“And it wasn’t my idea,” he said, a note of urgency in his voice as the explanation tumbled out. “It was Tristan’s. He wanted you to see him in the flesh. He said you wouldn’t believe it otherwise. He ordered me not to tell you.”
“But you did.”
He gestured at the bag. “You were going to run.”
“I had no choice.”
Her voice was flat, almost lifeless. Somehow none of this was happening as he’d expected.
“But you do, now,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. He had no idea why she’d felt so desperate, but everything had changed for her now.
“What are you? A private investigator or something?”
“Of sorts,” he admitted.
“A PI who lives on a boat? Read a lot of mysteries?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. If you’d lie about who you are, what else would you lie about?”
She had a point, and he didn’t think a discussion about lies of omission would be helpful right now. He tried to organize his words, wishing he hadn’t had to prepare them literally on the run.
“Nell, listen to me. Your brother was badly hurt that night, but he survived. He’s been looking for you ever since. He’s ecstatic that you’re okay. I just got a message that he’s on his way here. He’d be here already, but he was in London when I found you here.”
There. That should do it, he thought.
She’d gone very still during his outburst of explanation. Then, slowly, slowly enough that he didn’t reach to stop her, she stood up. Still, he tensed as she took one long step back, out of his reach.
“There’s one person you left out of your nice little story,” she said.
He didn’t like the way she sounded. That bitterness was back, and it made him want to wince.
“Your husband? He’s been coordinating the search down south. Tristan said he feels awful about what happened. But things like that do happen.”
“Things like…what?”
“An innocent person being mistaken for a burglar.”
“There was no mistake. Except for my brother’s.”
“Your brother? What mistake did he make?”
“Saving my life.”
And he’d thought she must be confused. “Nell,” he began again. “What are you talking about?”
She stared at him. Her jaw set. Then, flatly, she answered him.
“Tristan took the bullet that was meant for me.”
Chapter 17
Nell chided herself mentally for, even for an instant, allowing herself to hope that it was true, that somehow it had all been some huge, horrible mistake, that Tris was indeed alive and searching for her.
It was even more foolish than allowing herself to believe Cooper Grant.
He was on his feet, too, now, and she backed away another step. She was back to plan A, and she had to be sure she could get away from him.
“Nell, I don’t know what you think happened that night, but—”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “But I was there. I know exactly what happened.”
“It was an accident. Like I said, it happens.”
“There was no accident.”
His frown deepened. It was beginning to register with her that he seemed genuinely puzzled.
“But he didn’t know it was your brother. It was dark, and your husband thought he was a burglar. And your brother told me your husband feels terrible about shooting him.”
Her breath caught. She nearly stumbled backward a step. “What?”
“And about scaring you so,” Cooper added. “It was a simple, if awful, case of mistaken identity.”
She didn’t believe for a minute Jeremy felt truly awful about anything. But that didn’t matter. Something else he’d said did. A lot.
“Wait,” she said, barely able to take in enough breath to speak. “Are you saying Jeremy admits he shot Tris?”
“Of course.” He looked even more puzzled. “Why wouldn’t he, when it was an accident?”
“It was no—”
She broke off repeating the assertion it hadn’t been an accident. She needed to know more, she needed to know exactly what Jeremy’s story had been.
“What,” she asked slowly, “do you think happened that night?”
“Nell—”
“Just tell me. Please.”
She said it all the while wondering if he’d tell her the truth. Then realized that he probably would, now. He had no more reason to lie to her, did he? No more reason to ingratiate himself, to be charming and affable, to even flirt with the plain little brown bird she’d become.
Finally, with a half shrug, he answered her. “Your brother said he came over to your place late to help you plan a surprise birthday party for your husband, who woke up unexpectedly, thought he heard a burglar. He got a gun, there was a scuffle, it went off. Understandable, really. Awakened abruptly by a strange noise in the dark, a moving shadow and a gun. Not a great combination in inexperienced hands.”
She took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “That’s the…official story?”
“Yeah. For once the news reports were fairly accurate. Except for the obvious, that they assumed your brother was going to die.”
He gave her a look that she guessed was supposed to be comforting. Once, just hours ago, she would have welcomed it.
“It isn’t your fault, Nell. Under the circumstances, anybody would have assumed he was dead or dying. And he nearly did, but the medics brought him back and got him to the hospital in time. Barely.”
“You think I didn’t check? He had no pulse. He wasn’t breathing.” She heard her voice start to rise and stopped, fearing she was on the edge of hysteria.
“But you’re not a doctor, or a paramedic, Nell. Sometimes it can seem like somebody’s gone, or maybe they even are, but they bring them back. You know it happens, all the time. Believe it.”
She could hear her own pulse in her ears. Was it truly possible? Could her beloved big brother still be alive?
The idea was too huge, too stunning, for her reeling mind to deal with. So instead she seized on the one thing that had jumped out at her, the anomaly that made her question all of her assumptions.
