by C. B. Clark
The track opened onto a small clearing, and he stopped before a dilapidated barn and turned off the engine. Tall grasses and tangled patches of wild rose and hawthorn bushes held a stranglehold on the land. Trees and brambles formed a nearly impenetrable barrier separating the dense forest beyond.
How the hell was he going to find anything here? He didn’t even know what he was searching for. Still, he had to look even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees and examine every inch of this damn place.
Twelve years ago he’d slunk from town, his tail between his legs like a beaten mongrel. Anger and bitterness had plagued him every day in the years since, plus nightmares at night. He’d had enough. He was through living like a criminal. Determined to clear his name, he’d hired the best private investigator he could find and returned to Cooper’s Ridge to right the past wrongs.
He opened the truck door and stepped into a mud puddle. Cursing, he shook the water off his boots and scrambled to drier ground. Silence surrounded him, broken by the creak of the barn door as it swung in the breeze. A crow, its shiny black eyes watching, cawed from atop a lone, dead pine in the middle of the clearing. The bird called again, its cry haunting as it spread its wings and flew into the forest, black feathers gleaming in the feeble morning sun.
A chill rippled along his spine. This was the last place anyone had seen Skye Lawrence alive. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of painful memories.
He’d brought her here to celebrate their graduation from high school. It had been the perfect evening, except for one thing—he was with the wrong girl. Almost every senior student had been at the party, drinking, dancing and making out. But then Skye vanished, and the nightmare began, made even worse when her beaten and bloodied body was found in the nearby woods two days later.
He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to scrub away his guilt. Contrary to what everyone suspected, he hadn’t killed her, but he had let her down. Because of him, she’d left the party alone and walked into a murderer’s clutches. He couldn’t change the horror of her untimely death, but finding out who killed her would be a step toward his salvation.
The dilapidated red barn was still standing, but judging by the sagging roof, not for long. An old tire swing attached by a fraying rope to a branch on the dead pine swung back and forth in the breeze, a reminder a family with children had once lived in this desolate spot. He crossed the overgrown yard to where the old farmhouse had stood. A pile of weathered boards almost hidden beneath a thick tangle of scrub was all that remained. He kicked a piece of scorched wood. A crushed beer can lay half buried in the muck beneath the wood.
The wind had risen, and the barn door squeaked and swayed on long-unoiled hinges, the sound grating on his jagged nerves. Any evidence remaining after all these years had to be in the barn.
Crossing the muddy yard, he stopped and listened.
The roar of a vehicle’s motor filled the air and a small, red car bounced and shuddered over the rough, gravel lane and screeched to a stop. The door opened and Carrie Ann jumped out. She stomped toward him, ignoring the mud splashing her high-heeled, black, leather boots. Her shoulder-length, auburn hair gleamed like burnished copper; two red spots flamed in her cheeks.
His gut spasmed. God, she was stunning, especially now when she resembled an avenging Valkyrie. “What the hell are you doing here? Are you following me?” he demanded.
Her eyes blazed, the amber lights flashing gold. “Leland told me you were here.”
“You drove ten miles on a muddy, gravel road to see me. Should I be flattered?”
She withdrew a crumpled white shirt from her purse and tossed it at him.
He caught the shirt. It was the one he’d given her to wear the night she’d had her flat tire. A vision of her wearing the shirt flashed before him, and he bit back a groan. She hadn’t been wearing her bra under the thin cotton shirt. He’d noticed. Man, had he noticed. The thought of her bare skin against his shirt, took his breath away. Still did. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here to give me this. You could have kept my shirt. It would give you something to remember me by.” He forced a wolfish grin, knowing he was baiting her, but unable to stop.
“I’m on my way out of town, but I wanted you to have this.” Again she reached in her purse. This time she held a handful of crumpled bills. She threw them at him.
The money landed in the mud at his feet. “What’s this for?”
“Ted from the garage told me you paid for having my flat tire repaired.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I pay my own way.” Her voice was tight. She worried her bottom lip, white teeth digging into soft, pink flesh.
Remembering how sweet her lips tasted, he gulped for air.
The crow cawed from the nearby forest. The barn door creaked. They faced each other like two combatants ready for a showdown.
Finally, she spoke. “Ted told me about the tire.”
Damn.
“He found a bullet hole in the side wall which is why the tire was flat.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Double damn. “The night was dark, and it was raining. Remember? I couldn’t be sure.”
“But once you knew, why didn’t you tell me then? Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”
He opened his mouth to say something trite, but changed his mind at the fear shadowing her eyes. “I didn’t want you to worry. It was probably an accident. There are lots of farms around where you had your flat. Some farmer was likely shooting at a coyote.”
“Ted said the same thing.”
“He’s right.”
“You should have told me anyway.”
“What would you have done? Called the police? Told them I shot your tire?” He took a step toward her. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’d like nothing better than for me to be arrested for shooting out your tire.” Another step. “I don’t believe this. After all these years, you still want to get back at me for taking Skye to the prom. Isn’t it time you got over it?”
