He made himself walk away. “Good night. Let me know if you need anything.”
She smiled. “Good night.” He was halfway down the stairs when she called, “Jason.”
He turned.
“Thank you.”
She disappeared into the bathroom before he could respond.
Bryce walked into Jeter’s. It was late enough that most of the families had cleared out. The arcade was filled with lame high school freshmen. But the pool tables in the back were occupied by beer-drinking adults.
It felt good to bypass the arcade and head to the pool table where Toby was chalking his cue. Bryce hoped some of the little dorks in the arcade noticed the company he was keeping and spread it around school. Could increase his cool factor exponentially.
Toby lifted his chin in greeting. “Thought you might not make it.”
“Had some stuff to do.” Part of that stuff had been feeding his little sister dinner and tracking down his mother.
She’d finally answered her cell on his third call. She had some story about meeting an old friend for coffee and losing track of time. He’d wondered if that old friend’s name was Smirnoff. But she’d seemed stone sober when she arrived home. Weird, but sober.
So weird that he’d hung around the house for a while. She’d been fidgety and seemed anxious for him to leave. He’d wondered if it had anything to do with the news that they were looking for a third car in Kyle Robard’s accident.
He’d screwed up his courage and asked her flat out if she had anything to do with Kyle Robard’s death. Swear to God, at the mention of Kyle’s name she’d turned as white as death… and then she’d denied it.
He hoped to hell she got better at it before it counted.
He’d been physically ill by the time he’d left the house. He’d also been way behind schedule.
Bryce grabbed a cue as Toby racked the balls.
Some guy at the next table was talking really loud. Something about Kyle Robard’s accident.
Bryce glanced at him. It was the guy who’d come to their house asking about the funeral—and where they’d been on the night of the accident. Trowbridge.
What if it all came out here, now, in front of Toby and half the town?
Bryce mumbled to Toby, “Somebody needs to tell that guy to shut up.”
Toby glanced over. “He’s pretty ripped. Don’t think it’s going to be me.”
Trowbridge was about a hundred-and-fifty percent muscle.
Panic grabbed Bryce’s gut, but he couldn’t see a way to stop the train wreck.
Then he thought, if they knew… if they knew for sure, his mom would be in jail right now.
She wasn’t.
This was his opportunity to hear what the police were thinking. His stomach crawled up his throat as he listened.
“Trowbridge, you’re full of shit,” the guy with the deputy said. “They wouldn’t let you have the senator’s kid’s case.”
Both men looked to be well into a good drunk.
“No, man,” Trowbridge said. “I got the call, so it’s my case—and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Senator’ll owe me big time. There are footprints all over out there that don’t add up. That chick that hit the kid says she doesn’t remember—like nobody’s used that line before. But I’ll get her to tell me.”
Bryce was breaking the balls and missed entirely.
Toby laughed. “Thought you said you’d played pool before.”
The guys at the next table changed their topic to some girl’s ass across the room. And before Bryce and Toby’s game was finished, Trowbridge and his buddy left the table and went to the bar.
Bryce totally screwed his game because of the anger boiling under his skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about Abby Whitman and the many ways she was fucking up his life.
Abby crawled into bed certain that no matter how tired she was she wouldn’t be able to sleep—and not just because of her fear of sleepwalking. The look on Jason’s face as he’d left her to go downstairs had haunted every breath since. She could swear she could still taste his kiss, even though it had been hours ago.
But she soon relaxed, soothed by the security of his nearness.
As sleep quickly claimed her, she realized for the first time in her memory she’d relinquished control, and it felt so very right.
Just as Jason was heading up to bed at eleven, he heard Abby’s cell phone ring in her purse. He only debated for an instant before he reached in the side pouch and pulled it out. If it was her father needing assistance, it couldn’t be ignored.
The ID screen said it was Courtney.
Jason’s finger hovered over the green button. His curiosity made him press it. As he did, he rationalized that it could still be a family emergency.
“Hello, this is Abby’s phone.”
“Who is this?” Courtney’s voice was rough, as if her vocal cords had been slightly damaged. It made Jason’s skin prickle; even from a distance Courtney could torture her sister without even meaning to.
“This is Dr. Coble. Abby’s sleeping. Can I take a message?”
“Oh my God, is Dad all right? She was supposed to call me!”
He wondered if she knew Abby had been in an accident. He doubted it. Abby was so protective of her family, sparing them unnecessary upset. And it hadn’t made the national news. “Mr. Whitman is fine. I’ll have Abby call you in the morning.”
“Why are you…” she paused. “This is why she’s making Dad see you; you’re sleeping with her!”
“No, I’m not.” Her tone had hit his hot button and it took an effort to keep his voice neutral. “And I’ve referred your father to another doctor.”
“What are you doing there if she’s sleeping, then?” She sounded like a jealous lover.
What the hell difference did it make if he was sleeping with her sister? Abby was a grown woman.
Even in this short conversation Jason figured out a few things about Courtney. The first being that she was resentful of anything that gave her sister happiness.
