She unlocked the door. “Hey,” she said, trying to not visibly check him out. But he looked so damned good in his pressed navy blue suit with thin pinstripes. His hair seemed a bit more natural today, and the breeze ruffled it some. His cheeks were slightly pink from the cold.
He was sexy from head to toe, and she could smell that rich, earthy scent of his cologne wafting toward her. The longing ache in her stomach intensified, along with a rapid smattering of flutters.
“Hey.” He paused. “May I come in?”
“Oh, of course,” she said, opening the door wider and letting him pass. She took a self-conscious glance down at her pajama bottoms and tank top. Well, if he’d wanted her dressed up, he should have let her know he was coming by. Still, she smoothed the front of her shirt a bit and followed him into the kitchen.
He hovered by the table, uncertainty written all over his face.
“Please, have a seat,” she said, taking the one across from him. She was proud of how even her voice sounded, despite her increasing nervousness.
He leaned forward on the chair, resting his forearms on the table. In the kitchen light, she could see faint smudges under his eyes. Like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in a while. She fought the urge to touch her own matching lids, knowing they probably looked the same.
She’d slept like hell, torn between missing him and wanting to cave, and the smidge of stubbornness that held her back.
“We need to talk,” he sat flatly.
She swallowed, nodded. Then she stood, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She needed something to do with her hands; otherwise, she’d spend the whole time fidgeting her fingers on the table or her lap. “Can I get you something to drink?”
He shook his head, and she resumed her seat.
“You’ve been MIA lately.” The words were simple, but there was a bunch of emotion packed behind them that tightened her throat. “I haven’t heard from you at all since our last conversation, despite leaving a few messages. And then you completely ignored me in the meeting. You’re still upset with me for shutting you out after we’d broken up—and rightly so, I get it—but you’re doing it to me now. It’s unfair. Why?”
“Because I . . .” She paused, sipping her water. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Every time I think I know what’s going on, something new happens to throw me off course.”
“What new thing happened?” he asked quietly, locking his gaze on hers.
Should she tell him? What the hell—why not? She didn’t think the information could harm her case. Plus he might even offer up some kind of perspective. “I caught Bethany and Robert in her car. Having sex.” Even thinking about it turned her stomach once again.
His eyes widened. “Whoa, what? Are you serious?”
She nodded. “I didn’t tell anyone else because . . . well, frankly, I don’t know what to think of it. I’m not sure how this matters to the case, except that you and I need to watch for a possible alliance between the two of them.”
“Or one is using the other,” he said, his lips thinning. He paused, looked at her. “You don’t think there are similarities between what’s going on with them and with us, right?”
“I . . .” Her heart thudded. No, it sounded crazy when she thought about it. Their two situations were different. “I wish you’d told me about the number.”
He raked a hand through his hair, frustration pouring off him in waves. “So we’re back to that. I told you, I wasn’t trying to hide that from you.”
“Then why not tell me about it after we had sex?” she countered. “Why wait until I found it to admit to it?”
“Because I didn’t think it would be a thing!” His voice rose and his eyes flared with anger. “I’ve opened up to you about every piece of solid evidence I have, I’ve apologized again and again about how I hurt you in the past, and you still don’t trust me. What the hell else do I have to do to prove myself?”
Was he right? Was she being stupid and stubborn for holding on to this?
“If you don’t let go of the past and give me a chance, a real chance,” he continued, his tone a bit softer now, “there’s no way for me to prove myself or show you who I am. I’m fighting a losing battle.”
She so desperately wanted to believe him. But some tiny little part of her kept screaming in the back of her mind, ten million dollars. People did horrible things for money like that. Even people who seemed trustworthy. Look at her brother and Bethany—what they’d done in the car hadn’t looked like romance, or tender feelings. It had been screwing, plain and simple.
And the only reason she could think of for them to have sex was because of this damned case. For manipulation. For power. For information.
His face fell as he stared at her, and his emotions closed off instantly. There was a wall there now between them, and each person had retreated back to his and her own side. Their partnership was done.
Every man—or woman—for himself. And to the victor went the spoils. A bitter sorrow swelled in her chest. Maybe it was better this way. She could stop worrying about trusting Andrew, worrying about his motivation. Focus on what was important—the case, not him.
But he was important. Sometime, during their moments together, he’d slipped his way under her skin and left a permanent mark. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to erase him. Despite what she’d told herself, she’d never fully gotten over him. Had never forgotten her first real love. And being with him had brought those emotions roaring back to the front of her mind. Now they refused to be tucked away, ignored.
Andrew stood, giving her a quick glance then looking away. “I need to go. I can see this is getting us nowhere.”
She stood too, her legs shaky, her hands fluttering. She pressed them to her belly and stayed silent, shoving back her heart’s cry as he turned and opened the side door.
Andrew turned back for a moment, eyeing her, then said, “The thing I’ve learned about trust is, you’re never going to know someone a hundred percent. That’s where faith comes in, belief that the person has your interests at heart, even if it may not seem like it at the time. Some people go their whole lives without ever trusting others. And those people usually end up all alone.” His face was filled with an emotion she couldn’t identify but seemed something close to frustration, mingled with a tinge of sorrow.
