Lies That Bind

by Shirley Wine

  Brooke looked at him, her expression arrested. ‘If she remembered that then, why didn’t she remember the rest?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Luke spread his hands in a gesture of impotence at being unable to ease his niece’s distress. ‘Any medico will tell you that they don’t fully understand how human memory works.’

  ‘I guess.’ Brooke hesitated, nibbling on her lower lip. ‘Did you hear the rest of it?’

  ‘About her grandmother ringing and pressuring the kid?’ Luke growled, fighting down a surge of anger. ‘Yeah I heard.’

  ‘When I rang Matt earlier—’ she broke off.

  Luke looked up and caught her uneasy expression. ‘What is it?’

  Her slender throat worked in a hard swallow. ‘I asked Matt to mail Ian’s parents a formal invitation to the garden party, and extend an invitation to them to stay with you for a few days so they could visit with their grandchildren.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Luke half rose off the glider, his big hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. Exerting an iron will, he tamped down his anger and slumped back on the seat. ‘A little bit previous, Brooke.’

  Hectic colour surged up her neck and into her face before fading to leave her milky pale.

  ‘I still think it’s the right decision,’ she said with a lift of her stubborn chin. ‘You need to deal with Ian’s parents, head-on. Pretending their threats don’t exist won’t make them disappear.’

  Her soft reasonable words battered at all the other emotions coursing through him. ‘I know you’re right, but—’

  Brooke looked at him, her eyebrows raised, but still he hesitated.

  Am I reading too much into that overheard conversation?

  If he voiced the suspicions careening through his mind, would they be safe with Brooke?

  Doubts continued to plague him.

  He’d confided his past to her, whereas she remained tight-lipped about her affair with Brad Thornton—something that continued to stick in Luke’s craw.

  Brooke claimed she never indulged in gossip, and yet she was the one to inform him that McLellan was smearing Jenn’s character and attempting to undermine his credibility in Sweetwater. This alone, Luke decided, was reason enough to keep his suspicions to himself.

  Unbidden, he remembered Olivia Masters and her sweet innocence … You can trust me Luke. I would never betray you …

  Fool that he was, he had trusted her.

  Blinded by lust and hormones, Luke learned too late that Olivia’s innocent baby-face concealed the cold, calculating heart of a ruthless executioner, and this memory still haunted him. Blind luck had saved his sorry hide that night, but unruly hormones had fouled up the biggest investigation of his career.

  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me …

  He thrust the bleak memory aside. He had vowed then that never again would he blindly trust anyone. And Brooke was a woman who held her secrets far too close to her chest to afford him any degree of comfort.

  He would keep his own counsel. If Rose’s memories of that crash were correct, it was more than time Duncan McLellan answered a few serious questions.

  ‘Luke?’ Brooke leaned forward and caught his arm, making him look at her. ‘What are you thinking?’

  He glanced up and smiled. ‘I’m thinking that it’s time I had a face-to-face chat with Ian’s father.’

  She stared at him, dark eyes opened very wide, her grip on his arm tightening in a convulsive movement. ‘No! Don’t go anywhere near him!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Do you suspect foul play?’

  ‘Abso-freaking-lutely.’

  ‘Then take a step back, Luke, and think this through. You need to look at the bigger picture.’

  Her urgency took him by surprise. He leaned forward and caught her wrists, hauling her upright, and pushed his face close to hers. ‘And if this involved your sister?’

  Brooke didn’t flinch or try to pull away. ‘I’d probably react just as badly.’

  Luke released his grip and watched Brooke rub at the red marks on her wrist.

  ‘God, I’m sorry.’ He held her hand and smoothed a thumb over the offending marks. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re upset, I understand this.’

  ‘That is no excuse,’ he muttered, releasing her and rubbing at his neck as he looked into her dark eyes, not knowing what to do with the suspicions careening around his brain. ‘I wish I knew what to do.’

  ‘And that is the reason you should not go near the McLellans, or try to confront them.’ Brooke tugged at his arm until he sat down. ‘Luke, you’re upset and not thinking straight.’

  ‘Jenn was my sister,’ he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. ‘And if that bastard was in anyway involved in her death, I want to see him hung out to dry.’

  ‘I understand all this.’ She tightened her grip on his arm. ‘By all means, pass on Rose’s recollections to the right people, but you need to keep well clear of any investigation, you’re far too close to the people involved.’

  Luke sucked in a slow, deep breath, shaking his head in an effort to clear the nagging ache behind his eyes. Sleeping during the day always left him heavy-headed. ‘What is it that you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Your sister and her husband were killed in what was thought to be a single-car crash,’ she said slowly, watching his reactions. He found her dark unwavering gaze more than a little disconcerting. ‘A crash, according to Rose, that happened when another car ran them off the road.’

  Luke rubbed at his belly, but this did little to ease his sudden nausea. Hearing Brooke put his careening thoughts into words vested them with real power.

  ‘There’s been no suggestion of any other car being involved in any of the accident reports,’ he muttered. ‘Nor has mention been made that Jenn and Ian spent their last evening with Ian’s parents.’

  Brooke expelled an audible breath. ‘Yet one more reason for you to keep well out of this.’

