Dead Giveaway

by Brenda Novak

  Allie had never felt so alive, so hyperaware of another human being. As the rhythm intensified, she was no longer sure where Clay’s body stopped and hers started, and she didn’t care. The separate parts didn’t matter, only the unified, glorious whole. They were nothing without each other.

  Her muscles tensed, then several spasms rolled through her so hard her whole body shook.

  Clay chuckled softly as she shuddered in his arms. “That’s it. One more,” he said, but she could sense him struggling to hold back and wanted to relish a little power of her own. Pressing him onto his back, she made sure he lost all control.

  When Allie woke up, it was light. She blinked, feeling lazy, satiated, content—until she saw red on the pillow in front of her. Then she sat up so fast black spots danced before her eyes.

  The dish towel she’d wrapped around Clay’s wound had fallen off, and his blood had smeared the bedding. But, once the dizziness passed, she could see there wasn’t as much as she’d feared.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, lifting his head.

  “You’ve been bleeding.”

  He groaned and fell back on his pillow. “Is that all?”

  “Is that all?”

  “The way you had my heart going, how can you be surprised?”

  He’d turned his face into the pillow, which muffled his voice, but Allie knew he was teasing her. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up,” she said, straining for a look at his wound.

  “Not here. We don’t have any dry firewood to purify the water.”

  “I can wash off the dried blood, at least.” She started to climb out of bed but realized she didn’t have anything except the wet clothes piled on the floor. She hesitated. It was one thing to strip in the dark. It was quite another to go strolling naked about the cabin in broad daylight. Especially when Clay couldn’t help but compare her to the likes of Beth Ann.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She pulled the sheet off the bed with her as she moved. “It’s freezing in here.”

  He scowled. “You don’t want me to see you.”

  Clay never missed anything. Feeling a blush warm her cheeks, Allie glanced away. “We made love half the night. You’ve already seen me.”

  “I’ve felt you,” he clarified. “I haven’t seen you.”

  Take what Beth Ann has and cut it in half, she wanted to say. But she refused to reveal her insecurity. “It’s too cold.”

  “I never expected you to be the self-conscious type, Officer.”

  “I’m not!”

  He sat against the headboard and cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her.

  “I’m not—what did you call me? Prim and proper?”

  “The way you’re hiding behind that blanket isn’t too convincing.”

  “Do you know who shot you?” she asked, trying to change the subject. During the night, she’d briefly told him about her missing gun and the note. But they’d been too preoccupied to discuss it fully.

  “No idea.” A crooked grin curved his mouth. “So…I’m number two.”

  She knew he was referring to the number of men she’d slept with. In her mind, he was number one, and she was pretty sure she’d think of him that way for a long time. She’d never experienced anything like last night. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Stop gloating,” she said.

  “I’m not gloating. I’m wondering how I got so lucky.”

  “Are you kidding? You were bleeding. I felt sorry for you,” she said with a smirk.

  Clay’s blue eyes sparkled. “How can I get you to feel sorry for me again?”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “If you could make love the way you did last night, you’re fine.”

  “I’d be a lot better if you’d take off that sheet.”

  “No.”

  “What if I take it off?” he challenged.

  Allie recognized the desire in his voice. She’d expected last night to be an isolated incident, a breakdown of her customary resistance, due to an unusual situation. But he wanted her again. Now.

  And, just as Beth Ann had predicted, she wanted him.

  Frightened by how shaky he could make her feel with just that look, Allie caught her breath. She nearly dropped the sheet and climbed back into his arms. But warning signals were ringing loudly in her head. She’d gone too far last night—too far for her job, and too far for her emotional well-being.

  “We have things to talk about.” She forced herself to look away as she returned to the subject of last night’s shooting. “You haven’t received any threatening letters or calls, have you?”

  He seemed taken aback by her businesslike tone. “No.”

  After dunking another dish towel in the pan of water, she gently washed his arm.

  He didn’t speak while she worked, but she could feel his defenses snapping back into place. She’d seen a different side of Clay, a warm, loving side he didn’t show many people. It was difficult to watch him transform into the remote man she’d always known, and even harder to acknowledge that it was because she’d backed away from him first.

  “Care to hazard a guess as to who might want you dead?” she asked.

  “After last night, I’m sure your father will top the list.”

  “We’re not talking about that part of last night.” She set the wet towel and water aside.

  He scowled. “We’re pretending it didn’t happen?”

  She chose not to answer. “If you had to guess, who would you say shot you?”

  “Joe,” he replied. “Except Joe would know better than to leave me alive, in case I ever found out it was him.” As Clay shoved a pillow behind his back, the gold medallion dangling on his chest glinted in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  Allie picked it up. She’d wondered about it before, felt it last night as he moved on top of her. “This is Catholic, right?”

  He didn’t seem particularly eager to answer.

  “Clay?”

  “Saint Jude.”

  “Pray for us,” she read. She could feel his eyes on her. “Jude’s the patron saint of hopeless causes, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Allie looked up at him. She was pretty sure she was right. She’d seen a similar medallion on a homicide victim in Chicago. “But you’re not Catholic.”