He decided to let her stew in her own jealousy. “I’ll let Abby explain it all to you tomorrow.”
“You’d better sleep with one eye open—”
Jason disconnected the call before he said anything he’d regret. Good God, that woman needed psychological help. He had no doubt she lorded Abby’s guilt over her at every opportunity.
He’d seen cases like this. Traumatized children whose well-meaning families had only exacerbated the situation by doing what they thought was protecting them.
He gritted his teeth. Had anyone ever given consideration to what that was doing to Abby?
When Bryce and Toby left Jeter’s at eleven-thirty, they took Bryce’s car.
“Dude, something’s got you pissed,” Toby said.
Bryce was too angry to keep it in any longer. But he couldn’t tell the complete truth. “My parents are divorced. I think they could get back together. Except my dad’s getting all messed up with this woman.”
“Bummer. Who is she?”
“Abby Whitman. She’s using that accident she was in as a reason to hang all over him. Dad feels he’s gotta save her.”
Toby was quiet for a minute. When Bryce looked over at him, he had a weird kind of smile on his face.
Finally Toby said, “How about we stop by the liquor store and get something to help you chill?”
Bryce hesitated. He couldn’t get caught. Not now.
But he didn’t want to look lame in front of Toby. They’d just started hanging out. Toby understood stuff. Bryce’s high school friends didn’t have anything to worry about except passing U.S. History and who they were going to take to the prom.
Maybe a drink would stop this feeling like he was coming out of his skin. He could handle a little alcohol. He wasn’t his mother.
“Sure,” he said.
Bryce parked on the street, around the corner from the liquor store. He tried to give Toby some cash, but Toby refused to take it. Bryce sank
low in the seat and watched for familiar cars while he waited for Toby to come back out. All he needed was to get caught. Then he’d lose his car and wouldn’t be able to fix anything.
Toby reappeared with a brown paper bag and got in the passenger seat. “I’d say we could go to my grandmother’s, but she gets all bitchy when everybody’s not over twenty-one. But I’ve got another place in mind.”
“Okay. I need to swing by my house first, check on my sister.”
“Is she hot?”
Bryce shot him a disgusted look. “She’s seven.”
A few minutes later, Bryce turned onto his street. “Fuck.”
“What?” Toby asked, quickly tucking the bag with the booze under the seat.
“My dad’s car’s still here. He was supposed to come and pick it up.”
“So?”
Bryce pulled in the driveway. His mom’s car was in the garage where it belonged. “I’ll be right back.”
Toby nodded.
His mom was in her bedroom with the television on. She’d fallen asleep with the remote in her hand. Bryce tiptoed over and gently pulled it from her grasp, smelling her exhaled breath as he did. He caught a whiff of alcohol.
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Glad you’re home safe.” Then she turned over and closed her eyes. At least she wasn’t passed out cold.
He clicked off the TV. Then he checked on Bren.
Watching his sister sleep, he got all worked up again. Both his mom and Jason seemed to be making a royal effort to screw him and Bren over. Didn’t they know how sad Bren was? Didn’t they care?
He locked the house and went back to his car.
“You good?” Toby asked.
“Yeah. I wanna check one other thing.”
“It’s your party.”
Bryce drove to Jason’s. The lights in his house were all off. Abby Whitman’s car sat in the drive. Bryce slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Goddammit.”
“That her car?” Toby asked.
Bryce nodded.
Toby shook his head. “Not good, man.”
Bryce gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. Not good at all.
CHAPTER 16
An hour after he’d gotten into bed, Jason still lay sleepless, thinking of Abby just a few feet away. It had blindsided him how quickly he’d become emotionally involved with her. Up until now, he’d not even considered the possibility of another woman in his life, even in a casual dating capacity. But what he had for Abby wasn’t a casual date kind of feeling.
He’d been drawn to her the day in St. Andrew’s. He’d been so impressed with her kind and pragmatic interaction with Maggie. Although he’d initially been looking for a way to avoid waiting with Lucy and her family, that intent had been quickly forgotten when Abby had turned around and looked at him with those bourbon-colored eyes.
He’d felt as if he’d taken a step into an elevator shaft, sans elevator. Even recalling that feeling made him feel foolish and adolescent—grown men living in reality didn’t react like that. But he couldn’t deny it, and truthfully he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It had made him realize he was still alive, not the walking, talking shadow man he’d been for the past couple of years.
Those hours at Jeter’s had given him a glimpse at some very appealing possibilities.
When he’d seen her in the hospital lobby, bruised and battered, it had been a kick in the gut. And he’d responded in a very un-Jason-like way; dumping his colleague and getting personally involved in solving her problem.
Then tonight when they’d found her place broken into and that threat on the mirror, he—a man of control and logic—had been as close as he’d ever come to putting his fist through a wall.
He was on a slippery slope for certain. And there were a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t allow himself to slide any further.
The fact that he was lying here with a hard-on just thinking about her said he was failing miserably in gaining a handhold to stop his freefall.
