She seemed to go hot and cold at once. This man was a stranger to her, and she was more frightened than when she’d woken in the pitch darkness to frigid water rising around her. This forbidding and unapproachable man had her more lost and confused than ever. He was the one constant she’d had since the accident, and he was telling her not to trust him. Staring at his stony face was nothing less than torture.
“Okay.” She’d meant to be strong, and instead she barely managed to get the word out. “Can you at least tell me what’s wrong? Can you at least tell me why you’re mad?”
“I’m not mad. I’m—I’m not,” he said, his expression filled with anguish. “The timing is bad, that’s all.” He stood and rubbed his shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you, but there might come a time when I’m not enough.”
“You said we’d get through this together.” Her muscles quivered, and she brought her clenched hands down to her lap. “And that’s all I’m asking. Nothing more.”
Where was the tender man who’d held her in his arms and comforted her?
“You should ask for more,” he said, his agitated gaze conveying his impatience. “You should be demanding more. I’m not the man you think I am.”
An icy calm crept over her. “Why are you even here then? If you have things to do, then go and do them. If you have someplace you need to be, then go there. I’ll manage just fine without you.”
A crushing ache tugged at her limbs. He’d been reluctant to take her case from the beginning. She wanted nothing more than a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted until this nightmare was over.
“I don’t know how to explain this.” He gathered the plates from the table, his restless energy evident. “This is my fault.” The dishes clattered. Bracing his hands against the sink, he hung his head. “I used to think that doing the right thing was enough. People still get hurt, though. Sometimes doing the right thing isn’t enough.”
“What else can we do? There are no guarantees of anything.”
“I’m failing you,” he said in a thick voice. “I’m failing you and it’s tearing me apart.”
“You only fail me when you turn away. I need you.”
“I’m trying to protect you. Even if that means protecting you from me. What if I’m not enough?”
The truth humbled her. He wasn’t angry with her; he was angry with himself. What secrets from his past had caused such a heavy burden?
As she stood and reached for him, she wasn’t certain which of them she was trying to comfort. They were both lost and alone—facing an unknown enemy with few resources at their disposal. He hesitated a moment before crushing her against his chest. Relief rushed through her, and she knew she’d been lying to herself all along. She was greedy. She’d thought she could ignore his appeal, that she could set him on a shelf like a fond memory. She was wrong.
His scent was clean and masculine, and her emotions fractured. Her need was unquenchable. His embrace was strong and safe, and the only thing she was certain of right now. He held her as she trembled, infusing her with a sense of peace. He was physically powerful, and his strength was part of his appeal, but she’d never been afraid of him. She’d sensed his gentleness from the very beginning. Even before she knew herself, she’d been drawn to the kindness of his soul. He held her close without being threatening, offering only comfort.
He was the only anchor against a world that wouldn’t stop spinning out of control, and she was desperate to regain her equilibrium. He stroked her back before threading his fingers through her hair. She rested her head against his shoulder, letting the fear and worry drift away as his heart beat strong and steady against her ear.
What if he turned his head ever so slightly and he kissed her?
Her pulse jumped frantically. He must feel as though the weight of the world was balanced on his shoulders. She’d meant to give him comfort and instead she was taking. What did she even have to offer? A guilty flush crept up her neck and she pulled away.
“Whatever happens,” she began, struggling to find the right words. “Whatever happens, I’m glad I was able to know you.”
With a suddenness that stunned her, he turned away.
“I feel the same,” he murmured.
Emma gathered more dishes from the table, grateful for something else to occupy her hands and her thoughts. Liam joined her, and they bustled through the awkwardness. Together they cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, carefully avoiding brushing too close together, and she was grateful for the reprieve.
“Your stepbrother has won over Blanche,” he said, filling the silence.
“I hope you’re not jealous,” she said with a teasing grin. “Blanche clearly adores you. You’re first in her heart.”
His expression shifted. “I’m a poor substitute for her son, that’s all. Even I can see that.”
“Can’t it be both? Can’t she care for you even while you remind her of her son?”
“She’s better off with Jordan,” Liam said with a laugh that didn’t quite ring as authentic. “His suits are nicer.”
“You should have a little more faith in Blanche.” Emma had been feeling good for most of the day, but as the stars twinkled in the night sky, the aches and pains from her accident came to the forefront. “You should have more faith in yourself.”
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Moments before she’d been wondering what she had to offer Liam. They both had moments where they felt as though they were obligations. The insecurity was universal.
Facing her, Liam caressed the yellowing bruise at her temple. “How are feeling? Any headaches?”
“No.” A shiver traced over her skin where his finger touched. “A little battered from yesterday’s adventure but recovering nicely. How about you?”
“My surgeon would have a heart attack if he knew what I’d done to my shoulder.” His laugh was rueful. “But it’s not so bad.”
He retracted his hand and stared at his fingers, as though surprised by his actions.
Her senses filled with the details of him. Freshly washed, his hair contained a hint of wave she hadn’t noticed before. She wanted to collect her memories of this time and tuck them away somewhere safe.
