by Laura Wright
He stared at her, his chest held by an invisible vise. Everything she’d just said to him was true. One hundred percent.
“I think we need a break from each other,” she said, wiping her eyes.
His nostrils flared. “I don’t want that.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I need it. I have a lot to figure out, and I’ve got to have a clear head to do it. Go home, Blue.”
She walked away from him then, and headed down the street. His chest so tight he could barely breathe, Blue stared after her, watching as she stopped whenever she encountered a flyer. Watching as she ripped each one up with vigor and tossed the remains in the trash.
* * *
Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh
Dear Diary,
Sometimes I look at Mom and Dad and wonder how they found each other. I mean, I know how—I know the story. But why they thought they were meant to be together is what I’m thinking about. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad they did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Or Cole and James and Deacon. We wouldn’t be a family. It’s just, I don’t know, when they look at each other it’s just . . . blah. Not like when Sweet and I look at each other.
Do the fireworks that everyone talks about stop at some point? Do they just go away? Do you give them to someone else?
Eeep!
I hope not. I want to be with Sweet forever.
Can’t sleep,
Cass.
Leaning against the ring in the center of his nearly open River Black gym, Cole glanced up from the diary and shrugged. “What do you think she meant by that? Do you think she suspected something? About Dad?”
“I think she was conflicted,” Deacon answered, then gave the heavy bag he’d been knocking around for the past twenty minutes three solid punches. He was starting to tire. He didn’t know how Cole did this for hours every day. “About Sweet. Worried he’d stop liking her.”
Cole didn’t look convinced. He’d been obsessed with the diary since Blue had discovered it. Trying to piece things together. Deacon was taking everything one step at a time, making sure each piece of the puzzle got to his PI, then on to Deputy Shiver.
He sent his fists into the bag. One, two. One, two. Right now, he wasn’t in the business of convincing his little brother of anything. He just wanted to get out some aggression, some stress, and Cole’s new gym was near close to perfect. He was taking the speed bag next. Then the ring. Cole was lethal, could kick serious ass, but maybe he’d go easy on his big brother. At least until his big brother trained enough to return the favor.
“Your jacket’s buzzin’, Deac,” Cole called out, then grabbed the thing and tossed it at him. “Think fast.”
His hands being all taped up, Deacon had a hard time catching the leather jacket, and it ended up with one sleeve between his wrists and the rest on the ground. He gave Cole a snarl.
Cole grinned. “You want training, I’ll give you training. First lesson—reflexes.”
Pulling out his phone, Deacon snorted. “I can’t wait for the day when I’m capable of taking you down like I did when we were kids.”
“You’re going to be waiting awhile, brother,” Cole returned, grabbing the bag Deacon had been using and giving it a shockingly hard hit.
Cursing, Deacon turned his attention to the text before him. He read it. Then read it again. He must’ve been taking some time, because Cole started to get antsy, and curious.
“What’s up?” Cole asked. “Is it Mac? Everything okay?”
“It’s Deputy Shiver. Wants us to come to the station.”
Cole was instantly alert. He hugged the bag to make it stop moving. “Why? Does he say why? Did they find something?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, already? I didn’t think we’d hear anything—”
“Cole.” Deacon gave his brother a look. “Take it easy. Doesn’t say what it’s about.”
He started pacing. “Well, it’s gotta be about Cass, right? I mean, what else is there?”
Deacon wasn’t going to speculate. Wasn’t in his nature. He ripped the tape off his hands, then threw on the leather jacket over his sweaty T-shirt. “Come on,” he said, grabbing his keys. “I’ll drive.”
“What about James?” Cole asked.
“You text him.”
“And Mac?”
Mac. He told his beautiful, hardheaded wife everything. Shared everything. It was how they’d gotten so incredibly tight as a couple in the past several months. No secrets, no pretending. But he knew she was taking the evening off. Branding new cattle all morning, she needed some relaxing time. “I’ll wait to text Mac until I know what this is about.”
