She didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t possible; it couldn’t be. She tried to think of another explanation. Maybe Hal had gotten a tape of it somehow, though she didn’t know why he would have bothered. Maybe someone had told him about it. But that didn’t explain why he would have told Jason about it, why he would have made up this story in which he didn’t come off well.
No, the most reasonable explanation, unbelievable as it was, was that he really had been there, had really admitted his regrets to Jason.
She knew how close Hal and her mother had been. She remembered his visits when she was a child, how happy her mom had always been to see him, the huge smile on his face whenever he saw her. They’d only been a year apart. It was one reason Audrey had been so confused when he’d rejected her. She’d thought she must have done something wrong. She’d thought he hated her.
“Why didn’t he ever say anything?” she asked weakly.
Jason shrugged halfheartedly. “Hal wasn’t all that comfortable with emotion. You know how he was.”
“No, evidently I didn’t. He talked to you about me?”
“Yeah. He used to talk about you a lot before I got married, and then started mentioning you again over the past couple years. The last few conversations we had, he talked more about you than Bridges or the book. He was proud of you. You were at the top of your class all through school. You were doing well as a reporter, making a name for yourself. Then you started your own business from the ground up, and you were successful. You were smart, tough.” He paused before continuing awkwardly. “He said you were beautiful. Like I said, you looked exactly like your mother to him.”
Audrey frowned. “I don’t understand. He talked to you about me before you got married and then in the past couple years…”
In other words, when he was single,
she thought, understanding dawning.
He grimaced and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a touch of embarrassment. “It almost seemed like he was trying to set us up.”
With a start, she recalled all the things Hal had told her about Jason over the years. There’d been a large gap in those years, now that she thought about it. She’d always thought Hal had simply been raving about his protégé, a man he’d clearly thought a great deal of. Was it possible Hal had actually been trying to build Jason up to her to try to get her interested?
Hal had wanted her to meet Jason, she suddenly remembered. He’d actually spoken about it years ago. She hadn’t understood what he was doing, had taken the comment the wrong way. It was shortly after she’d started her career as a reporter, a job she’d taken in a pathetic attempt to win his approval, his attention. And all he’d been able to talk about was Jason, this brilliant young reporter, how she had to meet him. It had felt like an insult, and she resented hearing about the golden boy reporter Hal couldn’t stop talking about when he barely seemed to notice her.
She never told Hal she hadn’t wanted to meet Jason. He’d simply stopped bringing him up during their occasional conversations. Jason must have met his wife. The only time Hal had mentioned him after that was to say he’d gotten married—until the past couple years, when he’d started bringing him up again.
Dumbfounded, embarrassed, she almost laughed. It seemed so obvious now.
She studied Jason. He was still looking away, the sight of his profile enough to cause a flutter in her belly.
Hal had had good taste, she had to give him that.
That may have explained why Hal had talked about Jason so much with her, and apparently about her so much with him. But it didn’t explain everything.
“How did you remember that?” she asked quietly. “What Hal told you about my speech.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Something about the way he described it, the way he talked about you, stuck with me.” He finally looked at her again. “Look, losing your mother was hard for him. I’m sure you know how close they were. She was all he had after their folks died. And when she was gone, I think he was afraid to get too close and let himself care about you, in case he lost you, too.”
Of course, he would understand that. For a moment, she almost wondered if he was speaking just as much about herself, as she inadvertently had when thinking about Tim Raymer.
As though thinking the same thing she was, Jason cleared his throat. “I’m not saying he was perfect. I’m not saying he did right by you. He knew he didn’t. But by the time he realized it, I’m not sure he knew how to make it right. But he did love you. You can believe that.”
For the first time in twenty years she did believe it.
Hal had loved her. And now he was gone.
She felt the tears in her eyes moments before they fell and quickly turned before Jason could see them. She had no doubt he knew they were there all the same.
She was still standing at the bathroom door, the knob in her hand. She wanted nothing more than to stumble into the room and absorb everything he’d told her, all the emotions pouring through her, in private.
She couldn’t. Not yet. He’d given her a gift, something that meant more to her than he could ever know. She couldn’t just walk away without acknowledging that.
She swallowed hard, trying to force down the hard lump that had formed in her throat. Finally, when she thought she could speak clearly, she did.
“Thank you.”
“Sure,” he said, his voice rough, the tone dismissive, as though what she was thanking him for was nothing. Another man who didn’t like talking about emotional things, she registered.
Yet he had, for her.
She didn’t want to examine the reasons for his kindness, didn’t want to feel this gratitude toward him that only complicated the other emotions he stirred inside her.
Overwhelmed by everything she was feeling, everything he’d just revealed to her about Hal and himself, all she could do was finally step into the bathroom and gently close the door behind her.
C
LINT
R
AYMER SLID
onto a stool at the bar and looked around for the bartender. Mickey was at the other end of the bar. Impatient, he rapped his fists on the counter and waited.
He didn’t normally make it out to The Rail Spike anymore. It was easier to stay home in his own chair, where he could drink as much as he liked without anybody thinking they knew when he’d had enough and threatening to cut him off. Not to mention the hassle of trying to get home. He didn’t kid himself that anyone around here cared much for him, but they sure went out of their way to keep him from driving, like they wouldn’t be thrilled if he drove off the road and killed himself one day. Most of the time, coming here was more trouble than it was worth.
