In Search of Truth

by Sharon Wray

  Zack put away his phone and touched her shoulder. He was so gentle, she hardly felt it. “How did you find out about the affair?”

  “Isabel told me. She was wearing my engagement brooch.”

  “Whoa. How—”

  “Where are you staying?” Allison didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She just wanted to fall into bed. From the dark circles under his eyes, she wondered when he’d last slept. “With Vivienne?”

  Vivienne’s mansion wasn’t far from Pinckney House.

  “No. Someone killed Hezekiah minutes after he gave you the Pirate’s Grille.” Zack shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sleeping here.”

  She started to protest, then stopped. There was no point in denying that she didn’t want to sleep alone in the house. “If the Fianna didn’t kill Stuart, do you think it was the same person who killed Hezekiah?”

  “I think it’s possible…shit.” Zack gripped his hands behind his neck, and the muscles in his huge biceps rippled. She wondered what he’d look like if he untied his hair. She wondered what he looked like without his T-shirt.

  What is wrong with me?

  She turned away to wipe down the counter. “Is there a problem?”

  “I have to call my boss in Savannah. Let him know I won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  She rinsed the dishrag out beneath a stream of cold water. “Will your boss give you a hard time?”

  Zack picked up the dog’s leash and wrapped it around one hand. “He always gives me a hard time.”

  She hung the dishrag over the faucet and wiped her hands on a dry one. “This gym you work at—is it a twenty-four-hour kind of gig?”

  Grooves appeared in his forehead, as if he were contemplating something. She wasn’t sure what, but considering how he wound and unwound the leash around his hand, she wondered if he was telling her the entire truth. She knew him well enough to believe he’d never lie to her. But omissions were lies’ kissing cousins.

  “No.” He tossed the leash onto the table, and Nicholas Trott perked his ears. “Is this house alarmed?”

  Way to change the subject.

  Since she was tired, and it was late, she decided to play along. “No. It used to be, but with the Pinckney Trust being frozen, I canceled it.”

  Zack ran a hand over his head. Again, the movement showed off the elaborate dragon tattoo that covered his arm in a display of color. “Do you have a gun?”

  “Don’t you have yours?” She raised what she hoped was a reproaching eyebrow. “The one you pulled on those two men earlier tonight?”

  He chuckled and looked around the room as if she had a hidden arsenal in the pantry. “I do but I’d like something…more.”

  She sighed and the dog wheezed. This didn’t surprise her at all.

  She led Zack into the laundry room, toward the tall safe that stood against the far wall. She turned the dial a few times—her birthdate—and the door popped open, exposing Stuart’s collection of hunting rifles and shotguns. “Take your pick.”

  Zack found a nine-millimeter pistol and shoved in a fully-loaded magazine. Then he took out the double-barreled shotgun, loaded a few rounds, and charged the weapon. “I’ll hold the shotgun, but I want you to keep the pistol next to your bed.” He paused before handing it to her. “You still know how to use it, don’t you?”

  “I may be a widow whose husband cheated on her”—she took the gun and drew back the slide until a bullet clicked into the chamber—“but I’m not helpless.”

  “I never said you were helpless.”

  No. He’d said she’d break all of their hearts.

  Suddenly the room was too small and she couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m going to bed. I guess this is good night.”

  And she was glad. No, relieved. After all these years of dreaming about him, wondering what it would feel like to be in his arms again, dealing with him now was the last thing she wanted.

  Despite his controlled demeanor, his chest heaved. “I guess so.” He reached out to cup her cheek but took her free hand instead. He pulled gently and led her upstairs. Nicolas Trott followed too closely, almost tripping Zack when he hit the second-floor landing. “Which is your bedroom?”

  Nicholas Trott stopped in front of the last door on the right and pawed the door open. She’d left her bedside lamp on, and it illuminated pale green walls and a white lace comforter on the king-size four-poster bed with the poles carved with rice stalks. Sheer white drapes hung from the canopy railings. Her favorite jasmine scent wafted out, with no hint of the masculine base notes she’d once taken for granted.