  ‘The hell you say.’ Unable to stay still he leapt from the seat and paced across the verandah, clutching the rail. Staring out over Whitby’s sunburnt acres, he sucked in a harsh breath that did little to calm his whirling thoughts.

  ‘Why?’ he rasped harshly as he slowly turned to face her ‘Why do you think I should stay out of this?’

  ‘If there is a connection and Ian’s father was involved in your sister’s death, do you want him held accountable?’

  ‘My bloody oath!’

  ‘Then you can’t afford to get involved.’ Brooke turned to face him, catching his hands in hers and holding them tightly. ‘By all means alert the crash investigators, but leave it for them to deal with.’

  The soft, well-reasoned words seeped through his anger. ‘Do you think that McLellan is responsible for Jenn’s death?’

  ‘I don’t know and neither do you. But what I do know is that if you rush in asking questions and flinging around accusations, you run a grave risk of seriously undermining any investigation.’

  Luke pulled away from her. ‘Do you think I’m biased?’

  ‘Did you love your sister?’

  ‘What the hell kind of question is that? Jenn was the one good thing in my life.’

  ‘Then how can you be anything but biased?’ Brooke’s voice was threaded with impatience. ‘This is your sister we’re talking about, and her death has already impacted hugely on you, and your life.’

  Luke met Brooke’s sober gaze, and for long, fraught moments, their eyes locked.

  She was right.

  Her concern and clear-sighted wisdom cleared away the lingering remnants of his shock and anger.

  Jenn was my sister, and I’m too damn close to this to be in any way impartial.

  Of one thing he was certain: if McLellan was in any way involved in Jenn’s death, Luke wanted to ensure the bastard was nailed to the wall.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers. ‘The last thing I want to do i
s stuff up any investigation.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brooke woke with a start. For long moments she lay in that drowsy state between waking and sleeping and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what had wakened her.

  Earlier she’d heard Luke pacing.

  It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was still grappling with the ramifications of Rose’s revelations. Not that this was surprising. The girl’s recollections would leave the most sanguine person shaken.

  What did Luke intend to do with the information?

  Brooke could only hope that he had listened to her and didn’t rush off to confront Ian’s father. If the very thought that McLellan may be complicit in his son’s death left Brooke decidedly queasy, how much worse must it be for Luke?

  Rose too had surprised Brooke.

  With quiet determination, the girl had approached Luke and asked if she could talk to him privately, after earlier declining Brooke’s support.

  The burgeoning rapport between them pleased Brooke. These blood ties were so very precious. Both she and her father had encouraged this, and every day the bonds that already existed between the kids and their uncle were steadily growing stronger.

  Later, after Rose and Otto were in bed and her father had retired for the night, Brooke had settled in to read the new book she’d bought in Sweetwater. A movement had caught her attention and she’d looked up to see Luke hovering in the doorway.

  ‘Were you looking for me?’ She’d laid her book face down on the side table and looked at him over the top of her reading glasses.

  He’d walked into the room and sat in the chair opposite; he’d seemed strangely diffident, not speaking but holding his head down. He’d studied his hands for long moments before looking up at her. ‘Rose has told me everything she remembers about that crash.’

  Brooke had nodded. ‘I guessed that’s why she wanted to talk to you. That’s great, for her and for you.’

  There’d been a beat of silence as their gazes met and held. ‘It’s been a long time coming,’ he’d said, his voice deepening.

  Brooke knew this, and she also knew how much he’d floundered, how out of his depth he’d felt, unsure how to connect with his niece and nephew.

  ‘All you needed was time, Luke. Kids are quick to trust where they find love, respect and genuine caring, and you show them all these things in spades.’

  He’d cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with her observations. ‘I thought it better that Rose knows that I had inadvertently overheard her conversation with you. So you have no need to worry about her thinking you’ve betrayed her confidences.’

  Such thoughtful consideration had charmed Brooke. For a guy who possessed such a tough shell, she was discovering that Luke Calloway had a surprisingly soft centre.

  ‘Thank you,’ she’d murmured, too aware of him and the way his heated gaze had lingered on her mouth as he’d talked.

  A warm sensation had fluttered low in her belly.

  It had been so long since any man had looked at her this way. Not that this was surprising when she kept everyone at arm’s length. Now, she found this attraction strangely liberating after keeping her emotions in a straight-jacket for such a long time.

  Luke’s interest wasn’t new. She’d seen this same heat in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  Not that this mattered.

  She was more curious about him than was probably wise, but Luke had made it abundantly clear that while he was quite happily prepared to ‘scratch an itch’, he had no intention of allowing this attraction to deepen into genuine caring.

  And Brooke refused to settle for less.

  Out here on Whitby Downs, well away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues, she’d found the anonymity and freedom she’d craved for so long.

  The sound that had wakened her again reverberated in the night silence.

  She pushed aside the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed. The digital clock on the bedside table flashed the time: two-fifteen.

  She switched on the bedside lamp, undecided if she should go and discover the source of the noise that had disturbed her.

  She heard it again.

  This time she identified the sound. It was breaking glass.

