythm of its movement, the sound of wood against wood floor, remained exactly the same.

  He heard Sam move, expected to hear the door close behind her. He’d earned her desertion.

  He should have told her about that night.

  But when she’d come back to him, begging him to take her back, to love her for the rest of his life, he’d been so afraid of losing her again.

  Because losing her had almost killed him.

  And there was more. Thank God she didn’t have access to his bank records. Those would require a subpoena. And even if she got one, she’d have to go back a ways to find anything. She couldn’t know about the payoff. She’d have him in jail for sure….

  He opened his mouth, not sure how to start, and felt her arms on his thighs as she lowered herself to the floor beside him. “Talk to me, Kyle. Help me.”

  “I don’t know where the chemical is or what happened to it.”

  “But you knew it was missing.”

  As soon as he admitted that, she’d have more reason not to trust him. And that was his own fault.

  But Sam was obsessed with this meth-lab business. And she couldn’t see it. How could he hope she’d understand why he’d kept silent?

  And yet, if he didn’t gain her understanding, she had the power to take his life away from him.

  “The hose cap on the holding tank had been chewed. I thought the gas had evaporated.”

  “Forty-five gallons’ worth?”

  That was a stretch. But he’d hoped…

  “Don’t lie to me, Kyle.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d think exactly what you’re thinking now,” he finally said, too tired to fight her.

  He’d go to battle for his grandfather. For his land. For his life. They weren’t going to take any of it away from him.

  He just needed some sleep so he could figure out a strategy.

  “I didn’t discover the missing methanol until a week ago Tuesday—after you’d been out here accusing me of buying the stuff to make meth.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. It’s what you were thinking. Suspicion was written all over you.”

  “Because I’d just found out about Sherry. She was arrested last week, Kyle, for possessing large quantities of methamphetamine.” He swore.

  “What about the ammonia?”

  “I didn’t know about that until tonight.”

  “You don’t keep tabs?”

  “Yes, I do regular checks for leaks, things like that. But I don’t worry about it being used without my knowledge. It’s in pressurized tanks. It’s not like it would be real easy to steal.”

  “So you’re saying it was stolen?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  She frowned and Kyle’s uneasiness increased. Sam was never just a woman, just a friend. She didn’t know how to be.

  But in the end, his answer didn’t change.

  “I’m saying that I didn’t use it.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “Of course not! God, Sam, what do you think I am?” He wanted to snatch the words back the second they left his mouth. He knew damned well what she thought he was.

  And yet, he still craved the feeling of her body leaning on his. Still needed her touch. Her scent.

  Masochistic. That’s what he was.

  And stupid.

  “I hope to God you aren’t going to be the one to come pick me up,” he said aloud. “As a matter of fact, I’m telling you right now. Send someone else.”

  “No one’s going to be picking you up.” They were the first words she’d said all night that he wanted to hear. “At least, not yet.”

  She could have left out the last part.

  “Why not? With such pointed circumstantial evidence?”

  “Because no one knows about the chemicals.”

  His entire body stilled. “That they’re missing?”

  “That you even purchased them.”

  He stared at her.

  “I… The investigation into purchased chemicals was done on my own time. I’m under no obligation to report my findings. Unless I know that something illegal is going on, of course.”

  Pierce’s concern that Sam was working on her own without departmental direction or support to find a methamphetamine superlab came back to bother Kyle.

  Yet he was relieved, too. Hugely relieved.

  “I made sure I was the one who searched your house and barns this morning, just like I told you I would, for Grandpa’s sake,” she continued, her hands folded together.

  Kyle had to ask. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because if you’re in trouble I want to help you.”

  He was just curious. “Help me how?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t cover for you. Once I know for certain there’s illegal activity involving this farm, I’ll have to act upon that knowledge. But for now, it’s only a possibility, and if I can help you, if there’s anything I can do to make certain that you’re protected, I’m going to do it.”

  The sincerity shining from her eyes was the only thing that kept her in his house.

  “You really think I’d make methamphetamine.”


  “You’ve got a degree in chemistry. A history of purchasing the chemicals. You’re desperate for cash. There was an alleged toxic waste dump on your property.”