  It was a romantic room that reeked of abject loneliness.

  A heaviness filled her chest, making it hard to breathe and her sinuses feel tender.

  If Zack only knew…

  He kissed her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not responsible for Stuart’s death.”

  “Not that. Despite the violence of that night seven years ago, I’ve never forgotten our kiss. I replay it in my mind every night before I go to sleep.”

  She closed her eyes to avoid his intense gaze. An intense gaze that sought a particular truth more than a particular memory. While his kiss had haunted her marriage, she wasn’t strong enough to admit that to him. All the truths she’d learned tonight, along with Stuart’s death, had left her too raw, too sensitive, too sad. “Is that why you’re sorry?”

  “No. I’m sorry for this.” His lips pressed against hers. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close until their bodies collided.

  She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, move her soft curves against his hard body. She wanted to tilt her head and stand on her tiptoes. She wanted to be held like she mattered, like she wasn’t alone, like she was loved.

  “Allison.” The guttural word sounded as if it’d been dragged from his throat.

  Her lips softened beneath his…until she tasted salt. From her tears.

  Somehow, somewhere, she found the strength to pull away, and Zack let her go. This close to him, she could feel more than see his large body shaking. His wide chest pulsed beneath his T-shirt, and his flared nostrils meant he was trying to drag in gallons of oxygen.

  Nicholas Trott worked his way between them and rolled onto his back. The house lights dimmed, went out completely, and kicked back on a second later. The brief power outage knocked her from the sensual kiss-induced fog.

  She reached for the doorjamb, needing her house to hold her up. Her heart raced, and her breasts threatened to push over the top of her strapless gown. She hadn’t planned on kissing Zack tonight—or ever again—yet it was the only thing she’d done in the last two months that felt right, that made any sense.

  “I need to, uh, go to bed… I mean sleep.” Her toes curled against the wood floor. “You can pick any of the eight guest rooms to sleep in.”

  “Of course. Right.” He fixed his gaze on her lips again. “If you need me—”

  “I know.” She swallowed and it tasted like she’d gargled with salt water. “Good night.”

  She hurried inside and shut the door. It was only after she’d leaned against the frame, eyes closed, tears coursing, that she realized Nicholas Trott had chosen to stay with Zack. Because the big difference between her and her dog?

  Apparently, Nicholas Trott wasn’t afraid of Zack, while she was terrified.

  Chapter 8

  Zack had once read that the Knights of the Round Table followed seventeen codes of chivalry, one of which was to honor and respect women. And, as far as he could remember, the list didn’t include be an asshole.

  With Nicholas Trott between Zack’s feet, he stumbled downstairs and almost landed on his ass in the foyer that could fit an entire platoon’s encampment. He’d not meant to kiss Allison. Hell, he’d not meant to do any of the things he’d done today, includi
ng leaving Savannah without permission.

  He was usually driven by the rules of combat and the order of his unit, but when it came to Allison, his greater mind caved to his lesser mind. Seven years had passed since he’d last seen her, since he’d last kissed her, and his attraction had matured instead of waned. Proving that his feelings for her were real, had always been real, and would probably never not be real.

  He was head over heels with no idea what to do about it. She’d responded to his kiss for the briefest moment, yet she’d also pulled away. She hadn’t been ready and he’d pushed himself on her. Again, earning him the asshole designation. Maybe he could start a new group called the Order of the Bastard. Since his parents had never married, the double entendre suited him.

  One thing that gave him hope was what he saw on her dressing table in her bedroom—the bottle of jasmine perfume he’d sent her from Paris two years ago.

  His phone buzzed with a text. He’d expected a return note from Nate, since Zack had texted him earlier about Isabel. Instead, this was from Luke, another one of his buddies at the gym: Call your sister.

