by Dawn Brown
“I opened the door,” he continued. “There were two men standing there, one a uniformed police officer and another who introduced himself as Detective…somebody. I can’t remember his name now. I’m not sure it even registered back then. They told me they had bad news and asked if I’d like to sit down. I said to just tell me.” He was quiet for a long moment, lost in his memories. He shook his head, drew a deep breath and resumed his story as if he hadn’t stopped. “The detective explained Christian and Gwen had been murdered. Shot. No one knew Robert had killed them, not yet.
“You wanted to know how I felt? Shocked at first. I didn’t believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. No, the detective assured me, there wasn’t. They were dead. It had been nearly a year since I’d last seen Christian and Julia, and I couldn’t really remember what they looked like. I should have been a better father. He would be alive if I had been.”
Shayne didn’t speak. Rarely did she find herself in a situation where she didn’t know what to say, but sitting before Cal Warren, his voice raw with regret, all she could come up with was, “I’m sorry.”
So small, so feeble, so ineffective.
He cleared his throat. “Do you have everything you need?”
She hated to push him, but she doubted he’d give her this chance again. “Were you surprised when you learned Robert Anderson was the man responsible?”
He tapped his finger on the desk. “I don’t remember feeling anything but furious.”
“At Robert?”
“At Gwen.” His finger bounced in a quick rhythmless staccato against the rich wood. “I was angry at her for marrying the man to force her mother to sever their ties. That’s why she chose him.”
“You don’t believe they fell in love?”
“Good God, no! He was a small-town mechanic and she was a CEO—what could they have possibly had in common?”
He might have had a point. Ian’s less-than-subtle hint his sister had been seeing someone else when she died came to mind. “Was Gwen involved with another man while married to Robert?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. You think I’m a user?” His voice rose, and his fingertip thudded against the desk like dull machine-gun fire. “She was too. When marrying me didn’t get her what she wanted, she went after Robert. He was already married, you know, with a child of his own.”
She did know. While she’d managed to track down Robert’s now-grown son, his ex-wife seemed to have vanished.
“That’s why she let him get her pregnant,” Warren continued. “Otherwise, Gwen wouldn’t have had enough leverage to convince Anderson to leave his wife. Her plan worked too. Robert Anderson was just the kind of man to force Heddi to disown her. But Gwen hadn’t calculated Robert’s reaction when she finally got fed up playing housewife in their hovel in the woods. She hadn’t counted on the man being angry enough to kill.”
“Why would she go through all that trouble to have her mother disown her? Why not refuse to have anything more to do with the woman?”
Warren laughed. “Heddi would never have let Gwen go.”
“She was a grown woman. I doubt Heddra Grey would have had much choice in the matter.”
“The only way to escape Heddi is if she let’s you go. Or death.”
Some family. And this was the woman he’d turned his own daughter over to. Poor Julia. Poor Des. There’d been nowhere else for him to go.
“You’ve heard Robert Anderson is free now—how do you feel about that?” she asked.
“I can’t put what I feel about him into words. I lie awake for hours, thinking of how I could get back at the man. Prison isn’t punishment enough. I want him to hurt. But how do you hurt a man like him? How do you strike out at a man who tried to murder his own son?”
Chapter Seven
“Robert Anderson’s arrest rocked the small community of Dark Water. While the family kept to themselves, neighbors refused to believe a loving husband and father could commit such an atrocious crime—until he confessed.”
—excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds
What did Heddi have planned for Shayne?
Unease wrapped around Des like an icy shroud. He leaned forward, propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His heavy lids drooped in an extended blink until he forced his eyes open, trying to concentrate on the computer screen before him. He’d popped a couple of ibuprofen after leaving Heddi’s so most of the achiness and nausea had gone, but he was exhausted from having missed a night’s sleep.
After walking out on his grandmother, any hope for a few hours’ sleep was dashed once he got a look at the time. He had to be at work before nine. He manned the office on Sundays in case of walk-ins, for all the good it did him. Rarely was anyone off the street seriously interested in a house. Most were tire-kickers, looking to while away their Sunday afternoon.
He’d tried phoning Ian to see if his uncle would work for him, but, as usual, Ian wasn’t answering his cell. Des didn’t dare call Ian’s home. He wasn’t up to one of his aunt’s interrogations today—not that he ever was.
With a sigh, Des glanced at the clock. Two o’clock. In two hours he could finally close up, go home and get some sleep.
What about Shayne?
What about her? Heddi’s schemes had nothing to do with him. He didn’t want Shayne writing that book. If Heddi chased her off, he should be grateful.
He lowered his head to the edge of the desk, wincing from the pressure the movement put on his bruised ribs. Maybe he could close his eyes and get a few hours of sleep. He doubted anyone would come in today, anyway.
Instead, his thoughts kept returning to Shayne. What had he been thinking, kissing her? Entertaining the idea of something more, even briefly? Too many blows to his skull, obviously.
