Bound to the Past (Starville Series Book 1)

by Lauryn Michaels

  Brent didnʼt reply. Bringing the cup to his mouth, he took a long sip. It burnt his tongue, but he didnʼt care. He needed to keep his hands full, or he would start punching all those idiots around him.

  “If there were any justice, the police would let us deal with Turner personally.”

  Brent raised his head to give Garrett a cold-as-ice look. “Do you have any evidence against Jack? Did you see him going to the lake in the middle of the night? Were you there when he brutally massacred Charlene and left her in a puddle of blood?”

  The man paled at his purposely crude tone and could barely shake his head.

  “Thatʼs what I thought.”

  “All right, thatʼs enough.” Everybody turned to look at Hank as he strode out of the kitchen.

  “Weʼre just talking,” Boyd told him.

  “Youʼre bothering Deputy Hayden during his breakfast, and thatʼs not a nice thing to do.”

  The two men hesitated for a moment then walked away in an irritated silence. Brent shot Hank a grateful look before taking another sip of his coffee. “Thanks.”

  “What a bunch of idiots.”

  “Do you believe that Jack is innocent, Hank?”

  “I donʼt know.” The older man shrugged. “To tell you the truth, he seemed nice when he came here the other day. Different from what I remembered.”

  “Thatʼs the impression I got, too.”

  “That doesnʼt mean he didnʼt kill Charlene, though. I heard him threaten her, tell her that it wasnʼt over, and if heʼs guilty, he needs to pay. But, Brent, I can tell you one thing: if heʼs innocent, this time Iʼll be damned if Iʼll let him go to jail again for a murder he did not commit.”

  Brent gave him a long look. “That makes two of us.”

  ***

  Nicky took a sip of what was probably her third or fourth cup of coffee, her gaze fixed on the view outside her office window. On the other side of the glass, the glimpse of the townʼs daily life brought tears to her eyes. She loved Starville. She always had―until now. Until the lazy, sleepy town she thought she knew had started to reveal its most hidden secrets, turning into a dark and mysterious place. She didnʼt know who her friends were anymore.

  She didnʼt know who could be trusted.

  “Are you all right?”

  With a shrug, Nicky turned toward Brent, whoʼd just stepped into the office. “Iʼm here, Iʼm alive. I can think, talk, and even drink this nasty coffee.”

  “Hey―”

  She shook her head. “Iʼm fine, Brent, really. Worry about Charlene instead. Worry about how she felt when she… when…”

  Brent suddenly leaned over her and pulled her into an embrace. “Donʼt fall apart on me now, Nicky,” he whispered, stroking her back.

  Nicky closed her eyes, breathing in. God, he smelled good! She sighed. “I wonʼt, Hayden, I promise. I have no intention of leaving this mess in your sole hands.”

  “Thatʼs my girl.” He let her go slowly, a faint smile on his lips. “So, whatʼs wrong?”

  “Charleneʼs autopsy came in.”

  All the humor fled Brentʼs eyes. His jaw tensed. “Have you read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  Nicky shrugged. “Itʼs on your desk if you want to take a look at it.”

  “Did she…hurt?” he asked, swallowing hard.

  “There were a couple of bruises on her face, but no evidence of sexual assault.” She put a hand on his arm before continuing. “She didnʼt hurt much, Brent. She was hit on the head twice with a sharp object—possibly a rock—and died before she realized it.”

  “She must have known her killer,” Brent said painfully. “She would never have let someone unfamiliar get close to her so late at night and in such a deserted place. And the fact that she wasnʼt raped only makes it even more obvious that she wasnʼt assaulted by a stranger.”

  Nickyʼs heart dropped at his words. She knew he was right. Charlene must have known her killer. She must have looked him straight in the eye. But if it wasnʼt a stranger…then who? The idea of the murderer being one of her friends in town…

  She shook her head to crush that horrible thought.

  “Anything else?” Brent asked.

  “Nothing of relevance. Unfortunately, the heavy rain erased any possible evidence we couldʼve found at the lake. Brent, who could have—” She stopped in mid-sentence as she looked at his face and knew exactly what he was thinking: Jack could have. Only he had a reason to hate Charlene.

