If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense

by Shiloh Walker

  This wasn’t just hormone-driven, adolescent-crazed lust. He might wish it was, but …

  Clearing his throat, he busied himself with ripping open the bacon. “So what were you saying about the hotel?”

  “I checked out. Some city cop, Kent Jennings, mentioned that there was a bed-and-breakfast not too far from here and the owner sometimes sublets the cabins. By the way, just how many Jenningses live around here, anyway?”

  Absently, he said, “A lot.”

  The Inn. She was staying at the Inn.

  Once he had the bacon sizzling on the stove and his hands washed, he turned back and studied her, an uneasy feeling stirring inside his chest. “You’re staying at the Inn.”

  “Yep.”

  “I take it that means you’ll be around awhile? Roz only uses the cabins for long-term stuff, a month or longer, at least.”

  “Yeah, I know. She gave me a sweet deal—three months for the price of two if I paid it all up front.” She grimaced and said, “I went ahead and did it, figured I might as well.”

  Law was quiet, thinking it through. Roz probably had her sign some sort of short-term rental agreement. But she was a fair woman—compassionate. She’d let Nia out of the deal, and Law could help her find someplace else. Blowing out a breath, he met her eyes. “You sure you want to stay there?”

  She blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Nia … Lena works there.”

  Something moved through those golden eyes, but before he could interpret it, she looked down. When she looked back up, just a minute later, the look was gone and her gaze was unreadable. “And your point would be …?”

  “How easy is that going to be for you?” he asked, shoving away from the counter and moving to stand in front of her, reaching up to trace a finger down her cheek.

  “It won’t,” she said flatly. “But nothing has been easy for me for almost a year and I don’t expect that to change now.” Then abruptly, she smiled, a sly smile, as she reached out and hooked her fingers in the front of his jeans, tugged him closer. “Although, actually, I can think of one thing that was remarkably easy …”

  “You calling me a thing?” He wasn’t so sure he wanted to let it go as simple as that, but that was her pain and if this was how she wanted to deal with it … although he wished he could offer her something more, some sort of comfort, something to take the darkness and the sadness from her.

  “Hmmm. I don’t know. Nah, you’re not a thing. Maybe you’re a fling. Yeah, that’s more like it. Is that what we’ve got going here? A fling?”

  She nibbled her way along his bare chest and Law hissed as she bit lightly at his nipple. “A fling? Hell if I know. Can’t say I’ve ever been anybody’s fling before.” He was tempted to reach down, cup her hips under the hem of the T-shirt she wore.

  But the scent of frying bacon hung in the air. Instead, he eased away, bussed her lips lightly.

  “Maybe before we figure out what to call it, we should figure out what it is,” he decided, keeping his voice light, easy. Even though he definitely wasn’t feeling light or easy right now. “By definition, flings are general short-term, right? But you’re not ditching town in a few days. You planning on trading me out for somebody else in a few weeks, Nia?”

  She snorted. “Trading you out? You’re not a car, Law.”

  Flipping the bacon, he shrugged. “Well, it’s a fair question. Otherwise, how can I figure out if this is a fling or not?”

  “Call it whatever you want. Just feed me. And don’t worry … I’m not much for flings myself.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, a smile tugging at his lips.

  The sight of that smile had her heart skipping a beat or five. Waiting until it leveled out, she tucked her hands in her lap, discreetly wiped her sweating palms on the T-shirt she’d swiped from him. It smelled of him and she knew she’d be smelling him on her all day.

  “Don’t see that it matters what we call it, anyway,” she said, striving for casual. “They are just words anyway, you know.”

  “Words.” He turned around, once more leaned against the counter, hands braced on it. “Words can do a lot of things—as much as you want, or as little as you want, if you think about it.”

  Nia arched a brow. “Sounds like you spend a lot of time thinking about words.”