“What I can’t believe is that Jeremy admitted he shot him.”
Cooper’s brow furrowed yet again. He looked so honestly puzzled. But then, she already knew what a good liar he was.
“Even if it hadn’t been an accident, he had to, didn’t he? I mean, the police would have known anyway, he had gunshot residue on his hand and sleeve.”
She blinked. “They actually tested him?”
“After he admitted it anyway? Yeah. They’re pretty thorough.”
She wondered if they would have if he hadn’t admitted firing the weapon. She couldn’t help doubting it, Jeremy being who he was, and being able to talk his way into or out of anything. She’d seen it too often, seen the way he could explain away anything, could charm—
“Why would you think he wouldn’t admit it?”
The question, asked in that same, genuine-sounding puzzlement, yanked her out of the fetid pool of memories.
“I thought he’d put it on me,” she answered. “I thought he’d say I did it.”
“You thought he’d tell the cops you shot your own brother?”
Now he sounded astonished, she thought. “That’s what I expected him to do. It’s one of the reasons I ran.”
A long, silent moment passed before Cooper said quietly, “I think you’d better tell me your version of that night.”
“The truth, you mean.”
“Your truth, yes.”
“My truth?”
He sighed audibly. “Everybody brings their own filter. To everything. That’s why any cop will tell you eyewitness testimony is unreliable. Five different wits, five different versions.”
“Is that what your father told you? Or was that even true, that he was a cop?”
He winced.
“I meant what I said. Everything I told you was true. And yes, he said that many times. So what happened, from your point of view?”
Somehow that sounded better. Still she hesitated. Why should she trust him, after the way he’d played her?
Yeah, and who fell into his hands like a ripe apple? she thought.
He seemed willing to listen. But she knew from long, hard experience what it was like to batter herself against the undentable façade of Jeremy Brown.
“You’ve met Jeremy?” she asked. “Or at least, talked to him?”
“No,” he said. “Just your brother.”
With one of the biggest efforts of her life she put aside those words for later. And focused on the small hope engendered by the fact that Jeremy needed face time to work the major part of his twisted magic. So maybe she had a chance.
Still she hesitated. If he’d said another word, if he’d tried coaxing or prodding her, she probably would have shut down. But he didn’t, he simply waited. As if he’d sensed she would tell him if he just backed off.
“Tris came over that night, all right.” Her throat tightened and the next words came hard. “Because I asked him to. He was always there for me when I needed him. And I needed him that night.”
She fought the shiver that gripped her, that always gripped her when she thought of that night. She’d only told this story once, to Roger, and only then because she felt he deserved to know the truth if he was going to let her stay here.
She gulped in a breath and started again, determined to get it out this time. “I called my brother not for any birthday planning—what a typical Jeremy lie—but because I knew I’d need help. I’d already told my husband I was filing for divorce. He was…furious isn’t strong enough. Nobody, but nobody, leaves Jeremy Brown if he doesn’t want them to. He’d made that brutally clear to me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying…he was abusive?”
“Not physically. He never…hit me. Jeremy would never get his hands so dirty, or risk bruises I could show someone. He followed more time-tested methods. Isolation. Ridicule. Threats, anger, all of it. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—take it anymore, no matter that the entire world seemed to think he was the most charming man on the planet.”
“You must have thought it, once.”
She held his gaze levelly. “I did. I thought he was going to be my safe harbor. He was strong, powerful, everything I thought I needed. I was a fool.” Pain jabbed at her anew. “Tris used to say I’d been fooled, and that was different. I didn’t see the distinction.”
“Go on,” he said, leaning now against the doorjamb of her bedroom, his arms folded casually, as if he had all day to listen. As if that phone had never rung.
As if he would give her that whole day, if she wanted it.
She shook off the silliness, steeled herself and went on; she’d started now, might as well finish it.
“For a couple of years, everything was fine. It was a new world to me, his world, and fascinating. He was doing good work, important work, I thought. And that much was true.”
“Your brother told me he’s raised millions for charities around the world.”
If he hadn’t said it so neutrally, she might have given up right then.
“He has. But gradually I began to see that he was doing it for all the wrong reasons. Power. Prestige. That he really couldn’t care less about those he was supposedly helping. What he wanted was the adulation, the admiration. He craves it. Needs it to live. Needs people to think he’s nearly a saint, when all the while he despises the ones he’s supposedly championing. The great unwashed, he calls them.”
“Arrogant.”
“Very,” she said. But she said it warily, not sure if he’d been voicing an opinion on Jeremy, or simply that way of thinking in general. She caught herself pacing again, almost frantically. She probably looked and sounded like a crazy woman. And wondered if he was believing any of it. “So…that night?”
She stopped midpace. God, he’d only wanted to know what happened that night, not her entire, miserable life history. Why had she launched into all this? Why hadn’t she just given him a factual report of what had happened that night? Surely she wasn’t falling victim to some insane urge to make him understand, to believe in her, that she’d had no other choice, that she wasn’t the villain in this piece, that her charming, charismatic, fraud of a husband was?