He should warn her, at least. But warn her about what? He didn’t know Heddi’s plans, except for the role she wanted him to play. With a groan, he forced himself upright. He could at least give Shayne a heads-up, let her know Heddi was dangerous.
Whatever Shayne decided to do afterward was her business. Guilt somewhat appeased. He glanced at the clock. One hour and forty minutes to go.
The chime above the front door rang, announcing a customer. Des sank lower in his chair. Crap. He wanted to deal with people like he wanted another run-in with Tic.
“Des?” Ian called.
Oh, thank God. Maybe he could get out of there early, after all. He pushed back from the desk, hauled himself up, then shuffled out to the lobby. Ian stood at Heather’s desk, flipping through a pile of papers.
“What are you doing?” Des asked.
Ian didn’t look up from what he was reading. “I saw that you called.”
Yeah, five hours ago. No point in asking where he’d been. Des didn’t want to know. “I wanted you to work for me today.”
“Why?” Ian glanced at him, then did a double take. “What in the hell happened to you?”
“That bad?”
“You look like you were in an accident. Sit down.” Ian dropped what he’d been reading back onto the desk and ushered Des into one of the lobby chairs near the door. “What happened?”
“I had a run-in with Tic last night.”
Ian let out a string of curses. “This has to stop. Did you go to the police?”
“Yeah, right. Going to the police is what landed me on Tic’s radar to begin with.”
“You have to do something.”
“I’m hoping he’ll eventually get bored and forget about me.”
“And if he kills you in the meantime?”
Des leaned back and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’m that lucky.”
“Not funny.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” Des cracked an eye and looked up into his uncle’s worried face. “Would you mind if I went home?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Ian opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He jammed his hands into his pockets, shifting from one foot to
the other.
“What is it?” Apprehension uncoiled in Des’s belly.
“There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I understand you rented a house to that woman writing about Gwen and your father.”
“Robert,” Des corrected on reflex. “So?”
Ian folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on Heather’s desk. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I would think that you of all people would want that woman as far from Dark Water as possible.”
Des stiffened, sending a fresh wave of pain rolling up his side. Was Ian here to give him a gentle push toward Heddi’s crazy scheme? Aside from Julia, Ian was the only other person in his family he remotely cared about.
Growing up, his uncle had done what he could to protect Des from Heddi’s nearly pathological fury. But strength of character had never been Ian’s strong suit, and like everyone else connected to Heddi, he was only willing to push so hard, risk so much. Despite the man’s willingness to help Des, if Heddi wanted Ian to convince him to fall in line, Ian would do as he was told.
“I don’t care what she does, so long as she stays away from Julia,” Des told him, pretending indifference.
“That woman is dangerous, stirring things up.”
“Anderson confessed,” Des said, his head starting to pound again. He hated talking about the man. His father. “How much damage can Shay…she really do?”
Ian stared at him, frowning. Damn. Had his uncle heard his near slip? That’s all he needed, for Heddi to realize he and Shayne were…were what?
Nothing. You’re nothing to each other. She found you stranded at the side of the road and gave you a lift. That’s it. She would have done the same for anyone. Warn her about Heddi, pay Shayne back for helping you last night, then forget she ever existed. Easy.
Or it should have been, but the memory of her mouth on his had stayed with him all day. Still, the less he had to do with her, the better off he’d be—her too. Look how his family was trying to manipulate him, and all they knew was he’d rented her a house. What would they be like if they knew he was interested in her?
“I wish I were as confident as you, but I knew your mother, and she was no saint,” Ian said. “Have you thought about what this book could do to your sister? She’s spent the past twenty-five years running from that night. What will happen if she has to face it?”
“Do you honestly think I haven’t considered Julia’s reaction?” Hell, he’d be the one who’d have to put her back together in the aftermath.
“Did she ever tell you anything about that night?”
Des shook his head. “Never.”
Ian sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I suppose her being out of the country is almost a blessing.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about Shayne or Julia anymore. It was like shining a spotlight on his lose-lose situation. No matter whose side he came down on, he was betraying one of them. “Can you finish here for me?”
Ian smiled. “Of course. Go home and get some rest. And, for God’s sake, stay away from Tic.”
“It’s not like I go looking for the man,” Des muttered as he stood. His muscles had stiffened while he’d been sitting, and now they hurt. He probably needed more ibuprofen.
Going home and resting sounded good, but first he needed to make a stop. He still had to warn Shayne about Heddi. Then they’d be even.
The sun had sunk behind the trees, leaving the sky streaked with shades of turquoise and indigo and the woods dark by the time Shayne turned up the dirt drive toward the cabin. She’d stayed in the city longer than she’d initially planned, hoping to track down Robert Anderson. Between his envelope and the possibility Gwen had been involved with another man, she had to talk to him.
Who had the man been? What had happened to him? Did Robert know? With Anderson’s trying to convince her he’d been innocent, the odds of his admitting he’d known about the affair weren’t good, but from what she’d seen, Robert Anderson wasn’t a man who hid his emotions easily. If she introduced the possibility, she might be able to get an idea of how close to the mark she’d hit based on his reaction. And if she pushed a little, maybe she could even get the man talking.