  Right. Zack had forgotten. As he walked to the kitchen, he dialed Emilie. When she didn’t answer, he left a message. “Hey, Em. It’s Zack. I’m returning your call. I’ll try you tomorrow.”

  The dishwasher rattled on the wash cycle, and he reset the oven’s blinking digital clock. He shoved his phone in his back pocket and grabbed the shotgun from the kitchen table. It wasn’t until he held the gun again that his breathing evened out. The weapon centered him. The weapon was something he could handle with skill. The weapon was real and true and honest, three things he needed to feel right now because learning about Stuart’s affair had been an emotional gunshot to the chest.

  An affair was the last thing that he’d ever believe of Stuart. The only reason Zack hadn’t stopped the wedding was because he’d known Stuart loved and would honor Allison.

  He’d also, at that time, had no understanding of what they’d seen and heard that night at Le Petit Theatre. After the bowing men had disappeared with the man they’d killed, he’d taken Allison home and they’d never discussed it again.

  Once he’d joined his Special Forces group and heard rumors about the Fianna, he’d put some of the story together. But he still had a lot of questions about what it all meant.

  Carrying the weapon, he and the dog wound their way through three rooms until entering the study. The dog dove for his bed and Zack sent another text to Nate describing almost everything that’d happened, including the fact that Zack wouldn’t return to the gym until the morning. Then he searched the room for anything that could link Stuart to Remiel Marigny, the arms dealer who’d been terrorizing their unit.

  Nicholas Trott’s ears perked and he raised his head.

  “It’s okay, buddy. She’ll never know. I promise.”

  Nicholas Trott dropped his head and sighed. The dog was…purring.

  Ten minutes later, he’d found nothing tying Stuart to Zack’s unit or Remiel Marigny. While he closed Stuart’s desk drawers, the dog ran toward the window. He stood on his hind legs, paws on the window ledge, and stared into the darkness. His tongue hung out as he panted.

  The desk lamp dimmed, flickered, and turned off. Zack stood next to the dog, his handgun drawn, shotgun nearby. He needed a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. This part of the city’s power grid had gone down. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  The dog barked once.

  Zack peered out the window, and Nicholas Trott…growled. Zack knelt and pressed his shoulder against the dog’s tense body. The garden surrounded the house on three sides, leaving the shadowed perimeter vulnerable to a nighttime attack. White sheets drifting on a breeze glowed in the half-moon’s light, a few getting caught on nearby tree branches.

  Was that a shadow behind one of the sheets?

  A flash of lightning broke through, then thunder rumbled. He steadied his breathing and pressed his hand against the dog’s neck. Nicholas Trott’s heart rate increased. His ever-wagging tail was now tucked between his legs.

  Another flash of lightning. Then thunder. The woman in a white gown appeared so suddenly, Zack fell onto his ass. Her wide eyes bulged. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. A nanosecond later, she disappeared.

  Nicholas Trott tried to paw his way through the window. His nails scraped the glass. Zack grabbed the gun he’d dropped and got up.

  What the fuck was that?

  He ran to the front door, the dog beside him. Zack took a deep breath and opened the door. Another lightning strike left behind a static charge that raised the hairs on his arms.

  Nicholas Trott ran across the porch and turned the corner, disappearing.

  Shit. He followed, listening to the night noises around him…except all was quiet. He found the dog on the steps leading to the garden.

  He hated admitting that he didn’t want to roam the area in the dark. He also didn’t want to leave Allison in the house alone. But someone had been outside. He wasn’t sure what he’d seen, but he’d never experienced anything like it before. Considering he was a Special Forces officer, with many combat tours behind him, that meant a lot.

  He gripped his weapon and went into the garden. Thunder and lightning clapped simultaneously. Nicholas Trott tripped over a wicker laundry basket, and Zack yanked sheets off the line. The least he could do was save Allison’s laundry.

