by Jen Talty
He ran his hand across his face, then through his jet-black hair. “I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here.”
“And I shouldn’t be talking to you about anything without a lawyer.” She looked directly into his stubborn, dark eyes. “Do you honestly believe I could kill my father?”
“Not intentionally.”
Anger surged through her blood, but before she could leap from the couch, he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”
“I want to help you.”
“By accusing me of something I didn’t do?” She yanked her arm free of his grasp and stood, pain rippling down her back. She did her best not show it. “I should’ve known. You’ve always held me responsible for what happened.”
“Damn it!” His fist smacked the pillow, and he bolted upright. “I’m a cop. It’s my job to find out what happened to your father. A job I take very seriously, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still my wife.”
“I haven’t been your wife for a long time. And you never loved me anyway.” A thick lump formed in her throat. Her own father had offered her husband money to divorce her, and her husband had taken the bribe. That was proof enough for her.
“Touché.” He turned, uttering a few choice curses as he stormed the five paces to the kitchen, and then ducked his head into the refrigerator. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw the check.” She swallowed. “You took my father’s money and never looked back.”
A swishing noise filled the room when he opened a soda can. She couldn’t take her eyes off him while he gulped down his drink. The pain in her chest thumped with every beat of her heart as he took small steps until he stood right in front of her.
“I never took a dime from your father.” He narrowed his stare. “And, I might add, you’re the one who filed for divorce.”
“Can you deny you had the check?” she asked.
“No.” He chugged his soda, then slammed it on the coffee table.
“Then you took my father’s money.” She folded her arms across her middle.
“I ripped it up when he had the audacity to blame me for our son’s death.”
“Deslin,” she spoke his name softly. Her pulse flared, and her hands trembled. No matter how much time had passed, the pain never subsided. Unable to carry her own weight, she sat down. “You blame me for Deslin’s death.”
“And you blame me.” The hardness in his face matched the tone of his voice.
No point in arguing. Nothing had changed. Even if Blaine had never cashed the check, her father had given it to him and he’d contemplated it. And their son was still dead.
A roll of thunder rumbled outside. Lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the room for one brief second. The rain began to fall so heavily that it sounded like deer running across the roof.
“We both hurt,” he whispered. “But you walked away without a word.”
For years, she’d dealt with the pain of losing her only son in a silent hell. “This has nothing to do with my father’s death.” She stretched, letting out a good fake yawn. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help her present situation, and it had nothing to do with her future. If she had one. She needed to get out of this mess and get out of town…fast.
He appeared to study her before standing. “You can take the bed,” he offered.
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” She slapped the cushion. “And only for tonight.”
“You can’t go to the house until we clear it.”
“I’ll stay at the motel in town.”
“No.” He glanced at his watch, dismissing her. “I’ve got to be at work early.”
“But didn’t you just work half the night?” She blinked, trying to ignore the soft caress of his hand on her back as he led her toward the stairs.
“I’m on call every second I’m not on duty.” He gave her a nudge toward the few steps that lead to the loft-style bedroom and then pulled his hand away.
She followed him up the five short steps into his bedroom. When they had first married, she had complained they didn’t have a bedroom and had to sleep in the middle of the family room, so he’d raised the roof and built the loft. She glanced at his strong hands. Back then she thought he could do anything. The memories bombarding her mind confused her.
She took a deep breath, filling her nostrils with a fresh pine scent. “I hate incense.” Actually, she missed it. She missed him and that made no sense. She glanced around the loft. An Indian painting hung over the same wood bed that had been their bed, but thankfully he’d gotten a new maroon bedspread.
“It’s not incense.”
“It’s stuff that smells.” She shifted her gaze toward the small window overlooking the yard. This was all too familiar and shouldn’t make her feel like she’d just come home.
She had no home.
“It helps with my headaches.”
“You still get them?” She took the T-shirt he was offering. Those so-called headaches could cripple him. She ran her fingers across his forehead like she’d done a million times before. His skin was still soft, but this time he furrowed his brow and took a step back.
“I’ve actually gone to see a real doctor about them. He put me on some beta blocker thing.”
“Is it working?”
“I’ll take the fifth.” He gave her a slight smile before his face turned serious as he cupped her chin. “I have a job to do. You might not like some things I say, but know one thing.” He tightened his grip. “I don’t believe you could kill anything, much less your father.”
The following morning, Blaine stepped out onto the small porch overlooking the backyard. Spring was still struggling to break through the dense chill of winter. A crisp breeze ruffled his hair across his face. Setting the coffee mug aside, he dug into his jeans pocket and took out a ponytail holder.
The cold air felt good against his bare chest as he pulled his hair through the elastic. He tilted his head toward the wind and took a deep breath of the great outdoors.
“You’re going to catch a cold, young man,” his mother’s voice called from below.