She sensed he’d known little softness or comfort in his life. He seemed uncertain of affection, surprised by it, almost, and her heart went out to him. She didn’t feel pity so much as sorrow that he’d never been given the gift of unconditional love. Her compassion for him took precedence over any concerns about her own problems. He was haunted by a guilt she couldn’t fathom.
As long as he kept the pain to himself, he’d never heal. He had to let go of his guilt in his own way. In his own time.
“When this is all over,” she said, “how about we meet for a cup of coffee like regular people without a care in the world?”
“That sounds nice,” he replied. “I’d like that.”
As she watched his retreat, she knew for certain there’d be no meeting for coffee. They barely knew each other, and he was already trying to tell her goodbye. Once he’d closed the case, she’d never see him again.
He said he’d only lied to her about his past, but he was wrong.
He’d lied to her just now. He’d lied about their future.
TWELVE
Liam absently rubbed the raised edge of the scar on his shoulder. Some days were worse than others. Some days he almost forgot about the injury, though the nagging ache never quite left. Other days, the pain battled for his attention.
Today had been a bad day.
He needed a little space. A little distance.
He’d spent most of his life as an outsider looking in. He’d spent the better part of his childhood in foster homes. In college, he’d commuted to campus rather than live in the dorms. While other kids partied on their parents’ dime, he’d worked two jobs and carried a full academic load.
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Dating had been a rare luxury, and something he’d looked forward to when the occasion arose. There was always that moment in the beginning of any new relationship when everything was possible. There’d even been that time he’d thought of proposing. Probably for the best that his girlfriend had broken up with him before he’d gotten up the nerve.
He’d thought creating a different future might erase his past. He’d been too young and naive to realize that no one ever really escaped.
Once he’d asked Jenny why she’d never gone to college. Why she’d never tried to break out of the old neighborhood.
I got black lungs, she’d said with a laugh. You know how people who work in the coal mines get black lungs from breathing the air? That’s what this neighborhood does to you. We all breathe the rotten air and it makes us sick. We all got black lungs from bein’ poor.
A square package resting on his nightstand caught his attention. He tore open the envelope and stared at the cover. Killer Instincts. Emma’s book. He flipped it over and stared at her publicity shot. Her elbows were braced on a windowsill overlooking a narrow, wrought-iron balcony. She was glancing over her shoulder, as though the photographer had caught her in a moment of candid reflection.
Her eyes caught and held his attention. He’d come to recognize a familiar world-weary cynicism in the eyes of people who dealt with violence for a living. He’d seen it on the faces of the kids he went to school with, and he’d seen it in the cops he’d worked beside over the years. Once a person stared into the face of evil, they were never quite the same.
Emma had seen into that void.
He returned downstairs and discovered her asleep on the overstuffed sofa in the parlor. A book rested on the floor where it had fallen from her fingertips. He retrieved an afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over her sleeping form.
He’d been a jerk to her earlier because he didn’t trust himself. Weathering strong emotions had never been a talent of his. He was more adept at loneliness. He took pride in his work. When sorrow threatened to overtake him, he boxed those feelings and stored them away.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for joy. For love. Sorting through his feelings for Emma was like writing a manifesto with his left hand. Everything felt awkward and clumsy. Retreating into anger had put him on familiar ground once more. He was falling for her and falling hard.
Their relationship was built on a faulty base. She didn’t know him—she didn’t know the real man. He didn’t belong in her world. That was the problem with living the life he had—he didn’t know where he belonged. When each day was a lie, truth became a luxury.
For the past six months, he’d been fighting his assignment here, fighting the town. Somewhere along the way, Redbird had gotten under his skin and become a part of him. He wanted to go fishing, and he wanted to take Emma.
Someone had shattered the sense of safety he’d taken for granted here, making this case personal.
Emma murmured something in her sleep and thrashed. He rested a hand on her shoulder, and she reached for him without opening her eyes.
An aching tenderness took hold of him. When she was near, it was impossible for him to put up a wall. He was drawn to her. He wanted to be the one person she turned to in times of trouble and in times of joy. Except they were all wrong for each other.
Emma was courageous, and he was a coward. He’d faced a loaded gun with less trepidation than this spirited woman. He’d rather take a bullet than be a disappointment in her eyes. She was worth the risk, but he didn’t know if he had it in him.
Living in the fantasy was safer than facing the truth.
After shutting off the lamp, he gently closed the door behind him.
He stepped into the hallway and caught sight of a light shining from the kitchen. He discovered Mrs. Slattery sipping a cup of tea and reading the newspaper.
She glanced up. “How are you feeling? I was about to send up a search party.”
“I just checked on Emma,” he said, hoping his words didn’t reveal the depth of his feelings. “She’s fallen asleep.”
“The poor dear. Don’t wake her up. You both look like you could use a week of sleep.”
“My thoughts exactly.” He stifled a yawn. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I don’t mind. It’s all right, you know, to let people take care of you once in a while. You’ve been a real blessing to me these past few months.”
