by Regan Black
Trudy cocked her head, sending those earrings of hers swinging. “Nicole isn’t dead, sugar. Nicole’s husband, Bill, is. And the talk around town is that she might be the one who killed him. The sheriff has already told her not to leave town. Can you imagine?”
Stunned, he could only stare, unable to think coherently enough to hide his shock. “I…”
Her malicious smile widened. She pulled out her microphone, fumbling with her recorder before looking up at him again. “On the record, would you tell the good folks of Anniversary how you feel about this news?”
How he felt? He’d been through hell and back, only to return home to find the rug had not only been ripped out from under him, but set on fire as well. He used every bit of his ranger training to mentally pull himself up by his bootstraps. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin and looked Trudy right in the eyes. “I’ve been gone a year, ma’am. And I haven’t talked to Nicole at all, not in all that time. While I’m not sure why folks believe she’d be capable of murder, I can tell you this. The Nicole Shelton I know wouldn’t hurt a fly. Hell, the woman even carried spiders outside if they got in the house. I can’t imagine her killing another human being. Not at all.”
Undeterred, Trudy licked her bright red lips. “Well, it appears you are wrong. But time will tell. The truth will come out in the end.”
Kyle stood, inclining his head politely. “I’m sure it will, ma’am.” With a quick wave at Jed, he strode off toward the door.
Outside, he squinted in the bright sunlight. He walked to his pickup, unlocked the doors and climbed up inside. Ignition on, AC up full blast. He had no idea where to go, just that he needed to drive.
He cruised slowly down Main Street, turning at the bank, and continued on until he’d reached a residential area. The houses here were large and well maintained, several sporting the brass historical plaques that marked them as restored homes of significance. Pulling over to the curb, he parked. Using his phone, he navigated to the county tax assessor website and put in the name Bill Mabry.
Bingo. Interesting, that the house title was only in Bill’s name. Nicole wasn’t included. And the date of purchase was a little more than one year ago, which meant he’d bought the house before he and Nicole were married.
He put the address into his GPS and punched Drive. To his surprise, the house was only a couple of blocks away. Driving slow, he went past, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might leap out of his chest. At the end of the street, he made a U-turn. This time, he parked in front of the house across the street. The two-story, rock-and-wood structure looked sleek and modern, yet somehow fit in perfectly with the restored historical homes surrounding it. The perfectly manicured lawn, numerous trees and flower gardens were all well-tended, like something out of a glossy magazine. No doubt the inside of the luxurious home was filled with expensive furniture and matching colors.
He tried to picture Nicole living there, her adoring husband at her side, her baby in her arms, and realized she’d fit right in. In fact, this kind of lifestyle was exactly what he’d wanted for her, for them, even if he’d imagined it would take a while to get to that place. While he’d saved every dollar he could from his military service, he’d planned for the two of them to start out like most young couples did, with a much more modest home.
Looks like she’d managed to skip right over all that by marrying Bill Mabry, the guy her parents had been trying to set her up with all through high school. She’d claimed to find him repulsive, describing several awkward Sunday night suppers when her parents had invited him over.
Kyle guessed she’d lied. Either that, or her parents and Bill Mabry had finally worn her down, probably while she was mourning over Kyle’s supposed death. At least he hoped she’d grieved for him. He studied the house again and came to a decision. There was only one way to find out.
He hustled up the sidewalk, moving fast so he wouldn’t reconsider and change his mind. He rang the bell, listening as sonorous chimes reverberated inside the house, followed immediately by a baby’s loud wailing.
No one came to the door. Instead, he imagined Nicole went to comfort her infant. Heart still racing, he waited, telling himself he’d count to thirty before ringing the doorbell again.
At twenty-nine, the door opened, just a tiny crack. “Go away.” Nicole’s voice, making his stomach do a somersault. “I’ve already told you people I’m not talking to any reporters. My husband just died. Leave me alone.”
“Nicole.” He spoke her name, knowing she’d recognize his voice. “It’s me. Kyle.”
Silence. “Kyle’s dead. What kind of monster would play a cruel trick like this?” she cried out, before slamming the door shut in his face.
Still he waited, trying for patience. Even though she’d married another man immediately after his supposed death, he battled an overwhelming urge to kick the door in and yank her into his arms. Every fiber of his being, every fighting instinct to live, had been about her. Getting back to her. Holding her.
He blinked, hard, his eyes stinging. The one thing he’d never expected had been this betrayal.
When she didn’t come back, he knocked. Not a quiet brush of his knuckles against the polished wood. No, this determined rapping was to let her know he wasn’t going away until she faced him. She at least owed him that.
Finally, she opened the door, all the way this time. “Kyle?” she croaked. She’d gone pale as a ghost and swayed on her feet, as if on the verge of fainting. At least she wasn’t holding her baby. Even though she’d borne another man’s child, he didn’t want her to inadvertently injure an infant.
“In the flesh.” He jerked his head in a nod, emotion warring inside him. He was furious with her, as he had every right to be, but his soul rejoiced at just the sight of her. Still tiny, slender and petite, she wore her long brown hair the same way she always had. Her hazel eyes were rimmed in red, as if she’d been crying—of course she had, her husband had just died—and even now tears made the ends of her long dark lashes glisten.