“Old wives’ tale.” He turned. His mother stood on the back patio of the main house. Five years ago, he’d moved back after his father died in a freak car crash. It had been a temporary situation, until he could find a job, since he’d been put on suspension from the last one. When Dave offered him the Assistant Chief’s position, he really didn’t have a choice. No one else would hire him.
“Well, you’re going to give Mrs. Jennskin a heart attack. Not sure if she’s seen a half-naked man in years.”
“She sees me every morning.” He blew into his coffee and then took a sip. “I do this just for her benefit.”
“You’re too conceited for your own good.” She tugged at her robe. “Now get a shirt on, and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
“Anything interesting in the morning news?”
His mother nodded and then waved him down.
He’d bet his next month’s paycheck that in a million years, his mother wouldn’t think he’d bring Kaylee home. Boy, was his mother in for the shock of a lifetime.
After he put his T-shirt on, he taped a note to the refrigerator telling Kaylee to call him as soon as she got up, and then he headed down to join his mother.
“Did you see her?” his mom asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
“I did.” Not much had changed between him and Kaylee. They still blamed each other for things beyond their control, and sparks still flew like it was Independence Day. “Can I eat first?” He sat down at the table where a large plate of bacon and eggs waited for him. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Yeah, well, thank me by telling me what on God’s green earth happened. And how is poor Kaylee?”
“The ME’s report isn’t back yet, but I think it’s safe to say Rutherford was murdered.” He shoved some eggs into his mouth, not really tasting the food. The rumor mill in a small town would twist this thing right into a tornad
o, hurling Kaylee at every turn.
“That poor child. She’s been through so much.”
“She thinks I took Rutherford’s money,” he said, glancing toward his mother.
She shook her head. “And she thinks you ran off.”
“Excuse me?” He set his fork down. “Why would she think that?”
“Isn’t that what you did?” She lowered her chin, giving him her best evil eye.
“Mom, what are you keeping from me?”
“I called you, and called you, and tried to talk to you about Kaylee, but you always hung up on me.”
“Because you didn’t get it. She left me. Never even said goodbye. Just up and left.”
“I’ll give you that.” Shima sat down next to him and touched his hand. “But she came back.”
“Come again?” He arched a brow.
“A few days after you left, she returned. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
Blaine blinked. He wondered if maybe he’d taken up sleepwalking or something, because he couldn’t believe his ears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re such a stubborn fool. I told you to come home and deal with her before making any rash decisions, but you didn’t listen.”
Blaine stuffed his mouth again and tried to swallow his damn pride along with his food. He remembered that conversation and a thousand more like it. He ended up giving his own mother the cold shoulder, not answering her phone calls for about a month. The last time they’d talked about Kaylee, he’d told his mother if she wanted him to stay in touch, she’d never bring up Kaylee’s name again. His mother had kept her end of the bargain.
“What about Dad? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You know he adored Kaylee.” His mother stood and gathered the plates.
“But he hated Rutherford,” Blaine muttered.
“Your father never hated anyone, but he knew how Rutherford operated and worried about you going off half-cocked.”
“Rutherford didn’t think I was good enough for Kaylee.” Blaine stood and helped his mother with the dishes. He doubted his heritage had anything to do with why Rutherford disliked him so much. Rutherford Mead didn’t like many people, and treated those who worked for him like they were the armpits of the earth.
“She was his little girl, and you were—”
“The Native American bad boy corrupting her.”
“That’s not true,” his mother scolded. “No one would have been good enough for that man.”
“Especially the son of the man he’d hired only to fill his quota of minorities.”
She tugged at his ponytail. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Now, I have to get ready for my day with bright, young, walking puddles of hormones.”
“Can I take the extra eggs and bacon to Kaylee?”
His mother whipped her head around. “She’s here?”
“She couldn’t go back into the house; it’s a crime scene. And I couldn’t let her stay in a motel all by herself.”
“I least I know I raised a gentleman.”
He nodded. “I’ll just take this up to her, and then I’ve got to get to work.”
“Tell her where the key to the house is, and she can make herself at home.”
“I doubt she will, but thanks.” Taking his mother by the hand, he bent over and kissed her forehead. “It’s supposed to be my day off, but this murder might have me working day and night.”
Blaine stepped out of his mother’s home and glanced toward the garage apartment. He still had a lot to learn about where and why Kaylee took off all those years ago, but how was he supposed to know she’d come back? She’d never tried to contact him until she filed for divorce. She’d never loved him. They’d married only because she’d been pregnant. Something he should’ve accepted ten years ago. Something he planned on doing right now.
Kaylee had tossed and turned most of the night and only partly because of the pain in her back. Every time she’d closed her eyes, she’d seen her father, lifeless on the foyer floor.
She heard a noise downstairs, and the smell of bacon filled the room. She sat up and tugged the handmade afghan aside. Blaine hated to cook, but he loved bacon. She padded to the railing that looked over the family room.