  “Jack and Charlene used to meet at the lake all the time when we were kids.” Brentʼs low voice confirmed her anguished thoughts. “I even busted them making out once.”

  “It doesnʼt mean anything.”

  “It was their favorite spot, Sinclair. The same place where Charlene was killed. The exact same damn place.”

  Color leached from Nickyʼs face. “You donʼt believe that Jack…”

  “All I know is that the more I think about the whole thing, the more he seems to be the only possible suspect. Think about it, it all started with his return here. Charlene was frightened about it, and the entire town heard him threatening her at the fair. Not to mention that heʼs the only one with a motive.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Letʼs be honest, if Sara hadnʼt sworn that they spent the night of the murder together, heʼd be in jail right now. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do—and so does Sara. She would lie for him, Brent. Sheʼs crazy about him,” she admitted.

  Brent nodded. “As far as I see it, either she lied and Jackʼs guilty or someoneʼs doing their damndest to frame him again.”

  Nicky sighed. Both hypotheses were horrible. “Youʼre not helping my mood, cop.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I donʼt think Jack is guilty. Despite it all.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I know the odds are against him, but the idea that he might be the killer twists my gut.”

  She smiled weakly. “Lovely way to put it, Hayden.”

  “Iʼm serious. Call it instinct, or whatever you want, but I believe him. Besides, I know Jack, and heʼs anything but stupid. If heʼd wanted to kill Charlene, he would never have picked the night the two of them had a fight in front of the entire town.”

  “I agree.”

  “I think someoneʼs trying to frame him, Nicky. And I can assure you that Iʼll do all thatʼs in my power to help him this time.”

  “Good.” She breathed a heavy breath. “Where have you been all morning, by the way? Youʼve been gone for hours.”

  “I had a long breakfast at The Cove.”

  Nicky shot him a wary look. “Youʼve been asking a million questions to everybody, havenʼt you?”

  “Nah. I merely chitchatted with a few friends.”

  She couldnʼt help shaking her head. “Did you find anything interesting, at least?”

  “Nope.” He dropped into his chair with a weary sigh. “I donʼt understand. Itʼs like everybody has perfect alibis for that night and no motives.”

  “What about Max?”

  Brent grinned. “Nice try, Sinclair. But Hank left the fair with him and Doc, and they all played pool at The Cove for hours. Many witnesses confirmed, including my dad.”

  Nicky snorted. “What about Wayne, then? And Ronnie? I know they might not have had a reason to kill Charlene, but they both seem to hate Jack, and…I donʼt know, maybe theyʼd do anything to put him in trouble.”

  “I thought about that, too. But Wayne went back home with Susie after the fair, and Ronnie spent the rest of the night licking his wounds under Cherylʼs loving care,” he said with a grimace.

  Nicky mumbled a frustrated curse. “This is ridiculous!”

  Brent stretched his long legs in front of him. “Hank came to my table when I was having breakfast. We talked for a while.”

  She frowned. “About what?”

  “About how Charleneʼs color drained from her cheeks as soon as Jack mentioned J.T., the day he went to see her at The Cove. Accordin
g to Hank, she seemed terrified―just like Jack said.”

  “Do you think she might have really been hiding something all these years?” Nicky asked in disbelief. “I thought she cared about Jack.”

  Brent gave her a sarcastic look. “Honey, thereʼs a big difference between sex and caring about somebody. And I donʼt think Charlene was too familiar with the latter.”

  “Yeah.” She should know about that. Nicky looked away. “If Charlene was hiding something, then maybe Jack is innocent, right?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe whatever Charlene was hiding had to do with Jack, which is why she was so frightened by his return,” he pointed out, rubbing his chin absently with his fingers, the way he always did when he concentrated.

  “She wasnʼt too frightened when she tried to get him in her bed, though,” Nicky commented, her expression so disgusted that Brent couldnʼt help chuckling.

  “Thatʼs true, too.”

  “Anyway, Iʼm worried about Sara. Ever since Jack came back to Starville, the whole townʼs turned against her. I wish we could do something for them.”

