Sadie tried to figure out why he’d told her all this, then realized he’d cast her in the role of Rogan, the guilt-sufferer, which obviously made him Kim. Not that he’d appreciate the analogy. “So you’re telling me I’m being stupid.”
“If the ruby slipper fits.”
She looked pointedly at her bare feet. Tried to muster some flippancy. “Fine. Good. Whatever. I feel no responsibility for your current condition.” But her acting skills weren’t up to the task, and a straggling tear escaped from between her lashes.
He tracked it but withheld comment. “You know,” he finally said, “I used to think that Rogan and I were polar opposites. Mirror images, and all that twin bullshit. He was the good one, I was bad. Well I’ve realized, over the past few days, that though there’s some truth to that analogy, we’re more alike than I thought. Our emotions run pretty deep, they just manifest themselves in different ways. He punished his body to deal with his guilt. I punished everyone else.”
When he saw the confusion that marred her expression, he told her about his mother.
Sadie absorbed his confession, realizing what a blow his mother’s death must have been to him. They’d always been close, and for him to feel responsible for her accident…
It had to have eaten him alive.
The curious dynamic she’d noticed between him and his family suddenly made a lot more sense.
Then her brows drew together as she followed the logic through. “So let me get this straight: you’ve used the guilt you felt over your accidental role in your mother’s death as an excuse to act like a jerk for the past fourteen years.”
“Pretty much,” he admitted, tone wry with self-deprecation.
“Oh Declan.” She looked him over, battered and bruised, perhaps more so in soul than he was in body. Softened as she glimpsed the hurt little boy peeking out from the eyes of the wounded man. It was obvious that he’d sabotaged his own happiness for years, because he simply felt he didn’t deserve it. “Why now?” she asked, wondering at the change of heart he seemed to be having.
“Because you need to understand where I’m coming from. I’m through with pushing people away from me, and right now you’re topping the list. I meant it when I said I loved you.”
“Declan.” Her whole posture went boneless. But given the dire circumstances, how could she possibly trust his words? “You know that I love you, too. You can’t spend your entire formative years with someone, the way we did, and not come out the other side with some pretty strong emotions. But if this is because you think we’re not going to make it out of here, or because of the other night, you don’t need to –”
“NO.” He stopped her before she could cruise down Denial Street any farther. Hadn’t she been paying attention? He was through with acting out of guilt. “I’m not telling you I love you because I think we’re going to die, or because we made love the other night. We made love the other night because I love you. Never would have happened otherwise. You think I’m stupid enough to make a move on a friend? On a woman who lives next door to me?”
Her expression suggested she thought it entirely possible that he might actually be that stupid. That it had been hormones and not emotion behind their coupling. Indignation reared its ugly head, outrage not far behind it. He was making himself vulnerable, soft, like a freaking she-crab going through a molting. And she was about to fry him up and serve him on a bun.
“I know it’s been quite a while since you left, but I’d hoped you knew me better than to think I would use you.”
“No, Declan. That’s not it.” Her sigh bore the weight of frustration. “Obviously there’s an attraction between us, and I’m not blaming you for the fact that we had sex. Or for the broken condom. Or even for the way you reacted. I know it threw you, but there was no harm done, and you can’t hold yourself responsible for an accident. I believe that was the point of the discussion we were just having.”
He snorted. “But you’re ignoring the fact that that kind of accident often requires a college fund.”
“No,” she shook her head. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m on birth control pills, and have been for some time.”
“Okay.” Was that relief or disappointment twisting his gut? “Good. Excellent. But the fact is, yes, I freaked out, as evidenced by my vomit and run, but the point I’m trying to make here is that I would have been… okay if you’d ended up pregnant.”
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not. Pregnant, that is.”
“Super.” And now he remembered why he’d always preferred sex with relative strangers. This clearing the air with a lifelong friend was turning out to be damn awkward. And don’t think it had escaped his notice that she’d pretty much ignored the fact that he’d said he loved her.
Always quick to jump on his train of thought, she cleared her throat again in uncharacteristic hesitation. “At the risk of making this a whole lot more uncomfortable than it already is, I just want to say that I never would have made love with you either if there weren’t… feelings involved. Really strong feelings. But I have to admit that I can barely get over the fact that you and I even did the deed, let alone that it was so fantastic. And then there’s the little matter of the skin on my finger still being raw from the engagement ring I just gave up.
“And quite frankly, I’m so scared of us dying here that the state of our relationship isn’t the first thing on my mind. But provided we make it out of here, I’d like to see where this might take us.”
“Fair enough.” And if that stung a little bit he’d ignore it. When they got out of there – and they were getting out of there – he’d just plow through any resistance she offered. He hadn’t bared his soul like that just to be friends. Although he had to admit her friendship was pretty damn important.
But he wasn’t giving the sex up, either.
“It was pretty fantastic, wasn’t it?”
A wry smile twisted one corner of her sexy mouth, then she suddenly looked toward the window. “You hear that?”
Now that she mentioned it, there was a noise that seemed to be growing louder. It sounded like some kind of motor.