  He stared at her from beneath his thick lashes, and she got the impression that he was trying to figure her out, like that first night at his farm.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  “It belonged to my father.”

  “He gave it to you?”

  “No, my mother did. It was the only thing he left behind.”

  The fact that he still wore it indicated that Allie had been right about the depth of the scars Lucas had inflicted on his young son. She didn’t like to think about the heartache Clay must have endured. She felt too drawn to him, especially after last night.

  She let the medallion fall back against his chest and hurried to bandage his wounds. She needed to put some space between them as soon as possible.

  “Did you find any evidence that your father’s having an affair?” he asked.

  Allie felt the tension between them but didn’t know how to relieve it. “No, nothing at all. Thank God. I actually feel a little sheepish for doubting him.”

  She expected Clay to say something to indicate that he was pleased for her. It was what almost anyone would do. But his thoughts remained a mystery.

  Finished, she stepped away from him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He met her gaze. “I don’t know.”

  He wasn’t talking about his wound. She understood that. She wasn’t sure she was okay, either. Something had happened last night beyond the physical act of making love, and it had affected them both.

  Turning his attention to his wound, Clay tried to rotate his shoulder to see the back of his arm and muttered a curse.

  “Don’t do that,” she said. “You could make it bleed again.”

  �
��It’s fine.”

  She drew the sheet around her a little higher. “What enticed you to come to the cabin?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you receive a phone call, telling you I was in trouble? Or a request to meet someone here?”

  “No.”

  She frowned in confusion. How else had the shooter brought Clay to this remote location? “So why’d you come?”

  He regarded her levelly. “You have to ask?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You were here.”

  Allie let her eyes sweep over him, trying to commit every detail to memory.

  When he caught her admiring him, he held out his hand in subtle invitation.

  Allie tried to resist but couldn’t. Reaching out, she wove her fingers through his. Then he pulled her toward him and began tugging on the sheet.

  She didn’t stop him. She closed her eyes as the sheet fell to the floor. A moment later, she heard the bed creak as Clay leaned forward, felt his lips move along her collarbone, over her breasts, as light as a butterfly’s wings. “Clay…”

  Pulling her into his arms, he rolled her over him, and laid her on her back. He was acting differently than he had last night, when they’d made love with such passion. Today Clay touched her with a reverence she’d never experienced.

  She watched him take in all the details she’d been afraid to show him.

  “Perfect,” he said, his hand following his eyes. “Just like I imagined.”

  What was she going to do? Allie asked herself. She was falling in love.

  She almost kept him from touching her. She had to return to real life. But that would come soon enough. Instead, she sighed in blissful satisfaction as he began to love her.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, Allie reveled in the scent and feel of him, in the heightened sensations only he could evoke—until someone tried to open the door. Then she cried out and stiffened in panic.

  Clay tried to shield her body with his. But it didn’t help. A second later, she heard a crack. Then the door flew open and crashed against the inside wall, and Allie’s heart nearly stopped.

  Her father stood there, holding the ax handle he’d used to break the lock.

  The look of contempt on McCormick’s face burned Clay worse than his gunshot wound, although he had to admit he had it coming. He’d known better than to touch Allie. He just hadn’t been able to resist.

  “Give us a minute,” he said gruffly. The anger he felt, mostly directed at himself, lent his words plenty of authority. But he doubted Chief McCormick heard him. The older man was already backing away. He threw down the hatchet and stomped out, probably because he couldn’t bear what he’d just seen.

  Allie scrambled out from under Clay and grabbed her clothes. “I’ll handle this.”

  He buried his head beneath the pillows, cursing his own weakness and stupidity.

  “He’s all bark,” Allie said. “He’ll calm down.”

  Clay had little hope of that. Still, he stayed where he was as she pulled on her wet jeans and shirt and hurried outside.

  He expected to hear a blistering argument—but Chief McCormick didn’t even raise his voice. If she hadn’t left the door ajar, he probably wouldn’t even have been able to hear them.

  “You’re fired,” he said. “Turn in your badge, your car and your gun as soon as you get back to town.”

  Silence met this statement. Clay couldn’t believe it himself. Was Chief McCormick serious? What would Allie do without a job? She had a child to care for—McCormick’s grandchild!

  He got out of bed and started dressing.

  “I’m a good police officer. You can’t fire me because I slept with a man you don’t like,” she said.

  “A man I don’t like? He’s a suspect in the only murder case we’ve got.”

  “He’s also a man I’ve known since high school, and he was just like anyone else a few days ago. When I moved back here, you weren’t even interested in reopening the Barker case! It was all me, digging around to help Madeline.”

  “Things have changed, and you know it.”

  “Not in the name of justice. The Vincellis have their own agenda, that’s all.”

  “And you think sleeping with Clay is going to help? Are you trying to ruin your life?” he retorted. “What about Whitney?”

  “Whitney is my concern. I’ll take care of her.”

  “How? You don’t have a husband anymore. You don’t have a job. You don’t have a home of your own. Without me, you don’t have anything!”

  Clay froze, waiting for Allie’s response.

  “You and Mom invited me back,” she said evenly. “You wanted me to move home as much as I wanted to come.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  “Before you started acting like a bitch in heat!”