  He shrugged and shoved off the counter, ambled over toward her. Her heart did that weird little skip, but all he did was reach over her head, pull a small saucepan down from the rack hanging over the island. “You okay with soup?”

  “As long as it’s nothing gross like split pea or something like that.”

  He laughed. “Nah, you’re safe. I can’t touch split pea without thinking of The Exorcist.”

  Nia groaned and squeezed her eyes closed. “Oh, thanks so much for that image …”

  “You’re welcome,” he said cheerfully. “I always feel better when I share an image like that. Helps lessen my mental agony.”

  Popping one eye open, she stared at him as he opened the red-and-white can. “Your mental agony. You’re a strange character, Law.”

  “Yeah. I’ve heard that a time or two.”

  She shuddered and tried to scrub her mind of that image—thankfully it had been years since she’d tried split pea soup, so she wasn’t inclined to gag, and she had a pretty strong stomach anyway. The shit she saw in her job … well, it wasn’t for the faint of heart.

  “Since we’re not going to define just what we’re doing here, I’ve got another question for you.”

  “Yeah?” She was almost afraid to hear, seeing as how his humor obviously ran to the twisted.

  But when she glanced at him, his expression was serious.

  Heavy, even.

  He took his time, putting the soup on the stove, flipping the bacon again. Her belly rumbled at the scent and she thought about getting up to try to steal a piece.

  Then he pinned her with that intense hazel gaze. How those eyes could look so dark and brooding, she didn’t know, but he managed it. Her knees felt a little wobbly and all of a sudden, her heart was racing.

  “Just why are you back in Ash, Nia?” he asked softly.

  “Pardon?” Even as she forced the word out, she wanted to kick herself. Playing dumb wasn’t going to work with him. But she didn’t know how to answer that question.

  Tell him the truth, a small voice inside her heart whispered.

  Her head screeched, No.

  Everything else demanded she do just that.

  The truth—give him the truth.

  But what if he laughed? What if he didn’t believe her?

  What if—God forbid—he pitied her and patted her back and sent her on her way?

  Swallowing, she swiped her hands on the overlong hem of the shirt again, staring past his shoulder at the window. The blinds were down, but the window was open and occasionally, the blinds would move, pushed in by a small breeze. She focused on the small undulation, tried to get her thoughts in order.

  Where to start … hell, where did she start?

  Did she tell him the truth?

  “Nia?”

  She swallowed, jerked her eyes back to his.

  Abruptly, she knew.

  Yeah. She would tell him the truth. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t going to laugh. Wouldn’t pat her on the head and send her on her way. Whether he’d believe her or not, she didn’t know, but he wouldn’t dismiss it, either.

  “My cousin,” she said.

  Law nodded. “I had a feeling it was about her. No other reason for you to come back here, is there?”

  She swallowed again—there was a knot in her throat, huge and awful, and she could hardly breathe around it. But swallowing almost made her feel like she’d choke—choke on the tears, the pain. “You’d think it would get easier, right? I mean, according to the investigation, they found the guy who killed her. That’s the closure I should need, right? What makes it easier for me to move on?”

  For a long time he was quiet, nothing br
eaking the silence but a quiet sigh and the sizzle of bacon. Then he turned around, switched the soup to low, used the fork to transfer bacon from the skillet to a plate he’d lined with a couple of paper towels.

  “You’re trying to make it a process, sounds like, Nia. You can’t. There’s no right or wrong way to go about healing that sort of pain, to get over that kind of loss. You have to cope with it in your own time,” he said as he turned back, coming to stand in front of her. He cupped her face in a gentle hand, stroked a thumb over her lip.

  The gentleness of the touch, the compassion in his eyes, it all but broke her.

  But the fiery burn of anger had settled in her heart … finally. And it gave her the strength she needed. Reaching up, she curled her fingers around his wrist, not to push him away, but to squeeze, to hold tight. Whether it was for support, to get his attention, she just didn’t know.

