Borrowed Time

by Edie Claire

  The poor man had motive wrapped up with a bow.

  What if the police blamed Tommy? What if they prosecuted an innocent man?

  Sarah’s nausea was hardly bearable. She tried to breathe slowly.

  There is no evidence against him. It won’t happen. Stop borrowing trouble.

  But there was evidence against her, if the detectives bothered to look for it. If her lawyers in Alabama heard about the body, they would surely suspect that she had known all along. Would they say anything? If the library employees who processed her request for Guide to Underwater Investigations knew, how hard would it be for them to connect the dots? What if the detective subpoenaed her library records? Her phone log? What if he questioned Adam?

  She sat up again, queasy. Her thoughts were going in circles, and she had to stop. Either she would get away with her lies or she wouldn’t. At this point, neither outcome would be a victory. All she could do was cope.

  Her doorbell rang.

  She didn’t move. A part of her wished the detective was back—wished she had a second chance to do the right thing. Maybe this time, she would be stronger.

  But the larger part of her quaked at the thought. It could not be the detective. He had believed her. He had to believe her.

  She rose with a rolling motion and stumbled toward the door. Once again, she didn’t bother with the peephole. She merely turned the knob and pulled, unable to avoid thinking, in the back of her mind, that fate had made this moment pivotal—that the identity of the caller would determine her next move.

  It wasn’t the detective. It was Rose.

  The older woman’s already lined face crinkled with worry. "Sarah, dear," she said tentatively. "I saw the police car leaving. What’s happened? Is everything all right?"

  Sarah couldn’t answer. She stepped back, encouraging Rose to enter. She closed the door.

  Rose’s sharp eyes studied her. "Bad news? About your family?"

  Sarah shook her head. She wanted to speak, but she didn’t know what to say. No words could describe what she was feeling. Her stomach ached as though it had been wrung inside-out; the swirl of conflicting emotions within her neared the boiling point. She was beginning to believe she would explode.

  Rose didn’t ask any more questions. All she did was hold out her arms.

  Sarah fell into them. Then, for the first time in more years than she could remember, she broke down and cried.

  Chapter 27

  Adam hung his car keys on the hook by his garage door. He was tired, and he was drained. He felt bad bugging out of the reception early, but wedding dinners went on forever, and he was worried about Sarah. He was also worried about himself.

  I knew she was the right one for me after we went on that hiking trip, the groom had remarked. I mean, how many women can you be around constantly, for six straight days, without getting on each other’s nerves, and still want more? I figured if that wasn’t true love, nothing was. You know?

  Adam had smiled. But he hadn’t known. Rather, the groom’s words had disturbed him.

  He scooped up the foam basketball from the floor and tossed it over his shoulder toward the basket. Almost. He collapsed into a rose-covered chair and closed his eyes.

  I can’t believe you beat me, Sarah had exclaimed last night. Her eyes had been shining with pleasure, even as she maintained an affronted façade. Nobody beats me at chess. This was just a fluke. Let’s play again.

  She had been a formidable opponent, but he had been on a roll. He would have played all night as long as he could hear her laughter, admire her slender form from across the board. He hadn’t wanted her to leave. He had wanted her suitcases unpacked in his bedroom.

  Why was he doing this to himself? What did he think could possibly come of it?

  Whatever he was feeling, it was obvious Sarah didn’t share the sentiment. She enjoyed his company, but she didn’t trust him. He wanted to be angry at her for using him, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. Not when she had refused his offers of assistance at every turn; not when he had insisted on forcing them on her anyway. She had never asked him for anything except physical comfort, and he had chosen to deny her that. Her only sin was her own self-destructiveness.

  And his was his irrepressible desire to play the hero. From the beginning he had fancied himself her protector, her savior. He would rescue the damsel in distress, pat himself on the back, and accept her accolades. Then he would go back to whatever else he had been doing.

  He was an idiot.

  He had done everything he could think of to help Sarah Landers, yet she was no better off than when he had started. All he had accomplished, it would seem, was the hijacking of his own brain.

  He heard a noise outside, and his eyes flew open. Someone was on the porch. The bell chimed, and he sprang to open the door. He looked out eagerly—and failed to hide his disappointment.

  Rose chortled good naturedly. "Well, I’m delighted to see you, too."

  Adam flushed. "I’m always thrilled to see you, Rose. You know that. I’m sorry, I was just…"

  "You were hoping I was Sarah," she interrupted, stepping inside. "But she happens to be resting at the moment. At least, I hope she’s resting. One never knows with that girl. Can we talk?"

  Adam’s pulse began to pound. "What happened? Is she all right? Did she pass out again?"

  "No, no, nothing like that," Rose said calmly, picking her way toward her favorite wing-backed chair. She settled into it without awaiting an invitation, then with a sweep of her hand, invited him to join her.

  He did.

  "I am worried about her, though," Rose continued, her brow creasing. "Very worried."

  He sat perched on the edge of his seat. "So am I. What happened?"

  She dipped her chin, and her gray eyes bore into his. Rose always moved her head, rather than her eyes, since she could only focus forward. It made her seem birdlike, and he could not help likening her to an eagle. Smart, strong, and noble, but not above a certain ruthlessness when necessary.

