The Trouble with Temptation

by Shiloh Walker

  “Miss Ella Sue!”

  At the sound of her bodyguard’s warm voice, Hannah looked up.

  Ella Sue. She knew that name.

  “Well, child. Look at you.”

  A black woman stood in the doorway, a basket over one arm while she propped the other hand on her hip.

  “Hello,” Hannah said. Since she was already tired of the awkwardness, she asked, “Do I know you?”

  Ella Sue chuckled. “Honey, you most definitely know me. And don’t go worrying about not remembering me, either. We’ll just have the pleasure of getting reacquainted all over again.”

  “Okay.” Hannah covered the tray of unappetizing sponge, mush, and slime back up. “How do we know each other?”

  Ella Sue came in and she paused by the table, lifting up the lid that covered Hannah’s dinner. She wrinkled her nose and covered it right back up. “How can they expect anybody to get well if they have to eat that?” she asked, shaking her head. Then she picked up the tray, carried it over to the dresser and put it down. “Have a seat, Hannah. I’ve got some good food for you. We’ll eat and we’ll talk.”

  * * *

  “You always had a soft spot for my boy.” Ella Sue sighed as she watched Hannah scrape her spoon over the bottom of the shallow bowl. Hannah had all but devoured the chicken and dumplings Ella Sue had brought in. It wasn’t the dish she’d normally make in the summer, but Hannah was pregnant. She needed something simple and filling in that belly of hers. It looked like it had hit the spot, too.

  Hannah slid Ella Sue a look from under her lashes. “Did I?”

  “Oh, did you ever. You’d watch him. Not when he could see it, mind you. He was used to girls watching him and he liked it. He wasn’t cruel with it, but you could tell he enjoyed the attention. Brannon … well, sometimes…” She sighed and looked away. “It’s terrible to say, but if he hadn’t lost his parents, he might have turned out to be a shallow, stupid bastard. Too pretty, too smart, rich to boot. Life came too easy for him and then he up and loses his mama and daddy. That was when he realized life wasn’t meant to be easy. He stopped enjoying it so much, but he still took things for granted.”

  “He lost his parents?” Hannah lowered the bowl, her gaze averted.

  “Yes.” Ella Sue took the bowl and went to go rinse it out as Hannah stared outside.

  “What happened to them?”

  The question was casually delivered, but Ella Sue knew it was most definitely not casual.

  “They were in a wreck. They’d taken Neve to the bookstore.” Ella Sue paused and studied the younger woman. “You don’t remember Neve, do you?”

  “I know she’s Brannon’s sister.” Hannah shrugged and looked away. “She’s come by, once or twice. Her face is familiar, but I don’t have those memories yet.”

  “It will come.” Ella Sue patted Hannah’s hand. “Anyway. They’d taken her to the bookstore. They always did that. It used to be a family thing, and they all went, but this was a special trip, just the three of them. There weren’t any witnesses so the exact specifics are unknown—Neve was in the car, but she’s blocked most of the night out. But the car crashed. Mr. McKay died instantly but Mrs. McKay … she…” Ella Sue paused and cleared her throat. “She had internal hemorrhaging, other injuries. It took her well over an hour to die. Neve was trapped in the car, forced to watch the whole thing.”

  Hannah curled her hands into fists.

  “It was a terrible time for them.”

  “And you.”

  Ella Sue looked at the younger woman, saw the compassion in Hannah’s dark eyes. “Yes,” she murmured. “And me. They were my family, too. Those kids, I love them like they were my own. It was one of the worst days in my entire life.”

  * * *

  Unable to sit on the bed any longer, Hannah got up.

  Neve wasn’t just some faceless stranger to her. The woman had come by, bringing pajamas and jeans and tops and toiletries with her. She’d also hugged Hannah so hard it hurt, and when Brannon had tried to make her stop, Hannah had hugged her back.

  No, she didn’t remember Neve.

  But she knew her.