A fine plan, except Anderson still hadn’t bothered to return any of her calls. She’d even contacted Anderson’s lawyer, hoping he might be able to set up another interview, but no such luck. She’d had no choice but to start back to Dark Water.
Still, she wasn’t ready to give up yet. She’d keep trying.
Shayne emerged into the clearing in front of the cabin and frowned. Light seeped from the gap between the drapes. Unease prickled her skin. Had she left the lamp on in the living room? Maybe. She’d been tired and distracted when she’d left.
She stopped the car and cut the engine, before climbing out and hoisting her bag over her shoulder. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves, lifting the ends of her hair, and a chill gripped her belly. Who would she find this time? Tic and his rifle? Hudson?
Cut it out, you could have left the light on. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Still, her pulse fluttered in her throat as she started toward the cabin. Instead of going to the door, she made her way to the front window and peered through the glass. The foot-wide gap between the heavy curtains gave her a clear view of the sitting room and a man standing next to the table she’d converted into a desk, reading the notes she’d left there.
For an instant, her heart ceased to beat. Her breath locked in her lungs. The man turned slightly, revealing his profile. Straight nose, high cheekbones and a mouth she’d spent entirely too much time thinking about today.
Des.
She let out a shuddering breath and waited for her heart palpitations to stop. Son of a bitch. Bad enough he’d let himself into her home while she wasn’t there, but to be reading her work…
She took the steps to the front deck two at a time and slammed the front door open.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing…?” The words died on her lips as Des turned to face her, tape recorder in hand, Robert Anderson’s tinny voice emanating from the speaker.
Des hit Stop and cut his father off midsentence. “You spoke to him?”
She stood rooted to the spot. “That’s right.”
He nodded, but didn’t speak. His bruises stood out against his too-pale skin.
“I didn’t see your car out front,” she ventured.
“I parked around back, so no one would see it from the road.”
A thin pang pierced her chest. Of course, he wouldn’t want his family to know he was here. They would probably see any contact with her as disloyal, a betrayal.
“How can you talk to him?” Des asked, his voice thick with disgust.
“It’s part of the process. I interview the perpetrators as well as the victim’s family.”
“Even if everything out of the man’s mouth is complete bullshit? He’s saying he didn’t do it,” he ground out, as though each word was torn from his throat.
She took a step toward him. “Des—”
His eyes flashed. “But that’s probably great for you, right? Innocent man wrongly imprisoned for all those years. Think of the sales.”
Shayne recoiled as if slapped and a shaft of dark delight filled Des. He tightened his grip on the tape recorder, struggling against the urge to crush the plastic in his white-knuckled fist. Smash the thing against the wall.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
Fair? She wanted to talk about fair? Robert Anderson was a free man now, had been for months. The mere thought of Anderson out there, living his life, while he and Julia served their own life sentences—hers a mission of self-destruction with suicide attempts and addiction, and his the futile fight to save her—ate at him with jagged teeth.
He set down the tape recorder and snorted. “Few things are.”
“No matter what your father claims—”
“Anderson,” he corrected.
She nodded. “No matter what he
claims, I derive my information from the evidence. There’s no proof he didn’t do it. And why would anyone confess to a crime like that, serve a twenty-five-year sentence if they didn’t do it?”
Des turned away from her. Away from the wary compassion in her voice. The pity in her eyes.
Served him right, really. This is what he got for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. He’d come here to warn her about Heddi, but her notes scattered over the table had been too great a lure. He couldn’t resist flipping through them, anymore than he could resist the audiotape with his father’s name scribbled across the label.
As he’d slipped the cassette into the player, two sides of his brain screamed out. One wanted desperately to know something of the man who had altered his life so severely, a man he had no memory of, a man he could pass on the street and not recognize. The other had been repelled by such curiosity.
“Did you want to finish listening to the tape?” Shayne’s voice cut the mind-numbing fury pumping through him.
He shook his head. “No.”
He wanted to take a hammer and smash the cassette and any other evidence his father existed. To never speak the man’s name again. Though he suspected the sound of Anderson’s voice would haunt the inner recesses of his mind for years to come. He wanted to get in his car and drive as far from Shayne, his father and Dark Water as possible. But he couldn’t. Not while Heddi held his sister’s life in her bony grip.
Besides, he still needed to warn Shayne. After that, he would never need to see her again. Listening to his father’s voice had driven home the reality of the situation, evaporating whatever interest he’d had in her.
He opened his mouth to tell her about Heddi, but instead asked, “What did you want from me for your book?”
The concern in her face dissolved, wariness taking its place. She should be wary. The hate and shame and fury writhing inside him needed an outlet.
Maybe Heddi was right. Maybe he was like his father.
“I wanted to ask what you remembered. What you’d been told happened. Your feelings about your father. What life has been like as a survivor.” Her tone was soft, careful.