There was a loud thump in the room next door that made him sit bolt-upright in bed. He listened intently for a sound of movement.
A soft rustle was followed by a footfall on the carpet.
He quickly got out of bed and went to the dark hall. There was no light shining beneath Abby’s door.
Should he knock? What if she was just going to the bathroom? He felt a little like a stalker hovering near her bedroom door like this.
He heard a drawer slide open.
“Abby?” he whispered. If she was awake she should hear him.
No response.
If she was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her. The instant he opened the door to check on her, the alarm would go off.
He waited. And listened.
More rustling.
And then the door swung open and the alarm wailed.
Abby started to run, bumping into him on her second step.
He wrapped his arms around her and called her name. At first she struggled, then her eyes seemed to focus and she blinked. “Oh!”
Moving forward with her in a bear hug, Jason reached up and shut off the alarm.
He smiled down at her. “See, I told you I’d hear you the second you set foot on the floor.” He didn’t admit that he’d been lying there awake thinking of her.
She didn’t look comforted in the least. She pushed herself away from him. Her gaze traveled down to where she’d certainly felt his arousal, but she quickly caught herself and snapped her gaze up to his face.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” she said.
He tried to make light of her sleepwalking by pretending he misunderstood her comment. “Hey, a guy can’t be held responsible for what his body does while he’s asleep.”
She did not look amused. “You know that’s not what I meant.” She was trembling.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look at it this way. You can sleep easy knowing I’ll hear you if you go sleepwalking. This was a great test run. Go back to bed and go to sleep.” He took a step backward, into the hall.
Closing her eyes, she shook her head and gave a sound of exasperation. Then she closed the door in his face. He heard the alarm switch back on.
“Good night,” he called through the door.
He didn’t get a response.
For the next forty minutes, he lay on his back, studying the ceiling, listening to her soft footsteps as she paced in Bren’s room.
He had to keep his priorities straight. What Abby needed from him right now was support and protection. She did not need to worry about him having sexual fantasies about her while she slept in the next room.
And after this mess was behind them? He was going to have to play a game of wait and see, which normally suited his nature just fine. But Abby had already made him go against his nature. He didn’t think wait and see was going to be an easy task.
He turned on his side, crossing his arms over his chest, and tried to change his course of thinking. If he was going to lie here awake, he might as well be productive.
He organized what he knew concerning Abby’s accident in a logical, unemotional fashion. When he looked at it, he only had two solid items: Abby’s account of what had happened after she awakened, and Trowbridge’s search for a third party responsible for the 911 call on Kyle’s cell phone. No way could any conclusion be drawn from those scant details. He needed more; evidence from the accident scene itself.
With Abby’s permission, he’d go with her to the sheriff when she met with him to tell him about the headlights, and—if by some miracle the hypnosis worked—what they discovered tomorrow in Savannah. Hopefully, the sheriff could fill in some of the blanks.
His main concern right now was the connection between the accident and the person threatening Abby. The obvious, due to the words on the mirror, was the 911 caller.
But what if Jason missed the truth by making that assumption? He’d seen it happen in investigations plenty of times.
Perhaps the threat wasn’t
linked to the accident at all. Jason had a limited view of Abby’s life. Maybe after she’d rested, they could take a wider look.
For now, he had only questions. Was the vandalism at the cemetery coincidence, or linked? Abby had said she couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened. And it was incongruous with the break-in; in the cemetery things had been taken, iron that could be sold as scrap.
He tried to approach from a logical, suspect-oriented viewpoint. Who was angry enough at Abby to threaten her life? Who could feel that Abby had grievously wronged them?
Because he was working with only the details of the past few days, the list he compiled was short: Courtney. Senator Robard. Jessica Robard.
Courtney was in New Mexico.
Senator Robard had lost a son. But he had too much to lose (which, judging by his treatment of his wife, he prized beyond family love) to stoop to break-ins and threats. If the senator wanted something done, it would be by another’s hand. Not impossible, but unlikely considering the risk.
Jessica Robard. Much more likely. She had been depressed in the first place, and was now out of her mind with grief. She’d slipped away without her husband’s knowledge before. The only problem was the words on the mirror. That message made no sense coming from Jessica. But again, she was out of her mind with grief; who knew what her thoughts were. Maybe she feared Abby had seen something having to do with Kyle that would ruin his reputation—which was all Jessica had left of him.
It came back around to his original thought. The anonymous 911 caller was most likely the key. A witness to the accident? Or someone involved in the accident? Someone linked in some way with Kyle Robard? Abby’s suggestion of an underage drinker made sense. Had someone been riding with Kyle and taken off on foot? Had someone been racing him? There were plenty of kids who used that road as their own personal racecourse.
Jason wondered if the sheriff had questioned all of Kyle’s acquaintances. He’d have to ask. A kid would act out like this, threats on the mirror, vandalism.
But would a kid have a bump key or know how to pick a lock so cleanly? Preston didn’t have a lot of break-ins, and certainly none that had been linked to teenagers since Jason had been in town.
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