  “I can’t cope, Law. Not right now. Not yet.” She blew out a breath, focused on the middle of his chest—breathed in, breathed out. “I can’t. Because I don’t think Joe Carson is the one who killed my cousin.”

  Hope couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a picnic.

  Not that this was a for-real picnic.

  They’d eaten lunch with Remy’s mom, Elizabeth.

  Something about the way the woman had all but hovered over Hope had made her feel so self-conscious—and that made her feel guilty because Elizabeth was a sweetheart. They’d gotten to be friends over the past few months and Elizabeth hadn’t ever acted like that before—staring at Hope with that shining, wide-eyed gaze and all but tripping over her feet as she followed them to the door.

  She’d been acting weird enough that Hope had almost asked Remy about it, but decided against it, especially seeing as how Remy was acting kind of weird, too.

  Not mad or anything. Just quiet. And it made her nervous.

  This was nice, though. Being here with him—some piece of land somebody in his family owned—Hope had no idea who. The Jennings clan seemed to multiply every time she turned around.

  He had a basket with wine, more of that lovely local wine she liked so much, some strawberries, a blanket. Her heart all but melted at the romance of it. Hoping the smile on her face didn’t look too goofy, she sat and combed her fingers through Remy’s golden hair and stared at him.

  Hell.

  He was so pretty.

  Too pretty.

  And hers—he loved her.

  Really loved her.

  As if he’d been reading her mind, he opened his eyes and looked up at her—that amazing blue capturing her gaze, holding her. “I love you,” he said softly.

  Her heart danced in her chest. As her heart sighed, she laid her hand on his cheek and murmured, “I love you, too.”

  In an easy, lazy movement, he rolled to his knees and settled in front of her. “That’s a good thing to know.” A smile tugged at his lips. He caught her hand in his, lifted it to his lips. “Because I need to ask you something.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” She swayed forward, pressed her lips to his. Hmmmm … he tasted like wine and strawberries. Hope slid her tongue along his lower lip and then eased back, smiling at him. “What did you want to ask?”

  He didn’t say anything right away. Still holding her hand, he rubbed his thumb along the back of it—pushed something … oh, hell.

  Hope froze. Looked down.

  Her eyes widened as she watched Remy push a golden band, set with diamonds and an emerald, onto her left hand. Her ring finger. Oh. Oh, man. Her heart banged against her ribs.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I can’t cope, Law. Not right now. Not yet … I can’t. Because I don’t think Joe Carson is the one who killed my cousin.

  Nia Hollister’s words echoed through his mind and although he tried to tell himself to be calm, he was having a hard time of it. She knew. Somehow she knew.

  “That fucking bitch.”

  He moved through the woods easily, moving on autopilot. He’d been here so many times, roamed these paths for so many years. They were like home to him.

  It freed his mind to think—to brood. To fume. How? Shit. How did she know? He hadn’t left any clues for anybody to figure it out—he knew he hadn’t because if he had, the cops would already be all over his damn ass.

  So how did she know? Bitch. Fucking bitch.

  He wanted her dead—that’s what he wanted.

  But he knew better than to act rashly.

  Couldn’t do that. He’d done that before and it had brought hell down on him. Leaving Hollister’s cousin here—that had been rash, although it had seemed to be a clever move at the time, a move that would solve his problems. He’d been arrogant, foolish, and it had damn near ended everything.

  He hadn’t been as careful as he needed to be in Chicago, either. Hadn’t been careful with Mara.

  Too many mistakes—and all it took was one for him to be caught.

  Couldn’t afford to screw up now. Not with her. Fuck. Careful—he’d be careful now if it killed him. Still … he had to watch her. Had to figure out his next move.

  And he couldn’t do that without knowing her. Always wise to know his prey. Always wise.

  He needed her gone.

  More than anything, he needed her gone and perhaps, if he could get to know his prey well enough, he could figure out a way to make that happen that wouldn’t involve killing her, hurting her … anything that might spin things back around so that they took a closer look at her cousin’s murder.