But she had to make him believe. Because otherwise he’d likely try and drag her back. She’d managed to get past him, to put herself between him and the door, so she could get away if she had to, but she had a feeling he had let that happen. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t leave without her stuff. Little did he know how meaningless most of it was to her. She’d learned that the hard way.
She clamped down on her thoughts before they spiraled downward any further. “I’d already filed. I knew I had to.” Her mouth twisted involuntarily, and she fought to go on. “Any step out of line or inappropriate word spoken required atonement in his world. And filing for divorce certainly fell into that category.”
“And running away?”
“I hoped it might be better.”
He blinked. “What?”
“At first I wondered if I might have accidentally done the perfect thing. That he might take advantage. Vanished wife, big mystery, lots of attention, all that. All the kind of attention he’d love.”
“But…?”
She grimaced. “I’d forgotten his ultimate ambition.”
“Ultimate?”
“He wants to run for office. Fitting, really. He has a politician’s soul. Or is that an oxymoron?”
One corner of his mouth quirked upward at her rhetorical question. “And a vanished wife could be problematic.”
She nodded.
“Your brother said you…sometimes resented all the time your husband spent fundraising. Raising money for strangers, and not spending any time at home.”
She’d already known, some part of her mind had already put the pieces together in the only way they made sense. But this made her certain; there was no way Tris would ever say such a thing about her.
“That’s Jeremy. Making me sound selfish, childish.”
He looked doubtful. She wasn’t surprised, she knew how convincing Jeremy could be. She decided to simply cut to the chase. He’d asked about that night, well, she’d tell him. And then she’d leave. For where, she still didn’t know.
If he tried to stop her…well, she’d deal with that when the moment came.
“Jeremy walked in on something, all right. He walked in on Tris helping me gather some things to take. Things that were mine, mine alone,” she clarified; she’d not be thought a thief on top of everything else. “Family pictures, my mother’s jewelry, things Jeremy had nothing to do with.”
“Nell—”
She held up a hand, and he stopped.
“I should have known better than to go back, should have gotten those things before I ever told him about the divorce. He saw what was happening. He was enraged. Violently enraged. And he had that gun. I didn’t realize it immediately, but Tris did. I tried to talk to Jeremy, but he was screaming. Literally frothing at the mouth. He aimed the gun at me.”
Cooper made a sound, low in his throat. She didn’t look at him. She knew this was it. She would give Cooper the truth, and he would either believe her or he wouldn’t.
She forced the last, ugliest part out.
“Jeremy fired just as Tris pushed me behind him.”
She did look up at him then.
“It was me Jeremy wanted to kill. My brother just got in the way. It’s my fault he’s dead.”
Chapter 18
Cooper felt a bit hammered. What his father had always told him about eyewitnesses rang in his ears. Different versions, yeah, he got that, but this different?
None of this made any sense, unless somebody was lying. And why on earth would Tristan Jones lie? He’d been the true victim in all this. But he wasn’t sure why Nell—or Tan
ya—would lie, either. And she certainly hadn’t seemed to be lying. He wasn’t sure she was practiced enough to fake the pain and emotion that had shown in her eyes and face, and echoed in her unsteady voice.
Unless…was she really as unstable as had been inferred by her brother, and flat out stated by her husband? Had she somehow worked up this scenario in her head? Was it perhaps the only way she could accept what had happened, or what she thought had happened? Had the death—she’d thought—of her brother so traumatized her that her wounded mind had built up this false memory?
But why on earth would she think her husband had wanted to kill her? It didn’t make sense. Especially if she was right about him wanting to run for office; a shooting, even an accidental one, wasn’t baggage he’d want to lug into a political campaign. A divorce was nothing, compared to that. A pesky ex-wife saying bad things about you was almost de rigueur, and if he was as polished and charismatic as Nell said he was….
He shook his head sharply. He didn’t know what to believe. And until her brother got here, he guessed it didn’t really matter, that there was more to this whole story. More than just an already unstable woman driven over the edge by grief.
Whatever it was, once Jones arrived, once she saw he was alive, it would all sort itself out.
Unless she was telling the truth.
She was just standing there, watching him, waiting for some kind of reaction. And he didn’t know what to say. Some soothing platitude designed to keep her calm would probably accomplish nothing but to set her off again. If he said he believed her, he doubted she would believe him, she was so skittish. But if he said he didn’t, she’d run. And then he’d have to stop her. Probably physically. Not something he wanted to contemplate. There were other physical things he’d be more interested in—
Shit.
He groaned inwardly. This was so not what he needed. Things were tangled up enough already, with all this he-said-she-said crap rolling around. The last thing he needed was to get emotionally involved in this mess. Yet he couldn’t deny the growing unease, fear and urge to stand between her and whatever was coming.
Enemy Waters Page 11