She paled.
Two more steps.
Her hands fluttered to her throat.
Cold settled over him and sank deep into his bones. She was afraid. Of him! For a brief second he wanted to reassure her he’d never hurt her, but then he remembered what she’d done, and he kept walking closer.
She backed away, stumbling on the uneven ground until she bumped against the hood of her car.
Why the hell was she so frightened? He’d never done anything to cause her to be afraid of him. The truth hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he staggered, almost losing his balance. She thought he’d done it. She believed he’d kidnapped and murdered Skye. All these years, he’d harbored the belief that despite all the anger and betrayal, after everything she’d done, somehow Carrie Ann, the girl he’d given his heart to, believed in his innocence. But now, here, once and for all was proof. Like everyone else, she thought he was a murderer.
Something inside him broke. A fury overtook him, anger so hot he was amazed the earth beneath him didn’t scorch. He glared at her, his fists bunched at his sides, afraid of what he’d do if he lost control. “Why the hell are you here? If you’re so damn afraid of me, why the hell did you come all the way out here by yourself?”
A tear trembled on her eyelashes. “I wanted to return your shirt and pay you for having my tire repaired.”
“Come on, Carrie Ann. You didn’t drive all the way out here to give me this.” He shoved the shirt in front of her face. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”
“I wasn’t going to come. I didn’t want to, but…” Her voice faded.
He narrowed his eyes. “But what?”
“I thought you might need help.”
“Help?” He snorted. “From you?”
“Leland said you were here looking for evidence in Skye’s murder.”
“How would Leland know?” He hadn’t told anyone of the text he’d received or of his intentions to come
out here. Was the old bastard having him followed? He wouldn’t put it past him.
What she’d said hit him, and he forgot Leland Winters. “You drove all the way out here to help me?” She was lying. She’d made her feelings more than clear years ago, when at the first hint he was a suspect in Skye’s murder, she’d run away. “I don’t believe you,” he ground out. “You don’t give a damn about me. You didn’t twelve years ago, and you sure as hell don’t now.”
Her full lips tightened, and she shoved past him, her eyes flashing. “You don’t know anything. You have no idea what things were like for me.”
“For you? Oh, lady, spare me. You weren’t the one accused of kidnapping and murdering a friend. You weren’t the one the whole town thought was guilty. Hell, most of them still think I am.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “Skye’s life wasn’t the only one destroyed that night.
“I was eighteen years old and as far as this town was concerned, I was no better than my old man. Like father, like son. Everyone said it. The sheriff didn’t have any physical evidence against me, but I was treated like a felon. For weeks, my name was in all the papers and on the news every night. I was the ‘prime suspect in Skye Lawrence’s murder’. Hell, I couldn’t even go to her funeral for fear of being attacked by a lynch mob.” He stopped, breathing hard, spun on his heels, and stomped toward the barn.
A car door opened and slammed shut. An engine roared to life, but he didn’t turn to watch. The noise faded until once again he was surrounded by silence.
Chapter 7
Carrie Ann’s hands shook on the steering wheel as she swerved to the side of the road and turned off the motor. Squeezing her hands into fists, she winced as her nails dug into her palms. It was a mistake to come here, but the last thing she wanted was to be beholden to Declan.
She hadn’t planned on offering to help him, but Leland’s dogged belief in Declan’s guilt had changed her mind. When she’d told Leland she was leaving town, he’d seemed pleased. With Skye’s murder case being reopened, people would be talking again and a large part of the conversation would center on her.
Leland believed Declan’s case was hopeless. It was only a matter of time before the sheriff found the proof he needed to convict Declan once and for all. Leland had snickered and told her Declan had driven out to the old Rankin farm on a foolish quest to prove his innocence. “As if any evidence would be there after all these years,” he’d sneered.
She hadn’t defended Declan. What was the point? As far as Leland was concerned, Declan was guilty and deserved to be punished. Nothing she said would change his opinion.
But she couldn’t get the thought out of her mind of Declan, all alone at the desolate farm, searching for something he’d never find. Leland was right. Any evidence from that terrible night would be long gone, either taken by the authorities, or destroyed by time.
Yet Declan searched.
Forty-five minutes later, after bumping along the muddy and rutted road, she’d driven into the overgrown clearing.
Declan had been standing amidst the ruins of the old farm, the wind tangling his dark curls.
She’d almost turned around and left. Should have, in hindsight. But the bleak expression on his all-too-handsome face portrayed his loneliness and isolation. Heart pounding, she’d opened her door and stepped out of the car.
He hadn’t been happy to see her. His brow had furrowed, and he’d clenched his teeth so tightly a pulse beat in his jaw.
For a brief moment, she was afraid, but then she saw the hurt hiding beneath the anger, transforming his eyes into black coals. Her fear fled, replaced by guilt. She’d wounded him far more than he’d ever know. He was angry with her now; if he knew the full truth of what she’d done, he’d despise her.
A car horn blared, drawing her out of her thoughts.
