Words That Kill (A Maddox Storm Mystery Book 3)

by Claire Robyns

  Joe gave a slow nod. “Although, we should still check out the canning factories in the—”

  “No,” came a resounding verdict from everyone at the table who wasn’t Joe.

  ∞∞∞

  Our cabin in the woods was everything Nate had promised, rustic comfort with emphasis on the rustic. As we pulled up to the spindly log structure perched beneath monster trees with snow-sagged boughs, I had a profound thought worthy of my epitaph one fine day: No one ever fought so hard for so little.

  Night had fallen thick and dark, since we’d stopped along the way for supper and to pick up supplies for later in case anyone got the munchies (another bright idea of mine, in case you’re wondering). Have wine and choc chip cookies, and any old cabin would do. But to be fair, the cabin was a giant leap up from the last night’s accommodations, although that said more about the roadside motel than about Loyal Lodge.

  The cabin had one open reception area and two bedrooms. Jenna and I snagged the queen bed while Nate graciously offered to take the pull-out sofa in front of the fireplace, leaving Joe with the pair of bunkbeds crammed into a room that was marginally bigger than a walk-in closet.

  Okay, to be completely honest, the cabin wasn’t bad at all. Jenna and I were seated at the rickety pine table with an opened bottle of red wine between us. Outside, a snow-shower was currently white-washing the dark world with a fresh blanket. Inside, Nate was coaxing what would hopefully soon be a roaring fire in the humungous fireplace.

  Joe sat cross-legged on the floorboards, head down in his laptop, keyboard clicking.

  When Nate came over to grab a clean wineglass from the kitchen cabinet behind us, I nodded toward Joe and said, “You see that? He’s rewriting the first murder to remove the similarities to Lacey Markson. Does that look like a man trying to fulfil his own prophesies?”

  “Is that what’s he’s doing?” Nate glanced around to consider Joe’s bent head. “I thought he was updating his travel diary.”

  “Nate, be serious.”

  Nate’s jaw worked, then he set his unused glass down on the table and turned to me. “Okay, do you still have that photo of the Merc? I’ll run the plates and see what comes up.”

  “You can do that without going through the department?” I said as I called the photo up.

  “I know a guy who knows a guy.”

  I held the phone out to Nate. “Really?”

  “No, I have to push this through the department.” Nate got a good look at the plates, then walked off to place the call. “Don’t worry, I don’t have to spill my guts just to get plates run. It’s standard procedure.”

  Jenna plucked my phone out of my hands and swiped to the photo of letterman jacket man. She stared for a long moment, her nose scrunching in concentration. “He doesn’t look like a whacko.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “He was actually quite pleasant.”

  She swiped again and found the picture of Nate and me. “Ooh,” she cooed. “Look at you two lovebirds.”

  I grabbed my phone back. “I meant to delete that.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Watch me.” I tapped, then my finger remained poised on the tiny trashcan icon. It really was a nice photo.

  Jenna watched, her wine glass resting on her lower lip. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why are you so opposed to the idea of you and Nate?”

  “Sam,” I said without thinking. And then I thought about it, and didn’t change my mind.

  “His partner?”

  “And best friend.”

  Jenna took that sip. “Well, I guess they have to be close, trusting each other with their lives.”

  “Best friend,” I repeated.

  Jenna raised a brow at me. “You sure?”

  “They share coffee mugs,” I clarified. “And she looks like a freaking runway model. What’s up with the Auburn Detective Department, anyway? Do they recruit from fashion magazines?”

  Jenna’s gaze slid in Nate’s direction. “I’m not complaining.”

  “You should see the other guy.”

  “Huh?”

  “Sam,” I sighed, and gulped down enough red wine to dull the flare of disappointment as my eyes tracked Nate’s return. I could never start anything with Nate, not while Sam waited in the wings. I didn’t have that kind of faith in any man, not anymore.

  Jenna must have been staring, too, cause Nate took one look at us and drawled, “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Nah,” Jenna said. “We were just talking about Sam.”