  "She had some visitors earlier. County policemen."

  Adam’s breath caught in his throat. For a second he imagined what Sarah must feel like when she collapsed—as if her body had disappeared out from under her.

  "They—they went into the house?" he stammered. "They weren’t just passing by? Do you know what it was about?" An image of Sarah in handcuffs flashed in his mind, but he beat it down. That was insane. Sarah had done nothing criminal. She couldn’t have. She didn’t have it in her.

  Rose’s eyes softened as she looked at him. "All I know is what she told me. She said it had to do with her parents' farm in Alabama—and her sister. She was being intentionally vague, and I didn’t push her. But she said something about her sister having been mixed up with the wrong people, and how it was all coming back to haunt her now."

  Adam stood up. He crossed to the window and looked out toward Sarah’s house. The wheels in his brain turned furiously.

  Dee. So, it was Sarah’s sister who had been at the crux of it.

  Stop hitting me! Dee, where are you?

  Her sister had attracted trouble, and Sarah had suffered for it. But she had loved Dee, he was certain of that. He could see it in her eyes every time she talked about her. He should not be surprised that Sarah would try to protect her sister, even now.

  It’s about keeping promises, Sarah had told him. Surely you can respect that.

  Adam whirled around to face Rose again, but she was no longer sitting. She was standing at his elbow. "Did she say what the police had found?" he asked hastily.

  "It would appear you know more than I do," Rose remarked. "What I’ve already told you is all I got out of her, and then some. Mainly, I let her cry on my shoulder."

  He tensed. In all he and Sarah had been through together, both in Alabama and since, he had never seen her cry. She had always been far too guarded. Too proud. Maybe the police visit had been too much for her—the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or maybe it was him. May
be she didn’t trust him enough to be that vulnerable.

  "How is she now?" he asked weakly.

  "Exhausted. I tried to convince her to take a nap. She didn’t look like she had slept in days, so I turned on some Sinatra and poured a couple glasses of Zinfandel into her. I think it worked. But she won’t sleep forever, and when she does wake up, her troubles will still be there."

  Adam stepped away from the window and sank back into a chair. Rose stood above him and cleared her throat.

  "Oh, sorry." He moved from her favorite seat back to his original.

  Rose sat down, then affixed him again with her eagle eyes. "I take it you don’t know the whole story, either."

  He could not repress a sigh. "No. She won’t tell me."

  "I see." The eagle eyes bore deeper. He was certain she could see the back of his head. Her expression softened again.

  "Adam, my dear, she does care for you. Any fool can see that. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have been so adamant that I not tell you about the police car."

  His eyebrows rose. "But you did."

  She smiled. "Because I’m old enough to know the difference between what someone says they want and what they’re aching for. Sarah doesn’t want you mixed up in her affairs because she’s ashamed of them. She probably thinks you’d look down on her, you being a high-and-mighty minister and all."

  He bristled. "I’m not—"

  Rose lifted a hand. "No need to defend yourself to me, young man. I’ve heard you cursing at that wreck of a car of yours, remember? Not to mention all the times I covered for you so you could wriggle your way out of a perfectly harmless blind date. Sick elderly neighbor, indeed!"

  He cracked a tired smile. "And your point is?"

  "My point," she said sharply, "is that whether Sarah knows it or not, she needs you. I have a feeling about all this, and that feeling is telling me that today’s police visit wasn’t the end. There’s worse to come for her, and she’s scared to death."

  Hearing his own worst fears spoken aloud was too much.

  "And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?" he countered, rising to his feet in a rush. Frustration swelled within him, and he could not keep the ire from his voice. "I’ve tried everything I can think of to get her to open up to me, and she won’t! She doesn’t want my help!"

  He began to pace. "I’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty with her, don’t you think? I’ve changed vacation plans, lost office hours, begged favors from friends—and for what? She’s in worse shape now than when I met her! Why should I meddle more? It’s not like she’s even a church member. What I should do is hand her off to a therapist, or an attorney…hell, anybody who actually knows what they’re doing, and then just back off!"

  He stopped pacing. He looked tentatively at Rose.

  She grinned.

  "And what does that look mean?" he asked irritably.

  She smiled wider.

  "Rose!"

  The older woman laughed out loud. "Sorry, my dear, but I can’t help it. You are so touchingly pathetic."

  He frowned.

  "For heaven’s sake," she continued mildly. "You’re a grown man who’s been married before. One would expect you’d know when you were in love."

  Her words hit him as if she’d thrown a rock. He could only stand still, stunned. Rose could not be that deeply inside his brain. How could she be so glibly certain about something that was still such an enigma to him—a question that seemed so impossible to answer?

  He found his voice. "Rose, I don’t even know where my wallet is."

  She chuckled again. "Well now, that’s a common enough symptom. Nothing to worry about there. What you do need to worry about is Sarah. I’ll support her all I can, but a woman like her needs a man, too. She needs some strong arms around her, someone steady, who’ll be there when she finally does decide to talk. Trust me, it could make all the difference."