  Something.

  Anything.

  Know your prey … always good advice.

  Her soft, golden skin had a grayish undertone and her eyes glittered hard as glass as she stared at him—waiting, Law realized.

  Waiting for him to either dismiss her or brush her fears aside.

  He hid a cynical smile. If she knew him at all, she wouldn’t look so worried—Law thrived on conspiracy theories, paranoid crap. What she was thinking didn’t even come close to some of his crazier ideas.

  She looked ready to break, he thought. It did the damnedest thing to his heart.

  “If you’re expecting me to look shocked or something, sweetheart, I’m going to disappoint you,” he finally said. “Carson was a first-class bastard, but that doesn’t mean I’ll buy whatever story I’m handed by the police.”

  Startled, Nia blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m not saying I don’t believe he didn’t do it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t rule out other stuff, either.” He rotated his neck, grimacing as it popped. Absently, he reached up and rubbed at muscles gone tight. “There wasn’t any reason for him to hurt your cousin, Nia. Joe was a sick son of a bitch, but he had a method to his madness and I’m not seeing a method here. So while that doesn’t mean I can’t see it happening the way the sheriff’s office says it happened … well, the same goes for the opposite.”

  Nia scowled. “That’s about as vague as you can get. You like sitting on fences, Law?”

  “No. I like being objective. I like proof. And yeah, they might have proof against Joseph Carson, but they didn’t know him.” He looked at her, felt the hate and rage tear through his heart, through his gut and soul, hoped it didn’t show on his face. “I did. He was capable of all kinds of madness and cruelty and brutality like you can’t imagine. But it was never random—your cousin was random. That doesn’t fit the man I knew. Since the pieces don’t fit, I don’t believe in closing my mind to other options. This could mean there’s still a killer out there.”

  “So … you don’t think I’m crazy. Overreacting?”

  Reaching up, he cupped Nia’s cheek. “I think you’re listening to your gut. People don’t always do that enough.” Then he stroked his thumb over her lip and added, “But do me a favor … don’t go striking off on your own with a gun again. Especially an unregistered one.”

  Nia flushed, the mellow golden skin of her cheeks going pink. “I wasn’t thinking then. At least not clearly.”

 
“Speaking hypothetically—say you’re right, and the killer is still out there. You think you’ll be thinking clearly if you happen upon a roadmap and evidence that points the way to him?” Law asked sardonically. He shook his head. “If there is somebody else out there, he’s dangerous, dangerous in a way Joe Carson never could be, because this guy is a thinker—a predator. Chances are he’s from around here, and he’s watching everything you do.”

  Those words left her shivering.

  Nia swallowed and looked away, tried to pretend she wasn’t terrified.

  It wasn’t happening.

  “Fuck.” She rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. “Okay, now I really need a cigarette.”

  Yeah, she’d figured the killer was local, figured he would take note of her. But for reasons she couldn’t entirely think about, she hadn’t thought so far ahead as to think about whether or not he’d be watching her.

  Was he?

  Had he been?

  A tremor wracked her body, and a second later, Law’s arms came around her. One hand stroked the back of her neck, a light soothing touch. The other rubbed along her spine, steady and strong, warming her. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed and scowled, feeling very much the fool. “Just feeling a little freaked by that idea—freaked and foolish. I mean, I figured he was local, figured he’d know who I was, might see me. Why didn’t I go beyond that?”

  “Maybe because it would have made it too easy to talk yourself out of this,” he offered. Then he tipped her chin up, stared into her eyes. “And you need to be here, I think. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be.”

  “Yeah.” Nodding, Nia closed her eyes, then leaned back in and snuggled close. “I do.”

  “The mind has a way of protecting us—we see what we need to see and when we’re ready for more, we get more. You weren’t ready to think that next step, so your mind just processed what you were ready to deal with.”