  Heat flushed my face.

  Nate grinned. “Yeah, she’s great.”

  “You’ll never get the girl with that kind of talk,” Jenna grumbled.

  “Sam?” Nate poured himself wine, chuckling. “Then I guess it’s just as well I’m not interested in her.” His gaze came to me, settled in. “Not in the least.”

  Good for you. “Did you run the plates?”

  The seconds stretched. And yes, there were all kinds of stomach dipping, toe curling, blood thickening things going on with me beneath that intense, stone-baked gaze. But nothing I wouldn’t get over with a dose or two of common sense.

  Finally, he lifted his glass and said, “They’ll get back to me in the morning.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Pleasure.” Another beat, then he took his wine and strolled across the room to the fire.

  Jenna tipped closer. “See? He’s not interested in Sam.”

  “That’s what they always say, until they wake up one day and realize they are.”

  Undeterred, Jenna smiled a devious smile. “There’s no coming back from best friends.”

  “Have you never watched a rom com?” I muttered. “The gorgeous best friend always gets the guy while the bride’s left standing at the altar.”

  “Julia Roberts in My Best Friend’s Wedding,” Jenna stated.

  I rolled my eyes. “That movie just screwed with the natural order of the universe.” I stabbed my glass at her. “And need I remind you who cried the loudest at that miserable ending?”

  “Tears of happiness for the bride.”

  I snorted.

  Jenna sipped on her wine, watching me.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “You know why I’m still so mad at Joe? Because he broke you, Maddie Mads, and you don’t even know how badly.”

  “I’m not broken.”

  “Then why all the excuses? I’ve seen the way Nate looks at you, Mads. Six months later, and he’s still looking at you the same way. That’s not enough to give a man a chance?”

  “I’m being realistic.”

  “You’re being all broken and closed.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I said, and I totally meant it.

  Some time later, though, as I lay in bed, my mind drifted over the moments we’d shared these last two days. I liked Nate, that much I did know. So why did I push him away so hard?

  EIGHT

  We took a slow drive down to Brackenport and arrived in the late afternoon. It was a busy town, only fractionally smaller than the neighboring Williamsport, with wide boulevards and congested intersections and enough boutique coffee shops to still my beating heart. We checked into a grand hotel (four stars) between the Susquehanna Beltway and the river, Jenna and I sharing a suite on the fourth floor, the guys each in their own bedrooms one floor down.

  “I can’t believe Joe’s paying our share of this,” Jenna marveled as she flopped all over the daybed that looked like something out of Marie Antoinette’s private bed chamber. “I officially retract at least half of the mean thoughts I’ve had about him.”

  “That’s an excellent start,” I murmured, palms cupped around my takeout cappuccino as I brought my gaze in from the frosted river and the magnificent white forest beyond.

  “Hey, trouble in paradise?”

  I turned to her, didn’t bother denying. It was stupid, but I was troubled...by something or other. “It�
�s this place, Brackenport. Doesn’t it feel a little like ‘The Last Stop’ to you?”

  Jenna un-sprawled herself from the daybed. “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” I blew out a noisy breath. “I suppose it’s Killer Max. If Joe’s right—”

  “Which he isn’t.”

  “Which he isn’t,” I agreed. Nate had heard back about the plates, and they belonged to a medical rep in his forties, Peter Nell, married with two children. Not exactly the prerequisite profile for a serial killer (or a wood chomper contractor). “We’ll know for sure tomorrow night.”

  Jenna’s eyes lit up. “Meanwhile, there’s D-night.”

  “D-night?” I asked, because apparently I didn’t know better.

  “Date night.”

  “Tonight is not date night.”

  “Rehearsal for date night?” Jenna tried.

  This is what happens when you let things ride. I should have nipped this fiasco when Joe had suggested we split up tonight (rehearsal for tomorrow night) to cover both rodeo bars. Jenna, of course, had immediately paired me with Nate, and I hadn’t uttered a peep of protest. Jenna and Joe needed the quality time together, right?