  Adam’s jaws clenched. "But I can’t just—" He broke off.

  Rose stared at him. Then she rolled her eyes. "Oh, don’t be such a coward, Adam. It’s terribly out of character. You’re already in love with the woman. You can either admit defeat and nurse a broken heart now, or you can jump in with both feet and hope for the best. You have to nothing to lose."

  She rose. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bus to catch. I need to teach some twenty-somethings the proper way to do the Cotton-Eyed Joe."

  He walked her wordlessly to the door. She turned and smiled at him, then stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Chin up, dear. Sarah will come around. No red-blooded woman can resist your charms for long." She stepped out and looked back at him with a wink. "You’re just lucky I’m not thirty years younger."

  He returned a warm—yet slightly nervous—smile and closed the door behind her. He stood a long time, contemplating, his hand still resting on the knob.

  Whatever he felt for Sarah, it seemed that right now his course of action should be the same. He was in a unique position to help her, and despite his outburst, he was still determined to do so. Rose was right about one thing—he could not allow himself to become discouraged.

  He had to concentrate on a solution, because clearly, Sarah's problem was not all in her head. The police did not concern themselves with legal, insignificant events occurring halfway across the country a decade ago. Someone somewhere had committed a crime.

  A serious one.

  But what? If what Sarah had told Rose about Dee being mixed up with "the wrong people" were true, it could mean Dee had invited them into the Landers’ home. Perhaps things got out of hand, a crime was committed, and some evidence of it was left behind.

  But what sort of evidence would remain in a thoroughly looted house after nine years? And why would Sarah be so determined to keep what had happened a secret? Her sister was dead. He could understand not wanting to sully a loved one’s memory, but such a desire hardly explained the depth of Sarah’s fear.

  He tried to think of what might.

  His stomach soured.

  Sarah was in real trouble. And her evasiveness had to end.

  Chapter 28

  The rapping on Sarah’s door was so quiet, it wasn’t audible from much farther than her living room. But she happened to be in her living room, and despite the sound’s inherent eeriness, it filled her with a warm sense of hope.

  She rose and looked out her peephole, and a flush of heat moved through her. It was Adam, being considerate as usual. The hour was late, and if she was asleep, he didn’t want to wake her. She had slept a few hours, but Rose’s ministrations had only pacified her for so long. Now she was awake again. Awake and plagued by gruesome images no amount of willpower could quell.

  She opened the door.

  "Good," he greeted softly. "I didn’t wake you. I saw your light on and thought I’d give it a try."

  She moved back, and he stepped inside. She closed the door and looked at him.

  He was still dressed up from the wedding. But his collar was loosened, and his tie was gone. Her pulse quickened as she admired the set of his shoulders, the smoothness of his dark skin, the soft black curls that framed his kind, striking face. His dark eyes twinkled in the dim light.

  How could she have ever seen any resemblance between this man and the brute who had ruined her life? There was no resemblance. Nothing. The two were of different species. Rock had driven her sister to madness. Adam was the only thing keeping her from it.

  "I’m glad you came," she uttered. Her voice was still hoarse from crying. Once the dam had broken, she had been unable to stop.

  He smiled at her, and the sight made her battle-weary stomach flip-flop yet again. There was something in his eyes—something new. What she said seemed to have pleased him.

  She smiled back. It felt good to please him. She only wished she could do more to make up for her lies, to take back all the grief she had caused him. She wanted him to be happy. He deserved that.

  "How was the wedding?" she asked lightly, rubbing a ha
nd across her cheeks. Her last tears seemed to have dried, but there would be no remedy for the puffiness. She could only hope she just looked sleepy.

  "Fine, but I didn’t come here to talk about that," he said softly. He was gazing at her with his intent look, the one that so often caused an unsteadiness in her knees. "I came to talk about the police being here."

  The image loomed large again. Rock’s bloodied skull. Broken. Lifeless. Its specter had been haunting her all evening—a wispy veil of red dancing before her eyes.

  She was not surprised that Adam knew of the police inquiry; she had suspected Rose would tell him. What did surprise her was the sudden surge of elation she felt at that thought. She was glad that he knew.

  Never mind that such a reaction made no sense. Her aim had always been to shield him, to prevent his getting any further involved. She shouldn’t be happy; instead, she should be feigning nonchalance, assuring him that the interview was all some irrelevant misunderstanding.

  She couldn’t. She didn’t want to insult his intelligence anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to hurt him. All she wanted was to thank him—to show him how much she appreciated his being here. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  She leaned into him and held him close, resting her chin over his broad shoulder. He was such a strong person; everything about him was strong. He had been as good to her as any person could possibly be, and he had asked for relatively little in return.

  His arms closed tenderly around her, and she relaxed at the bliss of it. No wonder people got married. It wasn’t just about the sex. It was about what she was feeling now…the warm, safe sensation that came from being held by someone who cared about you.

  All he had ever asked of her was the one thing she could never give him. Honesty.

  The images returned with brutal force. She could see Dee hooking a foot under Rock’s shoulder and flipping him over. His face had been bloody, too.