“What’s there to think about? I want you. You want me.”
I flopped into a chair and fished a brush from my purse. “It’s not that simple.”
He stood over me, arms folded. “What else is there?”
“Really, Trace.” I raked the brush through my hair. “Why can’t you believe I love Darien?”
He looked away in thought. Minutes passed before he spoke again. “You remember that talent contest? I ditched driver’s ed and caught the bus in the rain so I could see you perform.”
I crammed the brush back into my purse and frowned. Talk about a left field surprise. “Yes, why?”
“Who else came to watch you dance?”
My gaze fell as the memory pierced my heart. Mother had been nursing a hangover; Father was too busy building his corporate empire. No one bothered to show but Trace.
“Harrison never came to any of your recitals,” Trace said.
I stared into my lap as the memory cut into me again. “Father was…a very busy man.”
“Just like Montgomery.”
My head shot up.
“How old did you say he was?” Trace asked.
I gave him a cold stare. “Forty. Eight.”
“And you’re twenty-six.”
“So?”
He inclined both brows.
It took me a second to get his meaning. “You’re insane.” There was absolutely no truth to his vile innuendo. None. Scowling, I shoved the revolting thought away and spat the first thing that came to me. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with my fiancé. You have a girlfriend.”
“Since when?”
“I saw you with her at Home Depot.”
He looked surprised. “She was never my girlfriend. And anyway, it’s over between us.”
I’d be lying if I said I was ‘sorry to hear that,’ so I kept the hackneyed sentiment to myself. “Well, how do you feel about me—about us?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I care. I’ve always cared about you, Shannon. This whole thing just—” When I looked at him, he asked, “What? You want more?”
I didn’t know what I wanted, but the thought of him with another woman made me physically ill. “Are you…do you plan on seeing other people?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Trace frowned at my sour expression. “Hold up,” he said, his tone firm and reproving. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. You’re engaged. You said as much when you went AWOL. That means I can do whatever and whoever I want.”
Bile bubbled in my stomach, inched up my throat. “So you are seeing someone.”
“What do you care? When things get intense, you go off running like a scared rabbit. Bottom line? If this—” He jabbed a finger back and forth between us. “—whatever you want to call it, goes anywhere, it’ll be your doing. I’m not getting married in three months. So don’t even try to put us on equal footing. When you figure out what the hell you want let me know.‘Til then, ‘caring’ is all you’re gonna get.”
The phone blared, shattering the tension, but an emotional nakedness hovered between us. Knowledge of the carnal sort burned in his eyes.
I knew his scent, his touch. How it felt to have his mouth close around me.
And he knew what I tasted like, knew me in ways no man ever had.
RING. RING. RING.
“I gotta answer that,” Trace muttered. He ignored the phone next to me, and instead chose the one in the kitchen.
Seconds after he picked up, I heard, “Okay, calm down.” Pause. “What?” Another pause. “When?” He sighed, and in a softer voice said, “Aw, don’t cry, Bevy. Nothin’ can be that—” Eerie silence. “Oh, he did?” Another abrupt pause. “I’m leaving now. Just—no, I’m not mad.”
Clearly he was.
“Just sit tight ‘til I get there,” he barked. Another beat passed. “Then why’d you call me?” Silence stretched for a good thirty seconds, but his response took less than five. “I don’t give a shit. I’m coming anyway.”
Trace slammed the phone down and stalked into the hallway. His expression was as grim as the reaper’s when he entered the living room, wrenched the closet door open, and threw his motorcycle jacket on. “I gotta go.”
“What happened?”
He snatched his helmet from a chair, grabbed some keys off the fireplace mantle. “Icky’s having a meltdown.”
“You can’t ride that bike, it’s snowing.” I snagged my coat, scarf, and purse. “I’ll drive.”
SHANNON
____________________________
“How did she sound?” I asked.
“Hysterical,” Trace said. “If he hit her again….”
High beams speared into the car from a truck behind us. I changed lanes and made a right on Clark Street. We were within minutes of the O’Dell’s house in Highgrove Meadows.
“Are we close?” he asked.
I nodded and glanced sideways at him. “So is Beverly a battered woman?”
“I hope not.” He worked his jaw. “I think Icky’s usin’.”
“You mean drugs?”
Trace nodded in bitter silence. “He worked as a runner. That’s what got him pinched. Seven years he served, and he was dealing the whole time.” He sank deeper into the seat. “I smelled trouble soon as him and Bev started making googly eyes. She used to come see me once a week. That’s how they met. Then, right before he got paroled, Bev paid him a surprise visit. He was strung out. She called him on it and he slapped her.”
“In prison?”
“Visitor’s day is a free-for-all. There’s sex. Drugs. One time a guy punched his wife. Friggen guard saw it all and did nothing. They couldn’t care less.” A lethal gleam flared in his eyes. “But Bev always did mistake violence for love. Just like Mama.” He glared out of the window at the blur of trees whizzing by. “This is my problem. You don’t have to be here.”
I sent him an earnest glance. “I know, but I want to.”
“You sure about that?”
His meaning was clear, and it ran much deeper than the current crisis with his brother-in-law. He was alluding to the town, my family, and my willingness (or unwillingness) to drag our ‘friendship’ from the proverbial closet.
“Now isn’t a good time to get into this,” I said.
“We’ll have to deal with it eventually.”
Yes, eventually, but not now.
“This is about more than us.” I sighed. “There’s Mother’s murder for one. People need to know you’re innocent. Otherwise, it’ll be an albatross forever.”
He swung a frown at me. “A what?”
“A burden, a liability,” I answered, changing lanes.
He propped an elbow on the door, studied me in awkward silence. “What’s the connection between clearing my name and ‘us’?” His voice came out low, but hard-boiled.
“Isn’t it obvious? If we do nothing, it’ll never go away.”
He lifted a brow. “Aren’t we really talking about you?”
“What does that mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, tossing my own words back at me. “I’m not good enough for your bridge club buddies. Clearing my name would remedy that.”
The man was like a broken record. “Don’t be absurd.”
“You just said you’ve been dodging Lilith your whole life. What’s the town gonna say when they see you hanging with me? And trying to prove me innocent at that? This after every Tom, Dick, and Sally believes I’m nothin’ but murdering trash.”
“I can’t deal with that right now.”
One of his brows shot halfway up his forehead. “What? You think a killer’s just gonna fall from the sky? You’re a realtor, not Nancy Drew. And I’m no Sherlock Holmes. I’m an ex-con with a high school education and a couple blue-collar degrees.”