  Brent shook his head. “We canʼt change years of prejudice in just one month, Nicky. All we can do is be supportive…and hope that Jack will keep his cool and let the offenses slide.”

  “Donʼt you guys ever work?”

  Startled, Nicky turned toward Layla, who was standing at the door. Despite the womanʼs playful words, her eyes were red from crying as she threw herself into Brentʼs arms.

  “Iʼm sorry, hon,” he whispered to her, stroking her back up and down. “Charlene was like a sister to you.”

  Layla sniffled. “And now sheʼs gone.”

  “If you want to, we can go to Hankʼs and grab something to eat together,” Nicky suggested uncomfortably.

  “Thatʼs a great idea. Iʼll come, too.” Brent laid a kiss on the tip of Laylaʼs puffy nose, but she shook her head, forcing a smile. “Actually, Daddy said he needs to talk to you.”

  He slid a quizzical look at Nicky, who shrugged. “I havenʼt seen him all morning. Heʼs been locked in his office.”

  “All right,” he sighed. “You guys go ahead. Iʼll join you as soon as Iʼm done.”

  Chapter 21

  My eyes stared into his. Searching. Hoping to find something, anything, that might tell me that I was doing the right thing. But uncertainty was the only thing I saw in them―the same uncertainty I felt. All I had was my need to trust him.

  But could I trust a suspected murderer? Could I open my house, my life, and my heart to a stranger who might have killed the only person whoʼd ever loved him?

  I had already lied to protect this man. How far was I willing to go to keep him safe?

  “Sara?”

  She squealed, startled, and hurried to turn off the monitor. “Crap, Jack! Do you always have to scare the life out of me?”

  He chuckled. “I wanted to let you know that itʼs almost dinnertime.” He bent over to kiss her, but Sara pulled back after a few moments.

  “Sorry. Iʼve been sitting here for hours, and I need to use the bathroom.”

  “No, you donʼt.” He nuzzled her neck, and she chuckled, laying a hand on his chest.

  “Iʼll be fast, I promise.”

  “All right.” Reluctantly, Jack backed away. “Do you mind if I use the Internet in the meantime?”

  “Of course not. Be my guest―literally,” she joked.

  Jack shook his head with a grin as she walked out the door. Sitting at her desk, he grabbed the mouse and turned the monitor back on.

  And he froze.

  Among the hundreds of words displayed, black on white, on the screen, one of them practically leaped out at him: MURDERER. Murderer. Murderer. It was everywhere.

  Could I trust a suspected murderer?

  His heart sank. Realization hit him like a knife through his heart, robbing him of breath. Whatever Sara had been typing was obviously about him. A muscle pulsed on his clenched jaw as he scrolled up the pages until he reached the beginning of the document. And there it was, in huge, capital letters: BOUND TO THE PAST—by M.S.

  His hand nearly crushed the mouse, then let it go abruptly, as though it burned. Pushing the chair backward, Jack forced his gaze away from the screen and raked both hands through his hair. His stomach roiled. God, he felt like puking. The long, ragged breath he took didnʼt help at all.

  Seriously, he needed to calm down.

  So the little, sweet Sara Milano was not so sweet and naïve, after all. Duh. He should have guessed, dumb fool that he was. He should have known better than to fall straight into that lying bitch’s trap.

  The urge to puke suddenly became so intense he had to stand up. Dashing blindly out of the den, he reached the living room, grabbed his leather jacket, and jerked it on without stopping. He didnʼt know where he was going, but he didnʼt care. He needed to get the hell out of there. Now.

  Sara came down the stairs as he opened the front door.

  Shit. He didnʼt want to talk to her right now—hell, he didnʼt want to talk to her ever again. He couldn’t even look at her.

  “Jack?” she said hesitantly, walking toward him as he opened the door.

  He whirled around so suddenly that he nearly bumped into her. “What the fuck, Sara?”

  Confusion grew in her eyes. “What…”

  He abruptly took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. There was no tenderness in his touch as he lifted it up, forcing her to face him. A muscle flexed in his tight jaw, and his gaze burned into her as he scanned the bewildered expression in her eyes. He shook his head with disgust. “Damn, youʼre good.”

