Reckless

by Selena Montgomery

  “That’s not your concern, Sheriff.”

  “I notice you call me ‘Sheriff’ in that dismissive tone whenever I ask a personal question.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Actually, you do. In fact, you have yet to use my name. Are you afraid to say it?”

  “Despite the gun and the terrifyingly huge ego, I’m not scared of you. Luke.”

  Rather than be insulted, Luke replied softly, “You should be.”

  Kell stiffened. “What’s to be frightened of?”

  “To start with, I think you’re afraid that I’m right about the inevitable. And,” he paused, speculating, “I think that whatever brought you back to Hallden isn’t good news. In fact, it strikes me that you agreed to dinner tonight because you want to know something and don’t want to ask.”

  Rather than deny the truth, she retorted, “That doesn’t mean I’m frightened of you.”

  “No. But it does mean that you’ve got a secret. Otherwise, you’d have asked your questions at the Center and sent me on my way.” He settled against the chair. “Well, go ahead and shoot.”

  Not expecting such a direct approach, Kell scrambled to adjust and marshaled her thoughts. Handsome and astute. A dangerous combination. “I don’t have any questions, Luke,” she said deliberately. “I received an invitation for a nice dinner, and I thought it might be fun.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t believe you. Why drive the three hours from Atlanta to see Mrs. Faraday, only to check into a hotel? For that matter, why agree to dinner with me rather than catching up with her?”

  “Because I had the mistaken impression that you wanted my company. I’m happy to return to the Center if you’ve changed your mind.”

  “No, no. I do want to have dinner with you. Like you, I’m curious.” He bit into his roll and chewed thoughtfully. “An interesting coincidence that you’d pick today of all days to come back to Hallden. A town that you ran away from years ago. Why you’d register at a bed and breakfast rather than going home to the Center?”

  Feeling a trill of apprehension, she punted, “Your hypothesis?”

  “That Mrs. Faraday called you and told you about Clay Griffin’s death.”

  The trill became a shriek. Instinct told her to abort the conversation, but she found herself replying, “She did. What she couldn’t tell me was how or why he died.”

  “We’re still waiting on the autopsy,” Luke demurred.

  “But you’ve seen the body. Was he shot?”

  “Stabbed.”

  “In the heart?”

  “Too romantic. No, in the leg.” Luke lifted a hand when she would have continued. “My turn. Did you have a history with Clay?”

  “We grew up together.” Kell sipped at her wine, filing away his earlier answers. A stab wound in the leg. Interesting.

  “Were you close?”

  “No. But Eliza told me about the murder, and I wanted to check on her.”

  “After all these years?”

  “A former resident was murdered. You think there’s another reason?” she probed.

  “Perhaps Clay knew something about you and your friends, and you’re here to make sure no one else finds out what he knew.”

  Kell forced a dismissive laugh. “Clay knew nothing about me or my friends. He was a thug and a bully. According to Eliza, once he left the Center, he got worse. There’s nothing Clay could have said about me before or after his death that would make me afraid of him either.”

  “Including the fact that he saw you at the Grove Warehouse the night it burned? You, Ms. Borders and Ms. Warner. It doesn’t bother you that he knew that?”

  “He didn’t know anything,” she lied, her face impassive. Yet, her heart thudded in her chest like a machine gun. Clay knew about the warehouse? How? They’d never considered that possibility. Or the ramifications. “I’m not sure what Clay thought he saw that night, but it wasn’t us.”

  “His statement places you at the warehouse. In fact, he claimed that he saw the three of you running from the fire.”

  Kell smiled, eyes frosted over. “As an attorney, Sheriff, I’d have to commend you on your tactics but point out a couple of holes in your theory. One, I wasn’t anywhere near the warehouse.”

  “And two?”

  “Two would be that if his statement was true, the charge would be arson, and the statute of limitations on that ran out last year. I’d have no reason to be concerned if he or you believed his story. I couldn’t be charged.”