Despite all this, she was still just as beautiful. This pissed him off more than it should have. Damned if he could stomach seeing her while she mourned another man. “Did you cry for me too?” he asked—no, demanded. “Tell me you did, because it didn’t appear to be all that long after my supposed death when you went and got yourself married off to him.”
“Kyle,” she repeated, her voice breaking. All at once, he realized she was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. He moved to help her without conscious thought.
At the last minute, when he would have reached her and hauled her up close against him, she stepped aside, shaking her head.
“This can’t be real,” she muttered. Just then, her baby began crying again and she hurried away, into the house. Though she hadn’t invited Kyle to follow, she hadn’t told him to leave either, so he went after her.
She picked up her son and put him to her shoulder, rubbing his back in soft circles and making soothing sounds. The baby’s crying tapered off, replaced with quiet hiccupping sounds. She glanced at Kyle, her child held protectively against her, and made a strangled sound.
“You’re still here? This isn’t just some kind of dream?”
Before he could reply, she continued talking, almost as if to herself rather than him. “Kyle, I’m not sure how this is possible, but you’re dead. And now you’re not.”
“Sit down,” he told her, his tone gentler than she deserved. Once she had, he told her what had happened to him, all of it. Beginning with the IED exploding, the fact that he’d been holding his friend’s dog tag, and the months he’d spent in a coma in a hospital. Then the rehab, learning to walk again and, finally, coming home to learn the woman he’d expected to marry had become the wife of another man. He didn’t tell her the rest of it, about the PTSD he battled, because it was no longer any of her concern.
She listened quietly,
tears slipping down her cheeks to be wiped away with the back of her hand. Her baby rooted around her chest, clearly seeking her breast, and finally she grabbed a baby blanket and arranged it so the infant could nurse. She looked the picture of maternal perfection, gazing lovingly at her child while her body gave sustenance.
It was almost too much for Kyle. But he’d already been to hell and clawed his way back. He’d come here for explanations and damned if he’d go without getting them.
When the baby finally finished, she rearranged her clothing and the blanket and put his tiny body against her shoulder so he could burp. Kyle continued to watch her, willing himself to feel nothing, though he failed miserably. A tempest of emotion raged inside him, ranging from a kind of joyous relief that they once again occupied the same space, to disappointment, hurt and gut-wrenching jealously. This should have been his wife, his baby. All the plans he’d made, all the hard work and sweat and tears had been supposed to culminate in this.
Instead, he’d been given the middle finger.
They both sat silently for a moment. He took a deep breath and met her gaze, steeling himself against the attraction—still—he felt when he looked at her.
“Your turn,” he said, his tone harsh. “I get that your husband was murdered, but you at least owe me that.”
She nodded once. “My turn,” she repeated, her voice soft. “And I’ll explain. But first, give me a moment to digest the fact that you’re really alive, and here.”
He’d bet it was a shock. She must have thought since he’d been killed, he’d never find out how quickly she’d managed to move on with her life. As if he—and what they’d had—had never mattered. A blip on her lifeline, here one day, gone the next. While for him, she’d been everything. His entire world.
With a nod, he gave her the time she requested. While she burped her baby, he prowled around the room, looking for some clue about what her life with her husband had been like. There were no photos of the two of them, none of the baby either. Just impersonal modern art prints of a type that a year ago he would have sworn didn’t match her personality. She’d loved bold, vibrant colors. Not this watered-down neutral decoration surrounding her now.
In fact, the entire living room had an impersonal feel. It looked like they’d hired a decorator and let her have free rein, without any personal input. The blues and beige was tasteful; the faint touch of yellow put some color in just the right places, but none of it gave him any insight into the people who lived here.
Part of him was glad. Nicole and he had spent countless nights talking about what their first house would be like. She’d been carefree when with him, and had spoken of the bright, rich colors she’d use. She wanted, she’d said, each room to be a tapestry with a story to tell.
If this room told a story, it would be as boring as hell.
Finally, he’d had enough of the silence and turned. Her baby had finished burping and she had him in her arms, moving with a rocking motion as if to put him to sleep.
“Well?” he asked, crossing his arms.
“Let me put him down,” she said. “He’ll want to sleep now that he’s been fed and changed.”
Without waiting for a reply, she hurried off, heading toward a small room off a hallway downstairs. When she returned a moment later without the infant, she swallowed. “I keep a bassinette in the office downstairs so I’m not having to run him up to the nursery during the day. At night, since all the bedrooms are upstairs, he sleeps in his crib. Which is okay, since I have a baby monitor and am able to keep tabs on him.”
Apparently realizing she was babbling, she ceased talking and sighed. Walking toward him, she stopped a few feet away and stared up at him, her expression full of wonder. “Do you have any idea what I would have given to have known you were alive? I grieved your loss deeply.”
Anger blossomed inside him. Despite that, he still had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “When, Nicole?” he demanded. “Before you got married? How long did you wait after getting word I’d been killed in action? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t seem very long at all.”