  When finished, he carried the basket under one arm, kept his weapon ready, and led the dog inside. His timing was perfect, since the rain hit just as he shut the door. “Come on, buddy. I need your help.”

  He dropped the basket in the foyer and locked the front door. Then he and the dog spent the next hour checking every window and door of the house, which was far larger than he’d ever imagined. It even had a ballroom and an attached greenhouse.

  Once assured that the house was secure, he grabbed pillows and blankets from a guest room and made a bed for himself outside Allison’s door. Between Nicholas Trott, the shotgun, his handgun, and various knives he kept on himself, he was confident he could prevent whatever the hell had happened tonight from getting close to Allison.

  Rain hit the roof and he settled himself on the floor, his weapons within reach. Then the dog decided that Zack’s stomach made a better pillow. A few minutes later, while Zack rubbed the dog’s head, Nicholas Trott started purring.

  Just as Zack began to drift off, he received a text from Nate.

  Get back to the gym. ASAP.

  Why?

  Kells is pissed. And Isabel Rutledge works for Remiel Marigny.

  * * *

  “Drown the witch!”

  Allison dropped her book and peeked out the window of her tree house.

  A group of kids—her brother Danny’s friends—stood on the riverbank, shouting and pointing at the water. She was supposed to be watching them but had retreated to her tree house to read more about Heathcliff.

  “He’s guilty!” a few shouted.

  She squinted against the sun. Danny and his friends knew they weren’t allowed to play near the river. She shaded her eyes with her hands until she saw something bobbing in the deeper water. “No!”

  She climbed down and ran toward the river on her bare feet, barely noticing the pine straw and rough grass that covered the property of Fenwick Hall. Kids stood along the bank, some even hung off the willow branches that draped over the river.

  “Witch, witch, drown the witch!”

  More screamed, “He’s guilty! Danny’s guilty!”

  A little girl cried, “I don’t want to play Dunk the Witch!”

  Please. God. No.

  Allison pushed through the crowd and saw a body partially submerged with a rope straggling behind the head. The tide was dragging the body deeper into the river’s current.

  “Get my uncle Fenwick now!” She jumped into the
water. The cold stole her breath and it took her a minute to gain control of her arms and legs. She started swimming toward Danny, wishing she was wearing shorts instead of a dress.

  When she reached him, she grabbed his arm. “Danny!”

  He didn’t respond, only floated farther into the river. She tried to wrap her arms around his body, but something was dragging Danny down. That’s when she realized they’d tied a bag of rocks to a rope around his waist. “Danny!”

  Water filled her mouth and she coughed because she couldn’t swallow the brackish water. She heard screams from the bank, and her uncle Fenwick’s voice telling her not to fight the current. She clung to her brother but she was so tired. She kept swallowing water and her brother was sinking. Because she wouldn’t let go of him, she was sinking too.

  Everything seemed dark and she couldn’t move. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe.

  * * *

  Allison opened her eyes and struggled against an unseen force. Her arms and legs refused to move. A huge weight on her chest made breathing impossible. She tried to yell, but nothing came out except for garbled sounds. It was dark and cold and terrifying. She was still in the nightmare but awake at the same time.

  While her extremities felt paralyzed, she was aware of both the past and present. She was in the water and in her bed, unable to save herself or Danny. In both situations, she was drowning.

  She started hyperventilating and felt lightheaded.

  “Allison!” Zack’s voice cut through the waking nightmare. “Make fists.”

  Except she couldn’t move.

  “Look at me.”

  Except she couldn’t see.

  “Find a path back to me.”

  Except she couldn’t find one.

  Zack took her face in his hands and brought his mouth close enough for her to feel his breath. His lips pressed against hers and he whispered, “Breathe with me.”

  She struggled to move until she was exhausted. Her body still wasn’t responding.

  Zack’s breath traced her mouth. “Come on, Allison. Dammit. Breathe. With. Me.”