  “For arson, you’re right. But certainly, I could use it to guide my investigation.”

  “Investigation into what?”

  “Murder.” Watching her closely he explained, “Two men were found in the basement of the warehouse recently. They appeared to have died around the time of the fire.” Leaning into the candlelight, he tested her composure. “A good investigator would check and see if the sole witness to the accident that may have killed them died because of what he knew. What do you think, Counselor?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “I think you have a vivid imagination, Sheriff,” Kell replied quietly.

  Luke studied her in the flicker of the candle. No stuttered attempts to rebuff his suggestion that she knew about the bodies before. No sudden rigidity of posture or shifting in her eye contact, moving down to indicate the coming of a lie. If Luke hadn’t been watching for a tell, he might have believed her.

  If. But Kell’s graceful, lovely hands lay flat on the tablecloth, their impatient movement stilled. She maintained her unrevealing expression, her body angled subtly to reinforce her muted reaction. If he hadn’t known better, he’d be convinced.

  “You’re quite good, Ms. Jameson.” Luke offered the compliment sincerely. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that you had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “Sheriff, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kell stopped speaking, resisting the urge to add more. More than once, she’d counseled clients on police interrogation techniques. Answer only the question asked, and make your answer responsive but not revealing. Don’t fidget and don’t look up or down. Up indicated a search for a creative lie, and down showed guilt. Always keep eye contact and believe what you say. Even if you know it’s a lie.

  Topping off her glass, Luke added another question to his growing list. Did Kell Jameson and Clay Griffin have a history that stretched beyond a liar’s statement to the police? Unlike some detectives, he found that questions were best answered by asking. “How well did you know Mr. Griffin, Kell?”

  Kell gave a vague shrug. “As I said, we grew up together. Clay came to the Center when he was”—she paused, pretending to search for a number—“I think he was ten and I was seven.”

  “Did his parents die?”

  “His mom. Clay never knew his father. His mother was a prostitute in Macon. Moved to Hallden a couple of months before she died. Mrs. F went to school with her, so she asked DFCS to let her take Clay.”

  “What happened?”

  Kell sensed a trap and skirted the edges. “He didn’t adjust well to living with fifteen other children. Every day, there was a new fight at the Center or at school. By the time he was a teenager, Mrs. F had no choice but to ask him to leave.”

  “Did he fight with her?”

  “All the time.” Seeing his raised brow, she added, “Not physically, no. Mostly yelling and storming out. Life with Mrs. F was tough, but better than most of us had ever had it.”

  “Including yourself?”

  “Yes.” She’d learned to explain her past with only a twinge of self-pity and shame showing. “One day my parents decided they preferred being a couple and they dropped me off at the Center. Haven’t seen them since.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seven.” She remembered the morning they brought her to Mrs. Faraday’s house, the white mansion surrounded by hundreds of trees. Swing sets hung from magnolia tree branches, with kids gamboling across the manicured lawn. She’d never seen such
a beautiful house up close. One where the shutters hung straight and no cars found graves in the front yard. “It was a week before my birthday.”

  “Kell.”

  Wondering why she’d offered that information, something she never mentioned, she flicked off his concern. “Didn’t matter.”

  “That they left you before your birthday?” In his family, birthdays, like all holidays, were sacred family times. “It had to matter.”

  “It didn’t,” she said flatly. “Doesn’t. Anyway, Mrs. F had a party for me. My very first one.”

  Because he could imagine Kell at seven, abandoned and overwhelmed, anger swelled. “Have you looked for them?”

  “No, why would I?”

  She appeared genuinely perplexed. Luke probed, “You have resources at your disposal that rival governments. Why not look for them? Find out why they left.”

  Kell lifted her wineglass. “I know why they left. They didn’t want me.”

  The simple declaration kindled a rage in Luke that he struggled to smother. How dare they? How dare any parent leave a child because raising her became too hard? He’d grown up surrounded by affection and a rock-solid belief that his parents adored him. He could scarcely imagine waking up one morning to be told your parents had simply changed their minds. “I pity them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they missed a chance to know an amazing woman.”