  Her pulse thrummed in her throat. Is that a window breaking? Is someone trying to break into the house?

  Instinctively, she knew that this was the sound that had woken her.

  What was going on?

  She reached for her dressing-gown, belted on the lightweight garment, walked to the door and opened it cautiously. She peered into the dimly lit hallway. A night-light partially illuminated the cavernous space. A beam of light shone from beneath the door of Luke’s den.

  Crash!

  Brooke jumped, startled by the closeness of the sound.

  Was Luke breaking glass?

  Strangely hesitant, she tiptoed along the corridor and tapped on the door. She sucked in a disconcerted breath when the door lurched open and he stood there scowling.

  She held no illusions: she wasn’t welcome.

  ‘You want something?’ His jaw jutted at a belligerent angle. Dressed only in jeans unbuttoned at the waist, his feet bare, Luke stood, legs apart, arms folded over his muscular chest as he glared at her.

  If looks could kill …

  A shiver crawled across her skin and she swallowed hard, her mouth so dry it hurt. ‘I-I thought I heard breaking glass.’

  He raked a hand through his hair, the movement jerky and uncoordinated.

  Is he drunk?

  Backlit by the light streaming through the doorway, his whole being radiated menace. ‘Yeah. So what?’

  His words weren’t slurred, but she found this little comfort. She had seen him agitated before, but never quite like this.

  Uncertain and growing progressively uneasy, she clutched at her robe and edged backwards into the corridor, no longer certain she should have knocked and interrupted whatever was happening.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, hating the uncertain quaver in her voice.

  ‘Just peachy,’ he muttered, turning and walking back into the room.

  Against her better judgement, Brooke followed him, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it. She caught the distinctive smell of whisky.

  Frowning, she studied the scene.

  Fragments of broken glass glittered in and around the hearth and the open fireplace where he’d flung a glass at it … and more than the ones she’d heard judging by the amount of shards littering the scene.

  Luke had done this?

  What had brought it on?

  Now, even more wary of him and his black mood, she hesitated on the brink of flight. Then concern outweighed her nervousness. Brooke found she didn’t have it in her to leave him alone and so obviously hurting. She stood her ground.

  Luke looked utterly lost and vulnerable.

  Several times she’d sensed a loneliness in him, but she’d never seen him look the way he did now. Brooke knew, as clearly as if it was written in six-inch letters, that should she walk away from him now, she would never have another chance to breach the indomitable wall of his reserve. Unable to endure one more moment of this screaming tension, she asked, ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘About what?’ he muttered.

  He turned his back and walked to stand in front of the glass-littered fireplace. Luke rested a hand on the high mantelshelf, his body bent forward, his head resting on his hand. His whole bearing was one of hurt and dejection.

  ‘Whatever it is that brought this on?’ She sketched a hand to encompass the scene of destruction.

  He lifted his head and gave her what could only be described as a surly look. ‘The murder of my sister.’

  Jenn was murdered?

  ‘Dear Lord.’ Brooke sucked in a startled breath and took a step towards him.

  ‘Stop!’ He flung a hand upwards. ‘Don’t come any closer! You’ll cut your feet.’

  She stopped, a
nd looking from his bare feet to the broken glass littering the floor, said, ‘Pots and kettles, Luke. Or don’t real men’s feet get cut up walking on broken glass?’

  He grimaced, lifted a hand to acknowledge the hit and picked his way to her side. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Brooke was more than willing to leave the strewn glass and the reek of whisky.

  ‘You need to clear that away,’ she murmured as he took her elbow and guided her from the room.

  ‘It’s not going anywhere.’ Luke shut the door, fished a key from the fob pocket of his jeans, and locked it before turning on his heel and walking down the hall.

  Brooke hesitated before following him into the darkened kitchen.

  He turned on the range-hood light and a mellow glow softened the darkness and cast long shadows.

  Acutely nervous, she watched him from the doorway.

  Luke stood in front of the range, his back to her, staring down at the gas hob; every muscle in his broad back flexed, taut with tension.

  ‘What’s happened, Luke?’

  Slowly, he turned to face her.

  She bit down on her lower lip, fervently wishing she’d refrained from asking. Taking a slow, deep breath did little to calm the rapid race of her heartbeat, which echoed like thunder in her ears.

  ‘I called the crash investigator—’ he broke off, shaking his head.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Detectives from the Serious Crash Unit have already conclusively proved that Ian’s car was run off the road by another vehicle.’

  Ohmigod!

  Shock propelled her across the room. She gripped Luke’s arm tightly as she looked up into eyes dark with anguish. ‘You didn’t know?’

  Luke covered her hand with one of his, his grip strong enough to make her wince. ‘No, and I’ve been told in no uncertain terms to keep my nose out of their investigation.’

  The image of the carnage in his den shimmered behind Brooke’s eyelids, it now made sense.

  ‘And this irks you no end?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘The detective I spoke to shares your view of the situation,’ he said, easing the pressure of his grip on her hand.

  ‘You know he’s right. You’re far too close to this whole nightmare situation.’

  ‘I do understand where they’re coming from.’ He sighed, pulled free and paced across the kitchen to stand staring out the window into the blackness of the night.