“You sure?” Cole asked as they headed out of the gym and into the parking lot.
“’Course I am.”
Ever since Deacon had been knee-high to a grasshopper, he’d taken on the role of the protector, the planner. There were times when he’d felt too much like a mini adult. But for the most part, he’d relished the role.
Until Cass had been taken, that is.
After that, he’d wanted nothing to do with family responsibility. Hell, he’d wanted nothing to do with family, period. But lately, things had changed. He’d fallen back—maybe he’d stepped back—into that role. Cole and James, they looked to him for counsel. And he was thinking that maybe someday Blue might, too. Sure they argued and pissed each other off, but that was just the way of men. Of blood.
Blood.
But the closer they got to finding out the truth of what had happened to Cass, the more Deacon was starting to feel like running. Disconnecting again. Not that he’d let the others know about his feelings. After all, he was their leader, their protector. Only Mac would know that stuff. That private stuff.
He grinned to himself. After all, she was his leader, wasn’t she? His protector.
“You sure you don’t want to take my truck?” Cole said when they were nearing the vehicles. “It’s way faster than yours.”
Deacon gave him an imperious look—an older, wiser, cooler-brother look—and chided, “You keep telling yourself that, little brother. All the way to the station.” Then he unlocked the door to his brand-new night-black Ford F-450 with one easy click.
“Dang,” Cole drawled. “When’d you get her . . . ?”
Twenty-two
It was sunset by the time Blue could get loose from work and take care of what needed to be taken care of. The slightly suburban-feeling neighborhood, dotted with ten or so small, tidy houses, was quiet, its residents ready for dinner, some television, then off to bed. Too bad they were going to be interrupted, shaken up a bit. Their meals postponed. Because Blue intended to make some damn noise tonight. First telling that woman he wanted nothing more to do with her—then making her understand, crystal clear–like—that if she was to ever bother, threaten, or talk to Emily Shiver again, he wouldn’t stop until Natalie was behind bars. As he stalked up the stone pathway, his insides were so tight with anger he felt near to exploding. Right away he saw lights on and smelled something baking. But the sugary stench just turned his stomach. His hard rap on the door echoed through the neighborhood.
“Blue!” Natalie exclaimed the moment she opened the door. She was barefoot, wearing a peach-and-white dress, and her hair was mussed. As he stood there, her gaze moved over him in a covetous yearning way that made his lip curl.
“Come in,” she said. “I just made scones.”
He ignored the offer. He wanted nothing from her but the assurance that she was never going to do something so stupid and vile ever again. He pulled out ten flyers from inside his jacket, ripped them in half, and let them fall onto the stoop.
Natalie glanced down, then back up at him. “Littering is against the law,” she said in an almost playful way.
“So is defaming someone’s character,” he rebutted with absolute seriousness.
Clearly, she’d expected this. His coming to see her. Shit, maybe she’d even posted those flyers to get him back here. God, the woman was sick.
&nb
sp; She was staring at him, feigning a look of confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
But Blue had zero patience. “Listen to me, and really hear what I have to say,” he said very slowly. “You and I are nothing. We will never be anything. Our e-mails and texts were a joke. A game. You were playing me—”
“I wasn’t,” she cut in, finally dropping the confused coquette act. “I loved you,” she said with such passion it made Blue draw back an inch or two. “I still love you,” she added.
He shook his head. “Honey, you don’t know the meaning of that word.” Granted, neither had he. Not in a romantic way, at any rate. Not until Emily. “It’s twisted up inside your mind.”
Tears suddenly pricked her eyes and her lower lip quivered. “Blue. You’re being unnecessarily cruel.”
“I hope you get help,” he said. “I really do. For Cass’s sake, for Erica Keller—that was her name, right?”
It was as if Natalie’s carefully constructed world started to melt right before his eyes. It was a question she hadn’t expected him to ask her. Her eyes bulged and she kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish.