Then he closed the door behind him.
Maggie let out a choked sob and pressed her hand to her mouth. She was back at the beginning where she’d started this journey, depending only on her own resources and wits. And she’d never felt so utterly alone.
***
Maggie pulled her car up the gravel driveway to the trailer, double-checking her email from Albert that she had the right address. It was Scott’s, all right. Not quite what she’d expected. His car was pulled up to the side, lit by the soft orange glow of the setting sun, which also confirmed it was the right place.
After having a private pity-party for herself when Andrew had left, Maggie had stiffened her resolution. She would get through this case, somehow piece her heart back together and go home to Florida when all was said and done. The best way to keep her mind distracted was to focus on something else. And she’d already finished her work for the day, which left one other option.
The case.
Maggie had Scott’s address from the PI. She’d left Scott several messages, asking him to call, but had gotten no reply. So since Mohammed would not come to mountain . . .
She stepped out of her car and shivered. The air was biting tonight, matching her mood. It smacked her cheeks, froze her face instantly. Dry, dead leaves fluttered along the gravel, skittered on the grass. She hustled to the banged-up trailer door and knocked on it.
No answer.
Dammit, he was in there. His car was here, and she could see a light coming from a back room. There was no way she was leaving this trailer without answers, one way or another. Scott was going to tell her all the things he’d left out of their prev
ious interview at Panera.
She heard a loud banging inside the trailer, followed by a muffled curse, and then the door flew open. Scott stared down at her in surprise, blinking. His free hand held a can of beer, and he wore an old white T-shirt that stretched tight across his small belly and grungy pair of pale blue jeans, his feet bare. Heat poured out of the trailer, instantly warming the tip of her nose and cheeks.
“Maggie? I wasn’t . . . expecting you.” She could smell the beer pouring out of his skin. Oh, he was well into being pickled.
She fought the urge to wrinkle her nose. “May I come in?” she asked as politely as possible.
His eyes grew hooded and he peered at her for a long moment. Then he swung the door open. “Be my guest. Watch your step, though—the maid’s off duty this week.” Sarcasm poured from his voice.
Hopefully that wasn’t a dig aimed at her. Yeah, her parents had money, but they’d never rubbed it in anyone’s face. And adult Maggie sure wasn’t living in the lap of luxury right now.
Maggie stepped inside and this time couldn’t fight the revulsion that hit her. Dirty dishes were stacked in precarious piles everywhere, some with slices of pizza, bites of meat and other unidentifiable bits clinging to their filthy surfaces. Stained pants and shirts draped over the couch. The carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed . . . well, ever. There were several stains that she tried to not focus on as she moved into the room.
She found the cleanest spot on the couch and perched on the edge, while Scott made his way to the well-worn brown leather recliner across from her.
“Can I get you a beer?” he asked hospitably as he settled in, sarcasm no longer in his voice.
“I’m good, thanks,” she said with a small smile and apologetic shrug. “I have to drive, so . . .”
He nodded. “I get it. I just got my license back a few months ago after having a couple of . . . well, let’s say errors of judgment when it comes to drinking and driving. Now I stay at home most of the time.” He shrugged.
Wow. Why was Scott having so many problems? And was her brother going to end up like this? A surge of pity filled her chest. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, resting her hands in her lap.
“So, Maggie, who drove all the way out to my crappy trailer, what can I do for you?”
She bit her lip. Time to be courageous. “I had some questions about . . . the last time we talked.”
His eyes grew hooded and his jaw tightened. He knew what she meant, even without her spelling it out. “Got nothing else to share, sorry,” he said, caution evident in his tone.
“I just can’t seem to get my sister out of my mind,” she admitted. For some reason, her gut was telling her that she needed to be emotional to get Scott to open up. Connect with him somehow. “Being back here . . . she’s everywhere. In my parents’ house. In that diner we used to go to—remember that place?”
The tension in his face lightened up a touch, and he nodded.
“Cassandra haunts me.” Her eyes welled up with tears—she didn’t have to push too hard for them to surface. “I need to find answers, or I’ll never get peace. And neither will she.”
He squirmed in his seat, and she saw a flash of fear on his face.
Her stomach tightened. He knew something.
“I’m not letting this go until I resolve it,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest. The heat from the small trailer pressed on her skin and she grew flush under her sweater, but she ignored the discomfort. “I can’t. And Scott, I think there’s something you’re not telling me about that night.”
“I said everything already,” he replied, but his throat was hoarse. He gulped his beer, his eyes slightly bloodshot.
She leaned forward, staring him in the eyes. “I don’t think that’s true. Because if you had told me the truth—that you’d passed out and didn’t remember anything—why did you remember what my sister was wearing? Down to the color of her shirt? Can you answer that for me?”
The tension was thick enough to cut. Scott’s body was stiff and he gripped his beer, terror flashing in his eyes. She could see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, swallowed again. What was he so afraid of?
“We need to lay this to rest,” she pressed. “Cassandra deserves it. And you can help me. Please.”