  Now, she wore the pajamas Neve had brought and paced, her head full of the images Ella Sue’s words had conjured. Somehow, without even asking, she knew the wreck the older woman had mentioned had been a long time ago. Neve would have been young. Brannon, as well. A teenager maybe.

  “Neve and I … we were friends then?” she asked.

  “No,” Ella Sue said. “That took a while. You ended up in a class in middle school. If I recall correctly, some children were giving you a hard time. You…” Ella Sue paused, pursing her lips. “Well, you were a heavy child, Hannah. You lost weight when you got out of high school, but kids weren’t always nice to you when you were younger. Neve was something of a devil—she saw some girls picking on you and she dove right in. You told her to butt out and mind your own business. You could take care of yourself. So she told you to do it, then. I think you two almost came to blows. Somehow or other, you ended up as friends.”

  Hannah smiled as she thought of the redhead who’d come by twice in the past few days. First, she’d been with Brannon, then by herself. She hadn’t let Hannah’s lack of memories affect her.

  Yeah, Hannah could see the girl wading in like that.

  She went to turn away from the window, a question on her lips. Her gaze landed on the magnolia tree.

  And she froze.

  Somebody was standing there.

  Staring right at her.

  She froze under the impact of that stare, her breath trapped inside her lungs.

  “Hannah?”

  Backing away a couple of steps, she shook her head.

  “Hannah, what’s wrong?”

  Something moved in the corner of her eye and she turned her head, saw Ella Sue coming closer.

  She whipped her head back around, lifting a hand to point.

  But there was nobody there.

  * * *

  “Your name is on the list.”

  Gideon and Deatrick had been forced to take special measures for this particular interview. Sadly, certain people thought they were entitled to special treatment—like senators, for one.

  Senator Henry Roberts might try to pass himself off as one of the people, but he sure as hell hadn’t been interested in coming in for an interview. The only thing that had gotten Gideon and Deatrick through the door was the fact that Gideon had made several not-so-subtle insinuations about the reasons he had to talk to the senator.

  He didn’t live in Treasure but he was known around here. The last time he’d run for office, he’d tried damn hard to get the McKay family to come on board and support him.

  Moira had coolly dismissed him.

  Brannon had flipped him off with a smile.

  That hadn’t exactly made them friends.

  Sadly, he’d ended up in office anyway.

  The senator was practically a caricature of a politician. Perfect suit, neatly knotted red tie with blue stripes, his snow-white hair immaculately groomed. He had a neat white beard as well, and Gideon couldn’t help but think that if he was in a white suit instead of that black one, he’d look like Colonel Sanders.

  “We have absolutely no idea why my client’s name appeared on this list.” The lawyer, a slick-haired, suited-up cretin with the unfortunate name of Lewis Crooks, gave them a smarmy smile. “As the woman is dead, we can’t really ask her, either.”

  “As the woman is dead, we have to ask you about the connection between your client and her,” Deatrick replied.

  The senator made a show of studying his nails while Crooks chuckled. “You can’t really believe my client killed her. Please.” Crooks leaned in, hands linked in front of him. “Senator Roberts is a good man, a dedicated family man with a long history of working for this county and this state. He is known for his philanthropy and his kindness and his—”

  “He’s known for enjoying his cocaine habit and his prostitutes,” Deatric
k said, reaching into the folder and pulling out the photo stills lifted from the video.

  Roberts suddenly lost interest in his manicure.

  As the color drained from his face, his eyes bounced from one picture to another. Him snorting coke from a woman’s overly-ripe breasts. The same woman licking it from his cock. In the final still, the two of them were frozen in a position that left no room for imagination.

  Gideon didn’t look at the images. They’d been burned on his brain and despite his distaste for the man, he had to give the man credit. He was in sixties and could party like a damn rock star.

  As Crooks started to sputter and voice protests, Roberts reached out and picked up one of the pictures.

  After a few seconds, the senator placed it face down and reached over, putting a hand on the lawyer’s arm.

  “I didn’t kill Shayla Hardee,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Senator, don’t say anything.”