  Right.

  I dragged deep on my coffee, evading Jenna’s probing gaze.

  Just as I’d been evading her for…well, a long time. Oh, on the surface I was all there, hanging out, doing all the things we’d always done, but when exactly had I stopped baring my heart and soul?

  I didn’t have to think too hard on that.

  “I really have closed up, haven’t I?” I said as I walked over to her, no longer evading her eyes. “I didn’t mean to shut myself off from you. Seriously, I don’t even know why I did.”

  “You were hurting,” Jenna said simply. “Your husband betrayed you, Mads. That kind of scar cuts deep.”

  “You shouldn’t have put up with me for so long.”

  “I didn’t.” She flashed me a saucy smile. “Why do you think I kept battering away at your defenses?”

  “Nate.”

  “You were bound to crack one day and spill how you really felt about him.”

  I went down onto the daybed and patted the spot beside me. “This might take a while.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “That bad,” I said. “I like him, Jenna.”

  Jenna sat, legs folded so she could twist about to face me. “But?”

  “Sam.”

  “Seriously? That’s not just an excuse?”

  “Well, a little bit of Sam and a lot of me,” I explained. “I’ve got trust issues.”

  “Understandable.”

  I laughed. “Try telling Nate that.”

  Jenna looked at me, devils glinting in her mischievous blue eyes. “Yeah, try telling Nate that.”

  It took me another moment to comprehend. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She wasn’t kidding, and I was still mulling over her BFF advice hours later. After a quick bite at Taco Bell, we’d dropped Joe and Jenna off at Duke’s Saloon and made our way across town to Rough Riding Rodeo (don’t ask, although the mechanical bull lit up in the window may have been a hint).

  “Don’t even think about it,” I said to Nate as his slow grin came on in my direction. “I’ve got too many bouncy parts to lose.”

  “We’ll talk again once I’ve loosened your inhibitions.”

  Good luck with that.

  We left our coats and jackets at the front desk and walked past the buckin’ bronco into the bar. This was my first time in a saloon, and I had to say, it wasn’t nearly as dank and grimy as I’d expected. The place was all polished wood, shined leather and gleaming glass. Cozy tables were arranged around the edges, space left in the middle for dancing. Over on the far side, a three-man band were warming up their instruments on a raised platform.

  The tables were all full, so we chose stools at the bar and settled in. The plan was to stay for an hour or so, scout the layout and get comfortable. After all, Killer Max wasn’t due until tomorrow night.

  I decided to ‘get with the program’ and ordered Miller Lite Draft instead of my usual wine (did they even serve wine here?)

  “Make that two,” Nate told the bartender.

  I tipped my head at him. “I bet Joe’s making Jenna stick to soda so she’ll stay alert.”

  “We should have made them our designated driver couple.” Nate slid his stool closer, resting an elbow on the counter as his gaze sank into me. “This is nice.”

  “Not bad for a saloon,” I said. “Not even one slinging gun in sight.”

  Humor lit his eyes. “That, too, but I was talking about this. I was starting to think I’d never get you alone.”

  Warm, fuzzy feelings stirred. Before I could do anything with them, the bartender ruined the moment to slam down two mugs of beer. Did I say ruined? I meant saved. Sort of. I was still mulling, mulling, mulling.

  The music started up and couples hit the dance floor. Nothing complicated like two-steppin’ or line dancing, just plain old swaying in each other’s arms to the slow country and western ballad. Although I did spy a couple of hay bales scattered near the stage.

  So did Nate. “I wonder if it’s true, what they say about fooling around in the hay.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “What do they say?”

  He clinked his mug to mine and grinned. “That no good can come of it.”

  I laughed, sipped on my beer, and stared into his smoky grey eyes. More people had packed around the bar, jostling for the bartender’s attention, but suddenly it felt like it was just the two of us.