  She had no idea how desperate he was for cash. Or why. Like everyone else, she thought he was strapped because of the divorce. And Grandpa’s care.

  “You think I’d do that to my land?” He was calmer now. Gathering information rather than panicking. He looked at Zodiac. “You think I’d risk her health by dumping dangerous chemicals where she runs?”

  Sam didn’t back down. Didn’t look away or even blink. “What I know is that you’ll do anything to save this farm, Kyle.”

  Including break up with her.

  Thirteen years ago, Kyle had chosen his farm over her. He’d wrestled with the decision for months, grieved for a love he couldn’t find a way to have, cursed at fate. He didn’t want to be married to a cop. Didn’t want to have to worry about what she’d be facing every single time she left the farm to go to work. Didn’t want a wife who had to carry a gun on the job. He hadn’t wanted the mother of his children to be a woman who knowingly put her life in the line of fire.

  He’d grown up without a mother. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped. But in Sam’s case, the risk of him raising motherless children would have been significantly higher.

  He wanted, needed, a wife who stayed on the farm. Who worked side by side with him.

  Sam had wanted a husband who’d spend half the week on the farm and half the week in the city.

  And in the end, he’d done what he thought he had to do. Honored who he was over a relationship that asked him to be something he was not.

  And he’d asked the ultimate of her. Him or her job.

  He’d suspected that some day he was going to have to answer to that decision. He’d just never thought it would be with his life.

  “You’ve been crying.”

  Mac had been thinking about this meeting all day—the couple of minutes when he passed the package from his hand to Maggie’s.

  “No.” She looked down. As though she could hide anything from him. Didn’t she know he could see straight into her deep and lonesome soul? Was he the only one in her life who saw how incredibly special she was?

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She liked him. He knew it. He saw it in her eyes.

  That day at the park—he’d wanted to stay with her. Play with the kids.

  And her.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  Wait. How could she lie to him? She never had before.

  Maybe she’d met someone.

  The thought depressed him.

  She’d made so many changes lately. The hair. The clothes. The makeup. He’d thought the curls, the tight shirts, were for him. He’d been flattered. And a tad amused.

  But if there was someone else…

  “It hurts that you’d lie to me. I thought we were more to each other than that.”

  They’d never talked a lot. Never seen each other for more than the brief time stops she made during her paper route.

  But every time he looked in her eyes, it was as if they’d talked.

  Her glance darted up and, connecting with it, he breathed a little easier.

  “I…just… You don’t need to hear about my stuff.”

  “I want to hear it. I care about you.” He’d spoken the words aloud. “I care about all of you.”

  “I’m fine, really.” She reached for the bag he held.

  He pulled back.

  “I can’t send you to work upset. You might miss something. Deliver to the wrong house. Accidents happen that way and I won’t have you, or anyone else, hurt.”

  “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

  “Hey.” He lifted her chin with his finger and let his hand linger. Just for a moment. For a touch of the skin that haunted him. Skin he now had to think of every time he had sex so he could get it up. “When are you going to understand that there is nothing you could do or think that I would find dumb? If something’s upsetting you, it’s important to me.”

  Those big brown eyes stared up at him and he could hardly breathe. His mouth was dry and he forgot, for an instant, that he was the leader. The one they all relied on.

  He had a job to do.

  A strict set of rules.

  He was a grown man with the responsibility that came with age.

  “My friend, Glenna, just told me about a little boy with ADHD who was locked in a closet for five months because his parents couldn’t keep him from hurting himself and couldn’t afford medication to help him.” She teared up again.

  “Jimmy Williams.”

  “You know him, too?”

  “We’re going to help him, sweetie.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes. We’ll be delivering meds to his house, soon, just like we do with the other folks that need them but can’t afford them. It’s your help, yours and the others, that let us do this so cheaply. We don’t have to pay doctors and pharmacists and distributors. We just pay you guys. That’s why it’s so important that you not open the packages,” he added for good measure, not that he worried about her following the rules. “We can’t take a chance on having any of the medications contaminated or we’d have to throw it away and then it would cost more money to replace.”

  It was the story he gave Maggie. That she was delivering meds to sick kids. Because she was different. The rest of them were just happy to make the money. They knew if they touched the packages, they’d lose their jobs. Ones that paid more than any minimum-wage job they could get.