After a long moment he ran a meaty hand over his face, scrubbing it several times until he dropped it into his lap. His cheeks were flushed from being rubbed, and his eyes were focused on his lap. “I have been haunted by your sister since that night.” When he looked at her, his face was filled with a deep agony that wrung her heart. There was a cracked, pained edge in his words that made her breath freeze in her lungs. “She was beautiful and full of life, and everyone wanted to be with her.”
Maggie stayed still on the couch, not wanting to move. She had a feeling he was about to tell her something important.
Scott licked his lips and took another big drag from his beer, tilting it up to finish it off. He crumpled it in his fist and dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a soft thud.
“There’s more to that night than what you’ve been told, Maggie,” he said. “And holding it in every damn day for the last eight years has been killing me.”
Chapter 23
Maggie’s throat tightened so much that she could barely swallow. It took her a moment to relax her muscles enough to speak. “What do you know?” she managed to ask him.
Scott dug his fingers into the recliner, staring off just over her shoulder. “That night was crazy. Everyone was drinking, yes, but I didn’t—well, I didn’t immediately pass out, like I’d . . . suggested before.” He paused then stood, going to his fridge and digging out another can of beer. He cracked it open and drank deeply, then settled back into his chair. “Joel, your brother and I had gotten jacked up on some vodka shooters someone had brought to the party. Your sister wanted a drink too. Before then, she’d been sticking to wine coolers or light beer.”
Maggie nodded, encouraging him to continue despite the fear throbbing through her veins.
“Joel gave her a couple of small shots of vodka to start, and your sister kept drinking them, one after another. Body shots, getting more and more wild as the night went on. Most of the people moved the party outside into the woods, but a few of us lingered in the barn still, just hanging out and smoking some weed and drinking.” Here he dragged in a shaky breath, fingers tightening on the can. The yellowed gleam from his nearby lamp cast a sickly pallor on his skin. “Then she . . . she started . . . having sex with a few guys. Right there in the barn—she was in a dark corner,” he rushed to say, “so no one could really see her.”
Maggie fought the urge to vomit. No. That didn’t sound like Cassandra. No way would she do that. Her sister was wild, a tease, a party girl, but she wouldn’t have done it like that, right?
Scott kept talking. “She was the drunkest I’d ever seen her, staggering around, her shirt hanging half off, winking at guys and giving them the come-hither look.”
The sickness turned into a swell of anger. She clenched her fingers in her lap, struggling to keep her temper with Scott in check. It was apparent her sister had gotten hammered that night, along with most of the other people at the party. The worst part was, Maggie and Cassandra had numerous friends attending too. But not one of those so-called friends could keep an eye on her, make sure she was safe and sound? Cassandra would have done it for them, no question.
“And where was Robert during all of this?” she asked through a tightened jaw.
Scott glanced away for a sec then looked back at her. A nerve under his eye twitched. “I don’t know. I think he was outside for a while, or hanging with someone else. He didn’t see any of it, though. And I only saw your sister briefly during that time.”
“Had anyone else?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even know the guys she was having sex with—I think they’d crashed our party. Never heard or saw anything about them again.”
“W
hat did they look like?”
“I . . . I don’t quite remember.”
“You remember what my sister had on, but you can’t remember the guys who were having sex with her?” Maggie’s blood was boiling with fresh anger—at him, her brother, at those guys, at the so-called friends who had left a sixteen-year-old drunk girl alone . . . and, she had to admit, a little bit at her sister. She didn’t want to believe this was true, but the DNA evidence had supported the fact that Cassandra had slept with at least two guys that night.
And now Scott was confirming it was voluntary, and Maggie just wanted to cry.
“Why didn’t you guys tell the police about all of this?” she said, blinking rapidly to fight back the stinging bite of tears. There were no leads on the DNA. Just another friggin’ dead end, like everything else in this case.
She pressed her hands to her stomach and sucked in a steadying breath. She was not going to lose her shit in front of Scott.
Scott bit his lower lip, put the beer can on a rickety side table. “We were underage. Petrified of getting in trouble. And since we couldn’t ID the guys, and I was shitfaced, I wasn’t sure how reliable it would be as evidence, anyway.”
But he could have tried.
Apparently he read the angry emotion in her face, because he swallowed, looked away. “It wasn’t long after that that I saw your sister stumble out of the corner. I was almost asleep at that point, and the others were passed out around me. She went out into the woods to join the rest of the party.” He paused, sighed. “And that was it. No one saw her again.”
A strange numbness settled over Maggie. It was a blessing, really, because it allowed her to say calmly, “Is there anything else you remember? Anything that you haven’t told me?”
A look flickered across his face, one she couldn’t quite pin. “That’s all I remember. I’m sorry I didn’t say that much earlier. The reason I recalled what your sister wore is because it was the last thing I saw before I went to sleep. And then we never saw her again, and for some reason it stood out in my mind. I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t tell you because it’s not exactly happy memories, you know? I didn’t want to sully your recollection of your sister.”
The Inheritance Part IV Page 4