  “We should be looking out for Killer Max,” I said. No idea why.

  Humor creased Nates eyes. “You do recall that Killer Max is a middle-aged medical rep called Peter Nell, right?”

  “You’re the one who promised to arrest him if he dared show his face here.”

  Someone stretched their arms on the counter right next to Nate, and he moved an inch closer to reclaim body space. “That’s before I knew the poor guy had a wife and two kids.”

  His mouth was right there, a whispered breath away. “Remind me to rent a family before I go on my next crime spree.”

  “Maddox?”

  “Hmm?” My pulse clip-clopped like Butch Cassidy on his getaway stallion. Except I wasn’t running anywhere. I breathed Nate in, spice and earth and all things male.

  That gorgeous mouth hitched at one corner, carving granite valleys into his jaw. “Would you like to dance?”

  Long swathes of hair, dark as coal, fell across his forehead and scraped his cheek. His eyes were sun-baked stone, his mouth firm and wide, his jaw shadowed with the slightest suggestion of bristles.

  I should just say yes, dance the night away in his arms, maybe even take a short tumble in those haystacks.

  But where would the chalk-screeching humiliation be in that?

  “No,” I said. “I’d like to talk about us.”

  He shifted, giving the building tension between us a little slack. “Okay.”

  I hesitated. “This is going to sound a little crazy.”

  “Of course it is,” Nate said, but his voice was all husky warmth and endearing charm. “You’ve never let me down before.”

  “A lot crazy,” I warned.

  “Is this where I tell you to shut up and start talking?”

  A smile crept over me. Here goes all or nothing. “I lost a lot of trust in, well, just about everything, when my marriage fell apart.”

  “Joe hurt you.”

  I nodded. “But it wasn’t so much what he did, or what I did. It was that one day I had this absolute belief in what my life was, and the next day it was gone. That shook me, and it still does. Going into any relationship right now, I’ll be going in expecting to be hurt, and that’s not a pretty way to start.”

  What? You didn’t think I was going to bring up my paranoid delusions about him ending up with Sam while I’m left at the altar, did you? I wanted Nate to understand what a hot mess I was, not send hi
m scuttling into the wind.

  I wet my lips. “I realize this is step four when we haven’t even taken step one—”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Nate butted in. “I’d say we’re at least on step two. We have the photo to prove it.”

  “Nate!”

  “Maddox.” He reached out to tuck a wayward curl behind my ear, kept his hand there, his thumb stroking my cheek. “I’m not looking for a random hookup. I’ll take all the steps you will give me.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “Why?”

  “Hell if I know,” he said, so softly, so gently, and I probably should have felt insulted except he was looking at me as if I were the eighth wonder of the world. Then, “Are we done talking now?”

  “What?” My gaze drifted down to his mouth, so close, so tempting. “You don’t want to spend the next two hours psychoanalyzing us?” At least, that’s what I think I said. I was a little lost, floating somewhere between the fading memory of our last kiss and the one about to seal our lips.

  Nate tilted his head, bringing that gorgeous mouth a breath closer. His fingers slid around the back of my neck, his thumb whirling tiny circles of bone melting sensation at the base of my skull. My blood thickened, dragging my eyes closed, my lips parted slightly…and my back pocket buzzed, snapping my eyes open and jerking me into the here and now with a near heart attack.

  Jeez!

  In any other circumstances, I would have left it buzzing. But the moment had already been ruined and we were, after all, on a covert mission and my partners might need backup. And by backup, I mean saving from each other. I was under no illusion that Joe and Jenna would last beyond a half hour before they started tearing at each other’s throat.

  “Hold that thought,” I said as I dug my phone out. “It’s Joe.”

  “Of course it is,” Nate groaned.

  I answered the call. “Joe?”

  All I got was the deep-throated growl of what sounded very much like a monstrous motorbike. Then, “Hello?” when it had passed.

  “Where on earth are you?”

  “Outside Duke’s Saloon.”

  “They kicked you out?”