  Some of them might suspect, but they didn’t care. As long as they were paid.

  “Jimmy’s already on our list, sweetie,” he said, gazing down at the young woman in front of him.

  As happy tears trickled down her face, he longed to kiss them away and satisfied himself with slowly wiping them instead.

  “I have to talk to you about something.” He’d had a scare. This time her tears had been for a young boy who was sick. Next time it could be an older boy, or man, who caught her interest. Her heart.

  He couldn’t take that chance.

  Not with this one.

  “What?” Her concerned and completely trusting look gave him strength.

  “Your clothes. Your hair. The makeup.”

  Her expression fell. “You don’t like them?”

  So they had been for him.

  “I do like them,” he told her, careful of her fourteen-year-old budding ego. “Too much. And that’s why they have to go.”

  “You don’t want to like me.” Her voice was as glum as her expression.

  “Hey.” He lifted her chin again, this time because she was hurting at his expense and that was something he could never allow. His fingers trailed softly along her neck. “It’s not me I’m worried about.

  “I love seeing this.” He pointed to the young, firm breasts beneath the tight black sweater and fought the temptation to accidently brush against one of the rigid nipples. He was a good man. A decent man. “I don’t want anyone else to have that same privilege. They’ll use you. Take advantage. You’ll get hurt.”

  And when she continued to stand there, looking at him, he pointed lower to the curve of crotch that was outlined in the low-cut jeans. “This is too much temptation. You’re perfect. Gorgeous. And I can’t send you out like this in front of other people. I don’t trust them not to touch.”

  And, just in time, he remembered himself.

  “If you get hurt, you won’t be able to help anymore,” he said, stepping back.

  “I’ll tone it down,” she said. And then smiled at him.

  A burst of unexpected sunshine.

  And because she was a good girl who’d understood him, because she was having an emotional day, because the project needed her…he broke one small rule. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her.

  He did it for good reasons. Logical ones. Compassionate ones. He did not do it for himself.

  15

  After
a phone conversation with MaryLee Hatch, facilitated by Sam’s old schoolmate Roberta Gainey, who was MaryLee’s younger sister, Sam picked up Nicole Hatch in the cruiser on her way home from school Thursday afternoon and took her to the county sheriff’s office, which also housed the administration offices and county jail. The complex was in Chandler and not far from the high school.

  Samantha had decided not to charge the child the night she’d been brought in almost two weeks before and had released her to her mother’s care, but Nicole had not yet been told that she wasn’t going to be charged. As far as the girl knew, she was waiting to hear what was going to happen to her next.

  Sam and the sheriff and Nicole’s mother had all decided to give the girl a couple of weeks to be afraid for herself and her future. Two weeks to think about what she’d done.

  MaryLee wanted her daughter scared. Really scared. Since the motorcycle crash that had killed her husband, the woman was trying to hold on to a full-time job and raise four kids single-handedly. She couldn’t afford to go lightly on her second youngest. Not for a moment.

  “Why am I here?” Nicole’s face was white. Sam had her in a private consultation room. There was a table. Some chairs. And little else. Fort County couldn’t afford extravagances.

  The beat-up desk Sam shared with a couple of other deputies was located down a separate hallway.

  “You’re here because I want to talk to you,” she said, dead serious. “Your mom tells me you’re thirteen.” MaryLee had given Nicole’s vital information on the night she’d come to collect her daughter after she’d been brought in for the drug exchange. MaryLee also asked for police help in disciplining her daughter.

  Nicole nodded.

  “In eighth grade?”

  “Yes.”

  The drug epidemic wasn’t just in high school anymore. It had spread to blue-eyed, blond-haired innocents in junior high.

  And maybe even younger kids.

  “Do you have any idea what can happen to you now that you’ve broken the law?”

  The girl’s lower lip started to tremble. Sam wasn’t going to be moved by tears.

  “Nooo.” Nicole drew the word out on a soft wail. “Wendy says I could go to jail until I’m eighteen and not get to finish school or anything. But Daniel says that’s not true. He thinks I can’t go to jail since I’ve never been in trouble before.”