“Boat, maybe?”
“Sounds like,” he agreed. He could tell from the briny, fecund smell in the air that there was a waterway nearby.
“You think it’s somebody fishing?” she asked hopefully. “Or… maybe them returning. Could be they decided to come by water instead of driving in.”
He saw her shudder with the nerves she’d been suppressing, felt the now-familiar rage set to boiling under his skin. He was possibly concussed, certainly battered and broken in a number of places, but not so far gone he was willing to just sit here and do nothing if it was indeed the men.
The question was what the hell was he capable of doing?
“Maybe we should try yelling,” she suggested, eyes wide with both hope and dread. “Just in case it’s someone who might help us.”
Declan listened carefully to gauge the boat’s distance from their location. Years of living near the water gave him accuracy wrought from experience. The sound was more hum than roar, muted, and growing fainter. The good news was it most likely wasn’t their captors.
The bad news: their very slim chance of rescue.
“Too far away,” he told Sadie, hating the disappointment which crumpled her spine. “Even if we had a bull horn they wouldn’t be able to hear us over the noise of the engine. And the wind’s blowing this direction, off the water. You know that means they’re probably not even as close as it sounds.”
“Maybe we should try, anyway. If there’s one vessel, there might be more. Maybe a rowboat or a kayaker or –”
Her voice trailed off with a hiccupping sound, and she shoved a fist against her mouth.
“Ah, baby, please don’t cry.” The sight of her struggling against a breakdown was almost more than he could bear. She’d been so courageous through this whole damn thing that he’d almost forgotten she was five-foot nothing. A
little fluff in a frilly pink suit. Brave though she was, physically she was tiny. It had to be terrifying to know self-defense in their current situation was next to impossible.
And that as a defender, her male companion had been pretty damn lame.
That thought so enraged him that he ignored his aches and pains and kicked his foot out at the broken table. Pieces of rotted wood scattered like cockroaches across the floor. He yanked against the pipe for what must have been the thousandth time since last evening. It moved not one freaking inch.
Maybe he should just find a way to cut off his own damn hand. He might bleed to death but he’d be free of the handcuffs. Then he could get Sadie out so that she stood a chance.
Just as he was contemplating the ways and means to achieve self-mutilation, sunlight glinted off something shiny under a piece of the table. Probably one of the screws. Though why it wasn’t rusted after years in the salt air was anybody’s guess.
He looked at it a little bit closer.
“Sadie,” he said. But she’d started crying again and at first didn’t hear him. “Sadie, take a look.”
Her face was in her hands, her shoulders heaving silently. “Sadie, stop crying and look at me. Sadie, I think that’s the key.”
“What?” she asked, a little belligerently. “Why are you yelling?”
“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d been paying attention. The key to the handcuffs,” he continued, pointing with one swollen finger of his broken hand. “It must have fallen out of Billy’s pocket sometime last night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HER family was falling apart.
Kathleen slowly lowered the phone that had just brought a frantic call from her father. He’d apparently received word from Kim that she’d driven Rogan to the hospital.
Unexplained pain in his ribs and chest.
They’d be running tests to rule out the possibility of heart trouble.
Kathleen’s own heart skipped an erratic beat. The noise of the surrounding police station faded as worry roared through her veins. Rogan had spent enough time in hospitals, already. He didn’t need to deal with more health problems.
And her dad couldn’t get ahold of Declan.
Kathleen knew that Declan didn’t have his cell phone with him. She’d seen it sitting on his kitchen counter when she’d inspected his house the day before.
But her dad had also tried Sadie’s mobile.
And kept getting directed to her voice mail.
Maybe they were doing nature things – or whatever it was one did while camping – and didn’t have the phone with them. Or maybe they were making the beast with two backs and were simply ignoring the calls. Or maybe the battery had died.
Come to think of it, Kathleen thought she might have noticed Sadie’s charger on her nightstand. Not that she’d have anywhere to plug it in, unless they were at a campground that had facilities. But then why couldn’t they get a tow?
Maybe she’d brought a car charger with her.
Plugged into the Jeep that was supposedly stuck in the mud.
Fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose, Kathleen fought back the headache that was brewing. She had cases backing up, Mac had called in sick with the flu, and she didn’t need all this additional worry.
Sadie’s house had revealed nothing overtly amiss yesterday, and her toothbrush and other essentials had indeed been missing. As had Declan’s vehicle. His clothes weren’t organized enough for her to tell what might be absent, although she hadn’t seen any sign of the boots he often wore. Maybe they actually had gone camping.
And maybe a pig would captain her on a flight to Jamaica.
Disgusted with the fact that something was nagging at her but she didn’t know what, Kathleen stabbed her hands through her hair in utter frustration. In front of her, she could see Josh Harding working on a sketch as he held his cell phone against his ear. Clearly he was on hold. He hadn’t made any sound for several minutes. Seeing the composite coming together reminded her of the John Doe still on ice at the morgue, awaiting, if not justice, at least identification. Time was running out before they dumped him in a numbered grave.