  “You barely know me.”

  “You’re right, but I think I can trust my instincts on this one.”

  As if on cue, Gavin arrived with their meals. Intentionally, Luke steered the conversation away from Clay Griffin and orphanages and murder. Understanding the declaration of a truce, Kell regaled him with tales of celebrity clients in exchange for detective stories straight from the source.

  “The perp had the evidence in his mouth. But the idiot bit down on the tube, and it began to bubble. My partner thought he had rabies.” Luke grinned. “Purple foam rabies.”

  Giggling uncontrollably, Kell asked, “What did he do?”

  “Started to cry. He didn’t realize the foaming was his fault. He offered to confess if we’d take him to the vet for shots.”

  The giggle became a full-blown laugh. “One time, Fin convinced Julia to drink Alka-Seltzer and Coke. The minute Julia had it down, Fin explained that according to urban legend, Julia would explode in five minutes.”

  “What did she do?”

  “What only Julia would. She started telling me who would get each one of her dolls.” Smiling at the memory, “However, she was very clear that Fin was to be robbed of any inheritance unless she apologized very nicely at the funeral.”

  “Very forgiving.”

  “That’s Julia. Our collective conscience.” She sighed, relaxed and nostalgic. “She could always convince Mrs. F to ease up on punishment.”

  “You miss them.”

  Kell pulled herself in. “Sometimes.”

  “Did you drift apart?”

  “Our lives differed.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost eleven o’clock. And we’re the last ones here.”

  Stymied by the return of her defenses, Luke admitted defeat. “I should probably get you home, then.”

  Together, they walked out to the truck. After helping her inside, Luke drove them through downtown and out to the Center. Unlike their drive to dinner, a comfortable silence filled the cabin. A bluesy guitar replaced the disconsolate saxophone. Kell relaxed against her seat, eyes drifting closed. When they fluttered open, Luke was standing outside her door in the Center’s driveway.

  “Your stop, I believe.”

  Kell smiled sleepily. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ve been in trial for nearly two months, and these last few days have been marathons.”

  “No apology necessary.” He clasped her hand and held it as they strolled up the driveway to the wide, empty porch.

  “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Luke,” Kell said, turning to face him. Her right hand rested lightly in his left. “I enjoyed the meal and the company.”

  “Likewise.” Stepping closer, he stroked his hand along her bare arm, coming to rest above her elbow. “I’d like to see you again.”

  “I’m only in town for the weekend.”

  “Then come back.”

  “I can’t.” But she wanted to. Very much. “I’m not from Hallden anymore,” she murmured, as a reminder for herself as much as him.

  “You’re here now.” Determinedly, Luke lifted her other hand and pressed it to his shirtfront. “I want to kiss you again. And again. And again.”

  “Luke.”

  “I want to know who you are.”

  “I’m a lawyer who came to visit an old friend.”

  “I want you to know me well enough to be able to tell me the truth.”

  At that, Kell realized she couldn’t stay, couldn’t see him again. One day, if they continued to see one another, she would be tempted to tell him her story—but it was a story that belonged to two others, and they’d sworn to each other. “Good night, Luke.”

  He released her hands and took a step away. “Good night, Kell.”

  With a fond smile, she turned toward the door. Only to be spun around and into his arms. Before she could utter a protest, his mouth descended. In the instant before their lips touched, she braced herself, prepared for assault.

  But this kiss tempted with softness, delighted with gentle forays that melted her against him. For seconds, hours, she stood in the circle of his arms, battered by a kiss that demanded nothing and offered solace and friendship. Her fingers caught at his broad shoulders.

  Spanning her waist, Luke lifted her higher, eager to feel how well she would fit against him. Completely. Perfectly. Slowly, he lowered her to the porch and swept her mouth once more, barely sating the hunger that clawed inside.