  Before she could react, he turned around and stormed out the door.

  Sara slumped against the wall, completely disoriented. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing loudly in her ears, but she felt so numb she couldnʼt move.

  The snarl of the Harleyʼs engine seemed to vibrate through her body, snapping her out of her anesthetized state…but it was too late. When she ran to the door and swung it open, Jackʼs motorcycle was nothing but a little black spot at the end of the street. A ragged sigh escaped her lips as she slowly walked back inside the house.

  What in the world had gotten into Jack?

  He’d been perfectly fine when sheʼd gone upstairs. What could have happened during that short time to turn the heated desire in Jackʼs eyes into the horrible fury she had just witnessed? Her mind raced back to when she had left him in the den, frantically trying to remember, to understand. She knew she had promised him sheʼd be right back, and heʼd asked to use the computer and…

  Sara stopped in her tracks. The computer. Jack had asked to use the computer! She’d been writing her “Jack-inspired novel” when he had arrived. It must have still been open on the screen when he had turned it back on. He must have seen it. Oh, please. Please, no.

  Her prayers didnʼt work. As she ran to the den and bent over her desk, she saw her document still open right in the middle of the screen. It was worse than sheʼd thought, too. Jack must have scrolled all the way up to the first page, because the title was the first thing she saw as she put her glasses on and looked closely at it. Her heart dropped to her knees. Had he read the whole thing?

  She slumped onto her chair. “Oh, man,” she mumbled, her voice shaky at the thought of what Jack must have felt while reading it. Youʼre good, heʼd said. A good what? What in the world did he think she was up to?

  A drop suddenly fell onto the floor, then another. Sara absently lowered her eyes to look at them. Funny, she hadnʼt even realized that she was crying. She felt so frozen inside, she was surprised her tears didnʼt turn into icicles…but it was all her fault. She should have told Jack the truth a long time ago. Had she been honest since the beginning instead of lying about her job, this would never have happened. But maybe it wasnʼt too late. Maybe if she talked to him and explained everything right away…

  Sara looked frantically for her cell and hurried to grab it―only to drop it again a moment later. It fell onto th
e desk with a thud, but she hardly heard it as she started laughing hysterically. She couldnʼt call Jack. He didnʼt even own a freakinʼ phone!

  Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she rose on stiff legs and trudged back to the living room. She had to try to calm down and wait for him to return home. Because he would return. …Right?

  Her heart sank again at the horrible thought. What if Jack never came back? She had broken his trust, and she knew how important trust was for him. Oh, God.

  Inhaling an uneasy breath, Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past ten p.m.; she might as well drag herself upstairs and try to get some sleep. Maybe Jack would be back when she woke up. And maybe sleep would make time go by faster.

  ***

  The deep roar of an engine jerked Sara awake. She bolted upright, praying it was Jack. Hope made her heart leap when the beam of a headlight shone through the bedroom window, then again when the engine stopped. Afraid that Jack might change his mind and leave again, she jumped out of bed and dashed out of the room, ignoring the catsʼ meows of protest. She was already halfway down the stairs when Jack walked quietly through the front door.

  “Hey,” she greeted him in a shaky murmur. She could tell he was startled as he jumped slightly, but he didnʼt turn to look at her.

  “What are you doing up?” he said flatly, yanking off his jacket and tossing it over the back of the couch. “Itʼs three in the morning.”

  “The Harley woke me up.” She walked slowly down the last steps, her hands twisting anxiously against her stomach. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and took a deep breath. “Jack, Iʼm sorry. I know what you saw on the computer, but itʼs not what you think it is. I can explain.”

  He switched on the light and finally turned around―and Sara almost wished he hadnʼt. His eyes were so cold. So empty.

  “You want to explain, Sara? Good. Iʼm all ears.”

  She swallowed hard. “The thing is… Iʼm―”

  “A liar?”

  The harshness in his tone paralyzed her. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out. She jumped back as he suddenly moved toward her.