A blue sports car pulled a U-turn in the road ahead and parked on the shoulder. Sheldon Dubrowski stepped out. He grinned and waved as he jogged toward her.
She slid her window down. “What are you doing here, Sheldon?” No one used this back road; yet, here he was.
“Hey, Carrie Ann. Do you need some help?” He leaned through the open window, his face inches from hers, his warm breath reeking of stale cigarette smoke. “Do you have another flat?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know I had a flat tire the other night?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Sheldon, I heard you. How did you know about my flat tire? Who told you?”
He shrugged. “You know how things are in this town. People talk.” He wrinkled his brow. “I heard you’re heading back to Seattle today.”
“Why am I surprised?”
“It’s Cooper’s Ridge.” As if that explained everything. He waved a hand at the acres of empty fields and thick forests surrounding them. “What are you doing out here? This isn’t the way to Seattle. This road’s a dead-end. The only place it leads is to the old Rankin Farm.” His gaze sharpened. “You remember the farm, don’t you? We used to party there in high school.”
“I was at the farm.” She gave in to the inevitable, knowing he’d find out anyway.
“Really? I haven’t been there for years. Not since…you know.” His freckled face turned serious. “Why were you there? No one goes to that old place anymore. Not even the kids. Some folks say the farm’s haunted.” He shuddered. “Not that I believe in that hocus-pocus baloney, but there’s no way you’d catch me there alone.” Once again, his sharp gaze swept over her. “Why were you there?”
“I wanted to see the place one more time.” She hoped he’d let it go.
His eyes narrowed. “Really? Did you see Declan?”
“Declan?”
He nodded. “He told me he was going to the old farm this morning. He said he wanted to check out something. You must have seen him.”
She shook her head, once again lying to him. The last thing she wanted was for him to start spreading rumors she and Declan were having a secret tryst. What next? Would the town gossips ferret out the truth she’d worked so hard to hide all these years? “I didn’t see anything except for an old barn and a bunch of weeds.” She could tell he didn’t believe her.
“Really?” His gaze sharpened. “Are you sure?”
She sighed. “What do you want, Sheldon? I have to get going.”
“Do you want to go for coffee, you know, to catch up?” He grinned, the sudden flash of white teeth blinding. “The Perked Pot still serves a pretty mean cup of joe.”
“I can’t. I really am on my way out of town.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay, but I’m taking a rain check.” His grin spread. “The next time you’re in town. You owe me a cup of coffee.”
“Sure.” She knew she’d never come back.
He started to return to his own vehicle, but stopped and turned back. “Are you sure you didn’t see Declan?”
She threw up her hands. “Okay, you win. I saw Declan. He was at the farm. Are you happy?”
He retraced his steps and leaned in the window. “And?”
“I saw him. That’s all. I saw him, and then I left.”
He reached through the window and traced a finger down her cheek. “You’ve been crying.”
She leaned away from his touch. “It’s nothing.” She turned the key in the ignition and started the engine.
He raised his eyebrows but backed away from her car.
She shifted into Drive.
“I don’t believe you, Carrie Ann,” he called over the noise of the motor.
She pressed her foot on the gas pedal.
He shouted through the open window. “You can run away, Carrie Ann, but the truth is more than clear. You’re still in love with him.”
She jabbed her finger on the window control button and rolled up the window silencing any further comments, and jammed on the gas. The car surged ahead, skidding on the loose gravel as she swerved around his car, missing h
is rear bumper by inches. She glanced in the rearview mirror.
He stood where she’d left him, a wide grin wreathing his homely face.
His last words echoed through the car, the refrain pounding into her head with each condemning syllable. You’re still in love with him. She gripped the steering wheel, her foot pressed hard on the gas pedal. The little car raced down the rough road, bouncing over the deep ruts.
He was dead wrong. She didn’t love Declan. Not anymore. Too much guilt and too many lies separated them. He’d broken her heart once. She’d barely survived. If she hadn’t had Bonnie to care for, she wouldn’t have.
A siren’s blare rent the air.
She glanced in her rearview mirror.
A sheriff’s car, lights on the roof flashing red and blue, was gaining fast.
She looked at her speedometer and swore. Easing her foot off the gas, she slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.
The sheriff’s car parked behind her, and the siren died, the lights still flashing their warning. The door opened and a uniformed sheriff’s deputy climbed out. He was heavyset. His paunch hung a good three inches over his belt, straining the buttons on his tan shirt. Settling a hat on his balding head, he checked for his gun in the holster at his side and lumbered toward her.
She reached for her purse, withdrew her wallet, and opened her window.
The deputy leaned in, his sharp gaze roaming over first her, and then the car’s interior. “You’re going somewhere in a mighty hurry, ma’am.”
She forced a smile. “Was I speeding, Deputy?”
“I clocked you at sixty miles an hour. The speed limit for this road’s forty.”
Her cheeks hurt from smiling. “I’m sorry, Deputy. I didn’t know. I’m really sorry.” She widened her smile.
His mouth tightened, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. “Let’s see your driver’s license and insurance.”