  “Please, spare me. You and I both know how this looks.” He shot the lawyer a dark look, then he focused a withering smile on Deatrick and Gideon. “She gave me the video. She claimed it was the only one, but I’m no fool. So I paid her.”

  “Never thought about … eliminating the problem?” Gideon asked when Deatrick flicked him a look.

  “There was no problem.” The senator smiled glibly. “We had a workable arrangement. I paid her and she was satisfied. She never pushed for more and I never missed a payment. She was a vindictive, greedy woman, but she wasn’t completely stupid.”

  Again, the lawyer tried to silence the senator. “I need a moment with my client.”

  “Shove it, Crooks. I’ve got a motive and we all know it.” Then he smiled thinly. “But the good news I have an alibi—and it’s ironclad. I ended up in the hospital the night Ms. Hardee died. I was at a private dinner party—I’ll give you a list of names, if you’ll keep it quiet as to why you’re asking. Somehow, it wasn’t made clear that I have a deadly allergy to shrimp. They had to call an ambulance. I’m told I even stopped breathing for a few seconds en route to the hospital due to the swelling in my throat.”

  Well, shit.

  That pretty much knocked the senator off the list.

  They had only a good thirty people left to go now.

  Who to call next … the sweet lady who ran the B&B? One of the several doctors? Or the county judge?

  * * *

  Outside the large windows, there was a lovely view of the sun setting over the Mississippi. The grounds beyond that sparkling pane of glass were elegantly manicured, and the grass was a stunning shade of green. Flowers chosen for their color and resistance to disease and drought dotted the landscape.

  The stunning scene made little difference to the man inside the house.

  He’d worked damn hard to get where he was and he enjoyed showing off the fruits of his labor, but he rarely took time to enjoy them for himself.

  They were trophies and marks of stature.

  Nothing else.

  Just then, the very walls with the stunning and carefully chosen pieces of art felt like they were closing in around him, threatening to choke him.

  He paced the gleaming hardwood floors, going from hardwood to designer rug and back, his Italian leather shoes striking down with—click, click, click, click, thud, thud, click, click, thud, thud—repeat.

  He’d been pacing for nearly twenty minutes and he had yet to come up with any sort of solution, had yet to burn off the nerves and fear jumbling inside him.

  His wife was on her way to a dinner party, sulking because he’d canceled at the last minute, claiming a work emergency.

  He wasn’t lying, either.

  This was an emergency and he could think of a thousand ways to tie it into his job.

  He wanted to hit something.

  Hurt somebody. But the source of his rage was already dead.

  Shayla Hardee was dead, and with her, his problems should have died. Sadly, he couldn’t count on that as a certainty.

  The one remaining complication was Hannah Parker. Why had she been in Shayla’s car? What had happened? Did she know something? Had she been some sort of partner with Shayla?

  He smoothed a shaking hand down his tie and fought the urge to go to the phone. A few carefully placed phone calls could get him some of the answers he needed. But those phone calls could be tracked. And if anybody realized he was asking questions …

  No.

  It was better to just be careful.

  What little Shayla had on him wasn’t much, paltry in comparison some of the dirt she had on others—and he knew that for a fact, because in order to get her off his back, he’d given her that dirt.

  But he needed information.

  The entire world turned on information and he’d made it this far by dealing in it. People only thought they knew how he’d pulled himself up out of the gutter and gone on to establish himself as a presence—as a force in this part of the state.

  He hadn’t lucked into his position, either, being born into it the way the McKay family had. That had been one thing he’d worked damn hard on, trying to dig up information on them, but unless numerous speeding tickets or frequent business trips out of the country were really fascinating, there wasn’t much to be said about them.

  They might as well be a family of saints. They donated to charity, they paid their taxes. Fucking McKays. They owned half that town, bits and pieces of the state, and had their fingers in all sorts of different pies. Of course, it all looked nice and legal, but could anybody be that clean?

  He didn’t think so. Not that he could prove it.

  But they weren’t the problem. Shayla Hardee was the problem.