“Glad you’re awake,” he called. “My mom made breakfast.”
“Your mother knows I’m here?” She swallowed. The last conversation she’d had with his mother hadn’t gone too well. Shima had given her a piece of her mind about running off, and then told her if she really loved Blaine, she’d give him some peace. Kaylee took that as, ‘get the hell out of my son’s life.’
Kaylee climbed down the short flight of stairs to the family room. “Thanks, that smells great.” She brushed her hair behind her shoulders.
“And here’s the hot chocolate you didn’t get last night. With marshmallows.” He handed her a mug of cocoa with two large marshmallows floating in the steaming liquid.
“Hmmm.” The steam floated up, warming her face. She stuck her finger in the cup, dunking the marshmallow. “My favorite.”
“I remember,” he said softly.
“May I ask you a question?”
He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter. His eyes appeared softer than they had last night. “Sure.”
“When did my father give you that check?”
“He never gave it to me. It just appeared in my coat pocket the day of the funeral.” He continued to stare at her with unnerving calm.
She dropped her gaze to the mug. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know his version of the truth. “When did you find it?”
He leaned a little closer and whispered in her ear, “After you left.” His tone was cruel and unforgiving. “My turn.”
“For what?”
“For some answers.”
He took the mug and set it aside, pinning her against the counter by his long, ripped body. He didn’t touch her, but his arms were on either side of her and his glorious mouth just inches from hers. She took a long, slow breath.
“Why didn’t you try to find me when you came back?” he asked.
“So, your mother did tell you,” she said.
“I just found out this morning you had come back. Why didn’t you try to find me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Nope,” he said.
She searched his face for any hint of what he might be thinking or feeling, but she only got a contradiction. His eyes conveyed something sensitive, but his stiff expression and rigid body indicated anger. “You left. You swore you’d never leave this place, but you did. I think that said it all.”
He pushed back and crossed his arms across his broad chest. “I guess so, since you filed for divorce shortly after.”
“You made it very clear how you felt when you quit your job and left town,” she said.
“I just responded to you leaving first.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Can we just agree we left each other and leave it at that?”
He had the nerve to shrug. Like their marriage had meant less than the paper it had been written on. “Sure.”
She reached for the mug, but her muscles cramped. She tried to fight the pain, but the cramping tightened more. Without the muscle relaxants, she was at the mercy of constant pain. She crumpled forward, and hot chocolate splattered out on her hands as pain shot up her spine like a knife ripping through her skin.
“What the…?” He was at her side in seconds, lifting the mug from her shaking hand. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just a stiff back.” She knotted her fist and started rubbing her lower back, easing the muscle cramps.
“Let me.”
“No.” She pulled away when he tried to lift her shirt.
“You’re obviously in pain. Let me help.” Warm pressure from his fingers glided across one of her scars.
“I don’t want your help,” she snapped.
“Holy shit, Kaylee,” he muttered, lifting up her shirt. �
��What the hell happened?”
His fingers traced a gentle path across each of her scars. Tears stung her cheeks as she pulled the fabric back down and turned. She met his questioning gaze. “Please, not now.”
“Those look like…”
“I know what they look like, and I don’t want to talk about it.” She forced her body upright. “I need to get out of here.”
“Until I know exactly what happened to your father, you’re not going anywhere.” He snagged his keys off the counter.
“You can’t make me stay here.”
“Yes, I can.” He glared at her. “Don’t leave this house. I’ll get all your things sent over within the hour,” he said. “Don’t make me arrest you.” He slammed the door, knocking the picture of some Indian Drum off the wall.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, but deep down she knew he’d do it. Arching her back, she could still feel the cold metal stab into her muscles over and over again. Was it possible that the same man who had been hired to kill her just a few short months ago had successfully killed her father? If that were the case, Kaylee’s ex-fiancé would be back soon to finish the job.
3
Kaylee stood in the middle of Blaine’s family room and had no idea what to do. He’d brought her car back, along with all her things, but then took her car to the station. He didn’t trust her, but hell, she was going to run. She had no choice.
She rummaged through her bag and grabbed her muscle relaxants. If she didn’t get back on her regular routine, God only knew what would happen. In the hospital, she’d been afraid she would never walk again. Now she wondered if she’d ever go a day without pain.
She padded to the kitchen, got herself a glass of water, and glanced around. While the apartment felt homey, it didn’t really look lived in. It was decorated with nice paintings and furniture, but nothing personal. No pictures of family or friends lined the walls or mantel.
She snagged her cell and stared at it. She’d gotten one of those prepaid cell phones to help her feel safe. Like she could call someone if she needed to. But she half expected Nino to be texting and calling the new number. But there was no text. No unmissed phone call. Nino didn’t just give up. She wondered how long she had and what she should tell Blaine. As an officer of the law, he’d have to protect her, but what would he do with her when he discovered what she’d done?