  Then he stepped away and bounded down the steps. He reached his truck and looked over his shoulder to see her standing there, hand half-raised to touch her lips. When he echoed the gesture, she turned slowly and walked inside.

  Kell gently closed the door behind her. At this time of night, the children would be asleep. Conflicted, she dropped her keys on the side table and kicked off her heels. Scooping up the shoes, she marched past the stairs to the guest room.

  “Nice dinner?”

  Biting back a startled oath, Kell flipped on the overhead light and saw Eliza. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Not until all of my kids are tucked away,” Eliza reminded her, patting the bed beside her. She sat in a tufted chair reading a romance novel by lamplight. When Kell didn’t move, she tapped the bed again. “Come and tell me about your night.”

  Flouncing to the bed, Kell dropped onto the handmade quilt Eliza had turned down in welcome. She sighed and drew her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Which part? When he annoyed me beyond belief or the part where he kissed me senseless?”

  Eliza let out a quick laugh. “The kiss first, of course.”

  “He’s charming. Very charming. And entirely too smart,” Kell accused. “First, he takes me to a lovely French restaurant.”

  “Hervé’s.”

  Kell sighed. “The food was divine. And he made me laugh. Oh, Mrs. F, I haven’t laughed like that since—”

  “Since Findley and Julia.”

  “Yes.”

  “I missed hearing you all giggling in your bedrooms. Even though you were on your way to college, I always thought I’d have more time to get used to losing you.”

  “Mrs. F, I wanted to call you. So many times. But we—I—couldn’t.”

  “I know.” Eliza reached out and drew her into her arms. “I have to believe that if you needed my help, really needed it, you’d always know you can ask.”

  “I do know that. That’s why I could stay away.” Tears, held for decades, misted her vision. “I knew you’d let me come home.”

  “Will you tell me why you left?”

  Kell nestled her head on the soft, warm shoulder
. Smelled the hint of lilac, the scent familiar and wonderful. “One day, when it’s safe.”

  Knowing she had to be satisfied with that promise, Eliza teased, “You enjoyed Luke. I never expected that it would take a policeman to get you to let that guard of yours down.”

  Sitting up, Kell brushed at the unshed tears. “Too far down, I’m afraid.” The habit of pouring out her romantic troubles to Eliza returned easily. She gave the older woman a bewildered look. “I kissed him. Twice.”

  Eliza glowered mildly. “You were only out for dinner, Kell.”

  “Well,” she defended, “the first time was an experiment. To see if I felt something.”

  “And the second time?”

  “To prove that I did.” Wistfully, Kell closed her eyes and recalled the glide of his mouth on hers, the impression of his hands at her waist. “It’s been so long since I felt anything.”

  Of all her charges, Kell had been the most guarded, the one slowest to warm to others. Eliza always understood her reticence and never pushed. The first time Kell had crept into Eliza’s room after her first date, they’d talked about the boy for hours. After she’d convinced Kell to sleep, Eliza put the teenager to bed and wept. Tears burned in her eyes now, when she understood that in the years since, Kell had rebuilt the walls—higher and stronger. But that she still had a key.

  “Luke Calder is a complicated man,” she warned gently. “That easygoing demeanor hides some dark corners.”

  Kell shook her head swiftly. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t be here to find out.”

  “Do you think distance will make a difference?”

  “I’ve only known him for a day, Mrs. F. This isn’t love at first sight.”

  Wisely, Eliza said nothing about the note of uncertainty she heard in Kell’s voice. Instead, she returned to Kell’s comment about leaving. “If you’re heading back to Atlanta, does that mean you learned something from him? Do they know who killed Clay?”

  Chagrined, Kell moved to the edge of the four-poster. For now, she would keep Luke’s mention of the Grove Warehouse fire to herself. “Actually, Mrs. F, I’m not sure what to think. The sheriff’s office is waiting on an autopsy report. Those usually take three to four days, at best.”