  The hypocrisy of McCormick’s statement made the blood boil in Clay’s veins. At least he and Allie were single. At first Clay had thought Allie would fare better if he let her deal with her father alone. But he couldn’t stand back and allow McCormick to mistreat her. Clay was equally responsible.

  Striding out of the cabin, he leaped from the porch to the ground because he didn’t have the patience to bother with the steps. A bitch in heat? Allie had slept with two people in her life. A few minutes earlier, she’d been too self-conscious to let him see her naked despite what they’d shared during the night. “Watch your mouth,” Clay warned.

  “You stay out of it,” McCormick said. “This is between Allie and me.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You’re challenging me, Montgomery?” Chief McCormick’s hand hovered near his gun, but Allie moved between them.

  “Stop it! I won’t have the two of you fighting.”

  Clay assumed she’d explain the extenuating circumstances leading up to last night. But not Allie. She was too proud to justify her actions. Tears glistened in her eyes, but her throat worked as she fought them back. “We’re stranded,” she said. “If you’ll just give us a ride to town, we’ll figure out how to get our cars home.”

  McCormick blinked several times, then focused on the toppled bookshelf visible through the open doorway. As if finally realizing that it hadn’t happened as part of their lovemaking, that much more had taken place at the cabin than finding his daughter in bed with a man he didn’t approve of, he turned to her. “What’s been going on here?”

  “You can read the report,” Allie said stiffly. “I’ll file it when I turn in my badge.” Pivoting, she stalked past Clay and collected her shoes from the cabin before marching over and climbing into the front seat of her father’s cruiser.

  Clay remained where he was. He’d been worried about his mother putting his sisters at risk. But after nineteen years of caution, he was making some big mistakes of his own.

  McCormick stomped around him and went into the cabin. Clay glanced over at the patrol car, but Allie didn’t look back at him. She stared straight ahead, the set of her jaw testifying to her misery.

  He could’ve avoided this whole debacle, Clay thought. If only he’d stayed home and minded his own business—the way he usually did.

  But then he remembered that the window of Allie’s car had been broken before he’d arrived.

  Maybe it was a good thing he’d come. Whoever had shot him might’ve attacked her had he not shown up—

  “What’s this?”

  Clay turned to see McCormick holding his shirt. It was so bloody he’d left it on the floor and donned his sweatshirt instead.

  “What does it look like?” he said and got into the back of the cruiser.

  Allie’s mother hovered over her the entire time Allie was packing her belongings. Allie felt bad about the rift between her and her father, and was worried about how she’d support her daughter. But even if her father would allow it, she couldn’t go back to the Stillwater police force. They weren’t interested in devoting the man-hours it would take to actually solve
the Barker case. They were only looking for a quick escape from the pressure, a way to get Clay.

  She needed her own space. Complicated as her life had become, that was clear.

  “Why not move into the guesthouse?” her mother asked hopefully. Wearing a pained expression, Evelyn had been waiting for the right moment to intercede. But Allie hadn’t given her much of a chance. She’d been rushing from one drawer to the next. Whitney’s clothes and half of her own belongings were already jammed into a large suitcase she’d had to sit on to latch. The rest she was tossing into boxes she’d stored in the garage.

  “No, thanks,” she muttered.

  Her father had made himself scarce since their return to town. Allie couldn’t guess what he was thinking. But she refused to be dependent on him any longer. She had some savings, enough to pay a security deposit and a few months’ rent. She’d start looking for work on Monday.

  “Where are we going, Mommy?” Whitney asked, watching her with eyes almost as wide as Evelyn’s.

  “Not far, sweetheart.” After she’d dropped off her badge and cruiser at the station, along with a report that explained the theft and subsequent shooting, Allie had picked up a newspaper and placed a few calls. Stillwater didn’t have much of a rental market. But she’d managed to lease, on a month-to-month basis, a small two-bedroom house.

  The only problem was that it happened to be directly across the street from Jed Fowler’s.

  Allie wasn’t too happy about living in Jed’s neighborhood. But at least she’d be around the corner from Whitney’s school.

  “Why are you making such a snap decision?” Evelyn asked. “Give your father time to cool off, then sit down and talk about this with him, like adults.”

  Letting him cool off wouldn’t help. They were on opposite sides of this issue. She hated to uproot Whitney again, but she and her father couldn’t live under the same roof. The tension would be worse for her daughter than the change. “I have nothing more to say to him,” she said.

  “You’re mad at Grandpa?” Whitney asked.

  Allie tried to temper her response. “We’re having a disagreement, that’s all.”

  Whitney moved closer. “So you want to leave before he gets home?”

  “That would be best.” She’d rather save Whitney from hearing an upsetting argument. She had other reasons for rushing, too. She was determined to canvass the cabin and surrounding woods for evidence—before the sheriff’s department could take over. She’d gone through the area once already, when Officer Grimes had taken her back to get her car. But she hadn’t wanted to run into Clay, who’d be coming back for his truck, so she’d made only a cursory pass. She was embarrassed that she’d lost her objectivity so quickly. And she wasn’t proud of herself for getting personally involved in a case.