“Remember when I told you that I was applying for a job in Dallas?” Though not the entire truth, the fabrication was close enough. “Looks like I might get a second interview. I’m driving up on Monday.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s short notice.”
Shrugging, he said, “I can’t pass up the opportunity.”
As he contemplated a return to his old job, he braced for the familiar rush of anticipation. Instead, he pictured his apartment with its bare walls and plain furnishings. He thought about sitting in traffic on a Monday morning. He recalled the sweltering summer heat with no lake to cool the evenings.
Redbird was changing him in ways he wasn’t sure he understood.
“I’ll miss you when you’re gone,” Mrs. Slattery said mournfully. “But you know you can always come back to visit.”
“You’ll forget all about me as quick as a wink.” He flashed a fake smile. “You won’t even remember my face.”
Her expression grew sorrowful. “Maybe instead of taking that interview, you should stick around here. There’s a girl in the other room who’s probably hoping the same thing, I’m thinking.”
“I like her,” Liam said, his face heating. “But the timing is all wrong.”
I’m all wrong.
“I’ll give you some advice. The timing is never right. I met my husband two weeks before he shipped out for the service. I didn’t see him for another six months. If I’d waited for him until the timing was right, we’d never have been together. I’d just started a new job when I found out we were expecting Ben. Awful timing. I could go on and on and on, but here’s what I’m trying to tell you—all of the best things that have happened to me in my life have happened at the worst possible time. Yet somehow some way, everything just manages to work out.”
She was wrong. Timing was only part of the problem. If he stuck around here much longer, Emma was going to know he wasn’t a hero—far from it. Once she saw through him, there’d be no going back.
“I’m glad I answered your ad,” he said, uncertain how to put into words how much she meant to him.
She’d treated him like a favored son, and he’d enjoyed the experience.
“I am too. I don’t imagine I’ll keep the place up after you’re gone. I’m going out of style, even for folks who are looking for a little nostalgia. Everyone prefers Airbnb these days. My website looks out-of-date, even to me, and I’m old. I can’t keep up anymore, and I’m not sure I want to. Maybe I’ll even sell the place. I’ve hung on too long because this is where all my best memories were made, but I can take them with me. Whatever I decide to do, you’re always welcome in my home.”
With a sudden shock, Liam realized this was the first place he’d ever lived that he didn’t want to leave.
“I appreciate that.”
She wouldn’t say that if she knew that he’d spent the past years lying for a living. He wasn’t the kindly deputy she thought he was. She’d be shocked at the things he’d seen. He was a man whose lies had gotten someone killed.
Jordan appeared in the doorway. “What’s our next move?”
Mrs. Slattery folded her newspaper and set it aside. “You two have business, and I have a soft pillow calling my name. I’ll leave you to it.”
Jordan had showered and changed into jeans and a pullover, his hair neatly combed. He didn’t seem quite as prickly as he had before. Liam assumed his earlier temper had been a result of hi
s fatigue and worry.
“All right,” Jordan said, the command in his voice unmistakable. “Your dispatcher sent the case files to my analysis team. We’re going to run everything through the system again. Not that I don’t trust your guys, but we’ve got a deeper reach. None of this makes any sense. This guy plays out like a serial killer, but the evidence points to a cold case. When nothing makes sense, that means that something is missing.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Where do we go next?”
“We have to talk with someone. Deputy Bishop. He’s worked for the county for over twenty years. He directed me to look into Missy’s case. That has to mean something.”
“What do you think of this guy, Bishop?”
“To be honest, we have to consider him a suspect.”
“Noted.”
“His brother dated Missy. If there’s something to hide, he had the means and the opportunity.”
“But he wants to talk to you about the case? That doesn’t seem real smart if he has something to hide.”
“Yeah. I know. I haven’t figured out the angle yet.”
Jordan slumped in his chair. “We’ll have to bring Emma.”
Liam sighed. “I know.”
The other man braced his hands on his thighs, his fingers pointing at each other, his elbows jutting out. “I was hard on her when she moved here.” He muttered darkly. “Who am I kidding? I’ve been hard on her since she took up writing about serial killers. After we found that body, I don’t know... I can’t explain it. I wanted to forget, and she couldn’t. I thought I could bury all the feelings and forget it ever happened. Emma knew different. Sometimes I think I punished her for that. I punished her for making me deal with the pain.”
Liam felt like someone had sucker punched him. He’d done the very same thing. He’d lashed out at her because she was forcing him to reveal parts of his soul he’d kept hidden.
“I know the feeling,” he said.
“I’m sorry about this morning. I was an... I was a jerk.” Jordan slapped his hands against the table in a quick drum riff. “Wouldn’t it be nice if people only saw us at our best? I guess that’s the thing about family. They know you at your worst but they have to like you anyway. Mostly because you’ve seen them at their worst, as well. Emma has her moments. Especially if she’s hungry. I’d carry granola bars if I was you. It all balances out, I suppose.”
Killer Amnesia: Faith In The Face 0f Crime Page 16