  A dead one, he reminded himself.

  It would be fine. Everything would work out.

  For the first time since he’d heard, he felt some of the tension drain away.

  He’d been struggling with the problem of Shayla Hardee for too long and now she was gone. Now all the senator had to worry about was Hannah Parker and whether or not she knew anything.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Home sweet home.”

  Hannah gave Griffin a wan smile.

  He was the one person she could completely relax around. She had real memories of him.

  They were old and distant, murky even, like she was looking at them through a film or a veil, but they were real and solid.

  He been one of her first visitors, and next to Brannon, he was the one at her side the most while she was in the hospital.

  One thing had become crystal clear during those days and it hadn’t been her memories.

  The two men didn’t like each other.

  Hannah was too tired to deal with it and she hadn’t wanted to put up with the testosterone overload, either. Both of them had been in the room as the nurse went over discharge instructions and she’d braced herself for the argument to come when she was asked who’d be taking her home.

  It had come as a surprise when Brannon had ended up coming to her side and brushing a kiss against her brow. “How about I bring you lunch? I can keep you company for a while.”

  She didn’t know who had been more surprised—her or Griffin.

  But she’d appreciated it.

  So Griffin had brought her home, although Brannon had stayed with her right up until he shut the car door, pausing just long enough to brush his fingers down her cheek.

  Now she stood in the middle of her apartment and tried to remember something. Drawn to the small balcony, she moved outside, her gaze straying to one of the buildings across the street. Images rolled through her mind and she could see herself sitting out here. “I liked this spot, didn’t I?”

  She looked over just in time to see Griffin shrug. “Yeah, I think so.” He crooked up a brow at her.

  She had another flash—a man, his face not too dissimilar from Griffin’s, but older, more lined. More tired.

  “You read out here a lot,” Griffin continued, unaware of her distraction.

  “
Do you look like my dad?” she asked softly.

  He came up short, the question catching him by surprise. Rocking back on his heels, he tucked his hands into his pockets and studied her for a minute. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do. He looked a lot like my dad, I know that, and my mom always told me I was the spitting image of him.”

  “They…” She hesitated, almost afraid to ask. “What happened? I mean, they’re both gone, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.” Griffin looked away. “They’re both gone. They died the same day. It was … they were out in the gulf. Had taken the day to go do some deep-sea fishing. Came across a stranded vessel.” He paused, looking back at her. “None of this is ringing a bell, is it?”

  “No.” She flipped at the latch and slipped outside into the heat of the day. Griffin followed. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

  “It’s fine. It was a long time ago. Your dad … well, you should know what happened.” Hannah sat while he leaned against the railing, his gaze on his feet. “It’s been almost twenty years. We were both in third grade. I lived over in Baton Rouge with Mama. You lived here … we saw each other a couple times a month. Our dads, they were close. It didn’t surprise me, really. I mean, not now.”

  He lifted his face up to the sky. “They were good people, both of them. I requested a copy of the report, when I was older. It’s why I became a cop. The FBI never solved it.”

  “FBI?” Her heart lurched to a slow, grinding halt.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It happened out on open waters, in the gulf. The Coast Guard was the first to respond, but they don’t handle investigations or anything. The FBI did all that.”

  He turned away and braced his hands on the railing, the muscles in his back tense. “Not like they had a lot to go on—dead ends everywhere from what I could tell. Only one person to question, unless they missed a shark or two.”

  The grim stab at humor didn’t do anything to lighten to mood.

  After a moment, he looked back at her and the expression on his face was bleak. “That stranded vessel—investigating officers were pretty sure it wasn’t stranded at all. The most concrete info they had was from my dad’s call to the Coast Guard. When they saw the boat, my dad put in a call for assistance—according to that information, he said he thought somebody had been hurt. He saw somebody lying, half over the railing, blood dripping into the water. There were sharks circling. That was what caught their attention. Our dads thought maybe they’d gotten into a fight with some drug runners or something … and they stopped to help.”