Maybe she should distribute some more composites in Mount Pleasant. That fast food receipt they’d found in the victim’s pocket was just about the only lead they had. There was a chance the dead man had more ties in that area than he had in Charleston proper. Of course, he could just as easily have been passing through. But someone somewhere had to recognize the guy.
It was a shame the composites of the other two men in the convenience store around the time of the murder had turned out sort of generic. Not that it was Josh’s fault – he was a hell of a forensic artist – but the teen witness had been so scatter-brained that she hadn’t really helped much. They had a big, burly dark-haired guy and a smaller, pastier dark-haired guy. Both Caucasian. Approximately mid to late twenties.
No real distinguishing characteristics.
And they’d gotten nowhere with the Explorer that fingerprint evidence told them the vic had been driving. Other than the fact that it had been stolen in Columbia. Whatever plates it may have had, had been removed.
Maybe she’d run a composite over to Anthony. Sure, the MPPD already had one in their possession, but it didn’t mean Detective Corelli had seen it.
And hello, was she pathetic, or what?
Talk about your thinly veiled excuses.
And like she needed another distraction right now?
“Excuse me,” said a deep voice. Kathleen looked up to see the Michael Douglas character from Wall Street standing in front of her desk, only younger and better looking.
He stood there, all golden and starchy, looking at her down his remarkably perfect nose.
“Can I help you?” she asked shortly.
“I certainly hope so. You’re Kathleen Murphy, are you not?”
She glanced at the name plate sitting on her desk. “No, but I’ll be sure to let her know you stopped by.”
His lips thinned and he did a wonderful impression of a six-foot wooden plank.
“I see that you’re going to be as helpful as the rest of your family. I stopped by that bar of yours not twenty minutes ago, and was informed that all of the Murphys were unavailable. Yet I’d called prior to my arrival to ascertain that your father was there.”
“Twenty minutes ago my father was on the phone with my brother’s girlfriend, who’d just driven him to the ER because she feared he was having a heart attack. Not that that’s any of your business. Who the hell did you say you were?”
“So… Declan is in the hospital?”
Kathleen crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, not about to divulge that information.
“I apologize,” the man said, looking suddenly more tired and less like an asshole. “This would have gone more smoothly if I’d introduced myself initially. I’m Richard Carlisle.” He stuck out a hand, tanned, manicured and masculine. “I believe you’re friends with my fiancé.”
Well shit. Kathleen stared at his hand, then reluctantly grasped it. If she hadn’t been so distracted she might have recognized the man from the photos she’d seen over the years.
“Richard,” she acknowledged uncomfortably, because hey, wasn’t this fun? “Sorry about the attitude. I was… worried about my brother.”
“Understandably.” He shifted in his expensive loafers, and Kathleen remembered her manners enough to invite him to have a seat.
He pulled out the chair next to her desk and lowered himself into it. And when he smiled, was the cover of every issue of GQ she’d ever seen.
Even Josh had nothing on this guy, and he was the most fashionable man she knew.
“So your brother is in the hospital? I wasn’t aware that he had health problems.”
“Were you even aware that I had a brother?”
“Of course.” He looked mildly offended. “Sadie has mentioned you all through the years. And there were the RSVPs to the wedding. I understand neither of your br
others will be able to attend.”
None of them were going to be present, because there wasn’t going to be a wedding. And the fact that he was still acting as if there were meant Sadie had big problems ahead of her.
“Why are you here exactly?” She’d pretty much exonerated him of responsibility for the breakin at Sadie’s, but that didn’t mean she felt hospitable.
“To speak with Sadie, of course.” He had the good sense to look uncomfortable. “I’m not certain how much she’s told you, but we had a… falling out over the holidays.”
“Uh-huh.” Either Sadie hadn’t been quite as clear about the fact that they were permanently kaput as she’d indicated to Kathleen, or this guy lacked a grasp on reality. “Well unfortunately I can’t help you with that, as Sadie’s out of the area just now.”
“So I’ve heard.” His voice turned icy. “I stopped by her… by the place she’s been staying, when I got into town last evening, and one of the men she had doing work for her indicated she’d… gone somewhere with one of your brothers.”
“With Declan,” Kathleen agreed, because she saw no reason to withhold the information any longer. “It’s Rogan who’s in the hospital. And what time did you stop by?” She’d been there around dinnertime and hadn’t seen him. Nor had she seen the contractors.
“Going on eight, I believe. Although I fail to see how that’s relevant at this point. If you know where she’s taken off to, I’d like for you to tell me. Please,” he thought to add.
There was a hint of desperation in the imperative.
Kathleen wasn’t sure whether she couldn’t stand him or felt sorry for him.
“She’s gone camping.” Or so she said. “But you’ll have to try to reach her on her cell phone.”
“I’ve tried.” One well-shod foot started tapping. “She won’t answer. Maybe if you could just give me the name of the lodge…”
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me. She’s camping.” Kathleen made a steeple shape with her fingers. “As in tent.”
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