He leaned against the doorframe and whispered, “I don’t know if you’ll ever be held accountable for your actions, but if you touch one hair on Emily Shiver’s head, you will find justice from me.”
“Oh, Blue.” A single tear snaked down her cheek and she shook her head.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked.
“No. It’s not that. It just . . . well, it makes me sad, that’s all.” Was that a look of pity in her eyes? A thread of unease moved up his spine. “To see you being taken in again.”
Christ, the woman was pathetic as well as insane, and he wasn’t going to waste his time on her another second. Not when he could be with Emily. Making it up to Emily.
Making love to Emily.
He pushed back, away from the door. His brows knit together. “Remember what I said, Natalie.”
“You’re not sure,” she said. “Are you, Blue?”
He ignored her, turned around, and headed down the path.
“If the baby is really yours?” she continued.
He kept walking. Sad, pathetic . . .
“It’s your pattern,” she cried out. “Don’t you see that? You’ve learned nothing! I tried to help you!”
Blue knew he was listening to the ramblings of a crazy person, but her words—that last bit, at any rate—well, that couldn’t help but penetrate his damaged armor and sting his newly emerging heart.
* * *
A bath had never felt so good.
Emily had seen three properties today. Two in town and one in the next town over. She hadn’t liked any of them. Of course, maybe they were all tainted by the memory of those oh-so-special and informative flyers, she thought, sinking deeper beneath the bubbles. Flyers that had been seen not only by her brothers, but by her mom and dad as well.
Embarrassed, humiliated? Maybe. Probably. Not by the fact that she was pregnant. I mean, this was 2015, for goodness’ sake. But by having it plastered around town in such an ugly, malicious way.
Blue had been trying to reach her all day. Text, e-mail, phone. In that order. He was worried about her. Hated what Natalie had done—if it was indeed her—though Emily was convinced of it. Finally, she’d told him by text that she was serious when she’d said she was taking her time. She needed it. Deserved it.
No visitors.
No bed partners.
’Course, she hadn’t said that last bit. But it was sure implied. And he’d had the respect to leave it alone.
There was a part of her, however . . . well, many parts, in fact . . . that would’ve loved seeing him tonight. Having him over. Sharing this large claw-foot tub, then her bed afterward. But that was dangerous. She’d learned something as she’d ripped down a good fifty flyers today. She wasn’t okay with being just Blue Cavanaugh’s baby mama. Or Blue Cavanaugh’s quasi booty call. If this was going to go any further, she wanted him to snap out of it—the malaise, the self-pity party. She wanted him to forgive his family and himself, grow up, and be the boyfriend and partner they both wanted him to be. Hell, if he really wanted to be a good father, as he’d claimed, then this was the first step.
Her hands went to her belly beneath the warm water. Flat, but with promise. She smiled at that. It reminded her of something her mother often said when Emily had come home from school angry or frustrated. A promise doesn’t come from wishing and hoping, but from an unapologetic demand.
Maybe that was it. With Blue. If she wanted a promise, she had to demand it.
Without apology, of course.
Twenty-three
He didn’t want to go in the house. This house that both tormented him as well as welcomed and soothed him. This house that he’d wanted more than anything to stake claim to; yet he couldn’t seem to push out the three men who truly belonged there. This house that had seen nearly every damn milestone of his young life.
Leaning back in the same wicker chair he’d sat in as a boy, Blue stretched his legs out. Nothing felt right anymore. Not since Everett had passed. Not since he’d found out the truth. Not since crazy Natalie had sought him out online. And definitely not since Emily.
His gut ached. That night—that incredible night that had changed the course of his future in ways he’d never imagined. And in ways that made him indescribably happy.
Emily’s face swam before him. He missed her. Missed her humor, her smile, her strength, the smell of flowers that always seemed to cling to her skin. Goddammit. Had he screwed this thing up between them? Irrevocably? She didn’t want to see him. Wanted time. Whatever that meant. Maybe it was just code for—we’re done. You’re an ass who couldn’t see the amazing beauty and possibility that was standing right in front of him.
