Reed knew the painting but hadn’t realized Patsy had created it. “Why not ask Rachel or Treven to show you around?”
She spread her hands. “This was private. The last thing I wanted was to have to discuss it with one of them.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Still covering up, Alex. Why?”
“I’m not!” She fisted her fingers. “You asked me a question. I answered it honestly.”
“You and Clark had a confrontation.”
“Yes.”
“I saw you that night, you didn’t mention it.”
“Banging me doesn’t give you an automatic right to my every thought and feeling.”
“Is that what we’ve been doing? All we’ve been doing?”
She looked away. “It shook me up. He said something… about my mother, about wanting to know… He pinned me against the wall and when I struggled, he refused to let me go.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Treven came along and sent Clark scurrying off. He was very kind to me.”
Reed could picture that. “Anything else?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Let’s see, other than your father making it clear that I was to stay away from his sons-”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want Patsy’s tainted goods near his precious sons. I guess I’d give you cooties or something.” She held his gaze. “Let’s see, to continue with my really swell day-there was my emotional meltdown during sex and you questioning my motives. I think that sums it up.”
He searched her expression, wondering if her story was true. If it was, he felt both fool and brute, standing there, his accusations still hanging between them.
Reed crossed to stand directly in front of her. “So, why go back today, Alex? After all that, why go back?”
She didn’t blink, though her eyes sparkled with tears. “Because I want to know the truth. Because I need to know it.”
She was either being honest with him or was a liar of monumental skill. He drew her into his arms, against his chest. She melted against him, shuddering.
A part of him hated himself for this. For trusting her. For being here with her despite his partner’s cautioning. Despite his own suspicions.
He’d never played the fool for a woman before; he wondered if he was now.
His cell phone went off and he dug it out of his pocket. “Reed here.”
“It’s Tanner. I connected with the tour guide from yesterday, questioned her in depth.”
“She bring anything new to the party?”
“Yeah, she remembered Clarkson asking about Harlan Sommer’s first wife and the accident that killed her. She also brought up Dylan’s kidnapping. The guide found it weird and it made her uncomfortable.”
“Thanks,” he said, his gaze shifting to Alex. “Anything else?”
“From Schwann’s phone. The odd number he dialed that night was a Red Crest Winery number.”
“That makes sense.”
“I thought so, too. Figured he got tired of waiting, dialed up to the party hoping to snag a ride. He connected with somebody, the question is who.”
“I’ll put that at the top of my list. Thanks.” Reed ended the call and extricated himself from Alex. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Have you told me everything, Alex?”
“Who was that?”
“Tanner.”
“I see. So did she have some new incriminating evidence against me? Some suspicious thing I’ve held back?”
“She questioned your Sommer tour guide from yesterday. The woman said that on the tour, you brought up the death of Harlan’s first wife and Dylan’s disappearance.”
“Was that a crime?”
He searched her gaze. “Why’d you do that, Alex?”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Why, Alex?”
“I don’t know. I was mad. Pushing a point. In all those pictures in the Sommer museum, not one of me, my mother or Dylan.” She tipped up her chin. “You couldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She didn’t respond. He sensed she was preparing her thoughts, sifting through them to find the truth. Her truth.
Or maybe he was simply naive. The duped homicide detective. Blinded when it came to a woman. He wouldn’t be the first.
She began, speaking softly, “You can’t understand because your roots go deep. You know who you are and where you come from. I don’t have that.
“I feel a connection to this place. Sometimes the connection scares me. Like in the caves.” She looked away, then back at him, expression raw. “This place is part of my history. I want to know the missing pieces. And I want to belong. Did I pass the test, Reed? Am I naked enough now?”
He stood and crossed to her, cupped her face in his palms. “Do you realize how bad all this looks?”
He could tell by her face that she didn’t, not fully. “You being there two days in a row, you asking those questions, your confrontation with Clark-”
“I didn’t leave the doll, Reed. I returned to Sommer today determined to take the tour again and figure out what the hell happened to me in those caves. And since you’re wondering, I didn’t slaughter that lamb and leave it for me to ‘find.’ Nor did I create that altar or kill Max Cragan. I may be nuts, but I’m not that nuts.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy. But I need to know everything. From now on, total, brutal honesty.” He searched her gaze. “The truth is, Alex, whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Monday, March 15
4:25 A.M.
Alex opened her eyes, fully awake. She held herself completely still, fear thundering through her veins. She moved her gaze slowly over the room. The darkness seeming to swallow it. The absolute and utter quiet.
Someone was in her house.
Slowly, she inched into a sitting position. She reached for her cell phone, resting on the bed stand. She closed her fingers over it, its cool weight reassuring. She let a breath out slowly, then listened some more.
Why was it so quiet? Where were the creaks and moans she had learned to associate with this old house?
She hadn’t been dreaming. Something, someone, had awakened her.
Or had she been? A disgusted laugh slipped past her lips. Another nightmare. Shit. Would she ever sleep through the night again? She looked at the bedside clock and groaned. Four thirty in the morning.
Margo sat up, stretched and blinked at her. “Yeah, I know,” Alex muttered, “I’m certifiable.”
Her voice, the words, brought her and Reed’s encounter crashing back.
She still hadn’t been completely honest with him. She hadn’t told him about her visions. Or her nightmares. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it. They either made her look crazy, guilty, or both.
“Whatever’s happening, you’re a part of it.”
But which part? she wondered. And why? She squeezed her eyes shut. Remember, Alex. Remember. They’re only memories. They can’t hurt you.
She breathed deeply, working to relax and let go. She focused on what her subconscious had already freed-the robed figures… the flames licking at her… the faceless baby screaming…
Suddenly, an image flooded her mind. The robed men circling her… Hands holding her down… terror… screams and laughter… a thrumming, thundering drumbeat…
Run… run…
Alex launched to her feet, her scream echoing in the empty house. She took a step, then stopped, quaking, terrified. It hadn’t been real. A memory. Or a hallucination.
It was cold, she realized. A cold, damp breeze licked at her bare feet. She’d left her window cracked open. Alex reached for her robe, hanging on the bedpost, and shivering, slipped into it.
She closed the bedroom window, but still felt a breeze. Funny, she didn’t remember having opened another window.
Goose bumps racing up her legs, Alex followed the breeze. The bathroom. The single window at the far end stood open. The gauzy drape stirred.