Her mouth worked. Again, tears came. This time, she covered her face with her hands and wept, her shoulders shaking. The old Kyle would have rushed to console her, but she no longer belonged to him. Instead he took a step back.
He shouldn’t have come here, he realized. Nothing would change. Hearing her mouth whatever explanation she came up with would do little to assuage the rawness of his pain, the aching sense of betrayal by the one person he’d believed would always have his back. Still, he couldn’t seem to get his feet to moving, so he stood and watched her cry.
“I’m waiting,” he finally said, the rasp in his voice in keeping with his frustration. “How long, Nicole?”
“It’s not what you think,” she began, her voice thick and trembling. “I really had no choice.”
“Bull.” He snarled the word. “Spare me the crap. I joined the army for us. So we could have a future. Every waking moment, every mission, every return to base, my first thought was of you. If the situation had been reversed, do you honestly think I’d have gotten married a month after you’d died? Do you?” He didn’t shout the words, partly because he didn’t want to disturb her baby, but also because volume wouldn’t make any difference. She had to know he was right, yet the sorrowful look in her eyes didn’t contain remorse or guilt. Just pain. Something he’d grown intimately familiar with.
“I was pregnant, Kyle,” she said, her voice shaking. “My parents were going to throw me out onto the street. I had to do something to protect my baby, so I took the coward’s way out and married Bill as they insisted.”
He hadn’t thought she could hurt him any worse, but somehow she had. “You’re telling me you slept with Bill Mabry after you learned I’d been killed in action?”
If he expected her to hang her head, he was wrong. Instead, she lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “No. I’m telling you I was pregnant with your child when you left me the last time. You’d gone on a mission, so I couldn’t tell you. I’d planned to, the next time you called. Instead, I received word you’d been killed by an IED. Jacob is your son.”
CHAPTER 3
Nicole waited breathlessly for his reaction. If anything, his frown deepened.
“I don’t believe you,” he snarled. “I never would have guessed you’d become such an opportunistic little—”
“Stop.” She cut him off before he could call her whatever name he’d been about to use. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep from doubling over with pain. “I can’t deal with this right now. You need to go.”
“Gladly.” He strode to the front without a backward look. She braced herself for the noise when he slammed it, aware it would probably wake the baby, but he surprised her by closing the door with a quiet click.
Heaven help her, after inhaling so quickly it felt like a hiccup, she found herself at the front window, hand to her aching chest, watching until he drove away. The pain was so great it felt like her heart had truly shattered. She felt almost the same as she had the day she’d learned he’d been killed. Almost.
Once he’d gone, she sank down on the couch and allowed herself to break down. She hadn’t cried over Bill’s passing, or over the way his horrible parents treated her. But she cried over this. The man she’d always loved was still alive. Joy and relief at knowing that Kyle Benning still walked the earth warred with sorrow and regret. Clearly, she’d managed to kill whatever he’d once felt for her. And the fact that he could honestly think she’d lie to him about something as vitally important as his own child told her how low she’d sunk in his estimation.
After crying herself out, a steadfast calm came over her. Her life might have become a crapfest, but she still had Jacob. She went into the office and watched him while he slept, letting the all-encompassing l
ove she felt for him fill her heart, rather than pain or worry or regret.
When the doorbell chimed again an hour later, her heart skipped a beat. Now that he’d had time to think about it, had Kyle returned? Baby Jacob still slept, so she hurried to the door, her heart hammering.
Instead of Kyle, two uninformed sheriff’s deputies stood on her stoop. One of them handed her a paper.
“We have a warrant to search your premises, ma’am,” he said. “Please step aside.”
Numb, she did as he asked. She’d only thought this day couldn’t get any worse. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
Though she stood protectively over her son while one of the men searched the office, Jacob woke when the deputy banged a file cabinet drawer shut. Nicole picked him up and soothed him, realizing he needed a diaper change, which she attended to while trying to ignore the sometimes alarming sounds the deputies were making.
They took Bill’s computer and her laptop, promising they’d return it soon. They also took Bill’s expensive bourbon, the used coffee pod still in the machine and several files.
With Jacob in her arms, she followed them from room to room, hating the way this search made her feel violated. They didn’t speak and she didn’t either, except for admonishing them to be careful when it seemed like they were growing careless with some of her perfume bottles.
They took Bill’s cologne and aftershave. It finally dawned on her that they were looking for whatever poison had killed him. Which meant she’d become more than a person of interest—she’d apparently moved right into the position of primary suspect.
As they prepared to leave, the taller of the two turned to face her. “We searched his office at Mabry Trucking too,” he said. Like that would make her feel better. All she could do was nod.
After they’d finally gone, she went about the business of straightening her house, finding comfort in the busywork.
Then she bathed Jacob. After drying him off and putting him in a fresh diaper and onesie, she breathed deeply, loving the clean, baby powder scent of him. Her breasts tingled, reminding her it was nearly feeding time. Jacob latched on, suckling with gusto. Filled with love and finally, a little peace, she watched him drink his fill. After burping him, she placed him in his bassinette to rest and set about making herself something for dinner.