He heard the screen door open, then his mother’s voice call to him, “Cold out here.”
“Yup,” he answered.
She didn’t say anything for a minute. Just walked over to stand in front of him. He’d been waiting to see if she was going to approach him after what had happened today—what she’d seen and assumed coming out of the market.
Her gaze tried real hard to connect with his. And when it finally did, she said, “You’re going to have a baby?”
His heart squeezed. “Yes.”
Her eyes searched his; then she looked away and cursed. “Oh, Blue, I’m so disappointed in you.”
“Is that so?”
“I had to find out in town, from a ridiculous flyer. Well, first I heard it from Kemp inside the market. Didn’t know it was you who’d . . .” She inhaled deeply, shook her head again.
Blue’s jaw tightened. “Doesn’t feel too good, does it? Hearing the truth from the wrong person?”
Her eyes came back to him then and narrowed. “You did this on purpose. Didn’t you? You wanted me to find out this way.”
Truth was, he hadn’t planned a damn thing. He hadn’t wanted her to find out like that. In fact, in the deep recesses of his heart, he’d been hoping that someday soon they’d reconcile and he could give her the good news himself. Over a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.
But he didn’t deny her accusation, so she took it as confirmation.
Her eyes glittered with sadness. A deep, long-held sadness that he’d never seen on her face before. It worried him—made him want to pull it back. Let this whole fucking thing go. Forgive. Finally. Or ignore. Maybe move on.
But she didn’t give him the chance.
“Okay,” she said softly, nodding. “Okay, Blue. You’ve hurt me. Like you wanted to. A knife slicing deep. But guess what. I’m done now. I can’t keep apologizing or trying to explain or make amends to someone who wants none of it.” She gave him a hard, pointed look. “You have what you want.”
“And what is that?” he asked, his voice no longer edged with heat or anger or bitterness. He was tired too.
She shrugged and said very simply, “I’m out of your life.”
<
br /> And with that, she walked past him, down the drive, and toward the stream, leaving him alone in the cold night air, his gut aching like someone had gone and punched the hell out of him.
And maybe they had.
And maybe he deserved it.
* * *
“Evenin’, Deputy,” Cole called as he and Deacon entered the lockup.
Deacon said nothing. He wasn’t in the mood. Not for small talk. Not for light banter or friendly conversation. His heart was heavy, his guts ached a little. And as soon as they were seated in Deputy Shiver’s office, he got right to the point.
“Why are we here, Shiver?”
The deputy looked like he wasn’t up for any How you doing tonights either. He glanced down at the open folder on his desk. “We spoke with the authorities in New Orleans about Natalie Palmer.”
Every muscle in Deac’s body went tight. Christ, was this what they’d been waiting for? For so damn long? “And?”
The deputy’s eyes lifted to meet his. They were coated in shadow. “Seems she had an alibi the night Erica Keller went missing.”
“Fucking unbelievable,” Cole ground out.
“Impossible’s more like it,” Deacon said, his tone darker, harsher than he intended. But goddammit, how many times were they going to run headfirst into this same brick wall? “My PI would’ve found information like that.”
Shiver shrugged. “You’d think.”
“What is this alibi?” Deacon demanded, leaning forward in his chair. “I want to check it out.”
“A guy who says they were at a museum together. Strangely, that person left the country a year ago. The authorities told me they had no way of contacting him.”
It felt like a white-hot poker was slowly pressing into Deacon’s chest now. Cass . . . Fuck, she deserved this. Deserved the truth. Deserved to rest in peace.
“This is bullshit,” Cole blurted out.
“Not to mention incredibly convenient,” Deacon added blackly.
To his surprise, Deputy Shiver agreed. “Does seem that way, doesn’t it?” he said.