But tonight he felt like doing something special. He’d been in a good mood ever since those reporters had left his house.
Now more people knew about Bridges. Soon everybody in the world would.
Clint almost laughed. Richard Bridges. Just another rich bastard who thought he could do whatever he wanted.
About time the world found out he wasn’t the damn saint they thought he was.
Mickey finally made his way toward Clint, taking his sweet time of it. “Clint,” he said with a nod of acknowledgment. “What can I get you?”
Clint grinned. “Give me something special. I’m celebrating.”
“Celebrating, huh?”
“That’s right. I was talking to some people today. They’re going to get the truth out about Bridges and that little bitch he married. Everybody’s going to know the kind of people they really are.”
Mickey didn’t seem all that impressed. He just gave him a look before moving away, like he didn’t believe him.
He would. He’d find out soon enough, just like Bridges.
“Sounds interesting.”
Clint glanced over at the man beside him who’d spoken. Clint hadn’t noticed him there, or maybe he’d just sat down. He was a big man, muscular with a buzz cut, like he was in the military or something. Clint knew he’d never seen him before. Just another one of the out-of-towners who’d flooded Barrett’s Mill.
Clint nodded in acknowledgment. “Oh, believe me, it is.”
“I’d love to hear more about it.”
Clint squinted at the stranger. “You a reporter, too?”
The man shook his head, the faint traces of a smile on his lips. “Nope. Just someone who likes hearing a good story, and it sounds like you’ve really got one to tell.”
“You’ve got that right. Bridges probably thought no one’d ever bring it up again or take a good long look at what he really did. He’ll never see it coming. That’ll make it even better, you know?”
The stranger smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Chapter Eight
Marybeth Kent pulled a fresh batch of breakfast muffins from the oven, inhaling deeply to draw in the scent of them. The rich aroma failed to have the effect she’d hoped for, doing nothing to ease the tension knotting her stomach. Staring down at the rows of perfectly formed muffin tops, she sighed.
Normally, this was her favorite time of day. Normally, the smells of her kitchen soothed her. The house was quiet, her guests snug in the beds she’d made for them. She loved that feeling, knowing that her house was full of people for whom she’d made a home away from their own homes. It was what she’d always dreamed of, a real home, the kind she hadn’t had growing up, and she loved giving that feeling to others.
Except most of the people in her house this morning weren’t her normal guests. They were reporters in town because of Richard Bridges.
Richard Bridges, damn him to hell.
She nearly slammed the tray of muffins down on the counter, barely managing to restrain herself at the last moment.
Reining in the response took some effort, and her hands were shaking as she carefully set down the tray. She took another deep breath, this time to calm herself. When she’d finally stopped shaking, she forced her clenched fingers to ease, then yanked off the oven mitt and began plucking muffins from the tray.
This whole ordeal couldn’t be over soon enough. She knew she should be glad for the business. Lord knew, every other business owner in town was thrilled at the revenue generated by all the visitors brought to town by the Bridges hoopla. But none of them had as much reason to hate that name. None of them had a house full of reporters asking too many questions. She was used to putting on a courteous face for even the most challenging guests, but the past week or so had been particularly trying. So many people wanting to know if she knew Richard Bridges, what she thought of him, would she be voting for him.
She almost snorted. Like hell she would.
Because, unlike the whole world—including her own son, she thought with a twinge of pain—she wasn’t fooled by Richard Bridges. She knew exactly the kind of man he was.
She’d learned the hard way.
She’d done her best to be polite and decline the reporters’ questions gracefully, all while wanting to tell them exactly what she thought of them and their infernal questions—and Richard Bridges. Because he wasn’t the only one who’d be hurt by the truth if it came out.
Fear stabbed at her at the thought, and she leaned against the counter to steady herself.
No. No one could ever find out.
Yet the longer the reporters remained in town, the longer they spent asking questions, looking around, and lurking—always lurking—the more she feared someone would.
Her only guests who weren’t reporters were the nice young couple sleeping in Will’s room. At first she hadn’t been sure whether to believe their story about being honeymooners. They might have been reporters, too, lying with a sympathetic story, in order to get her to rent them a room. But something about them had made her believe them, the way they glanced at each other, that indefinable energy that crackled between them.
She smiled. Yes, there was definitely something romantic between the two of them. She hoped they’d made good use of the room. Normally, she wouldn’t feel right about renting Will’s room. It wasn’t the coziest of spaces, but she figured honeymooners would be more interested in each other than their surroundings anyway. And with them around, at least she had someone under her roof who wasn’t obsessed with Richard Bridges.
But this fuss would all be over eventually. She clung to the thought like a lifeline.
In the meantime, all she could do was keep smiling, keep her thoughts to herself, and keep counting the hours until all the reporters, all the other visitors, and most of all, that bastard Richard Bridges, were finally gone and her world was safe once more.
J
ASON AND
A
UDREY
left the inn a little after eight o’clock. They’d both been up early. After spending more than twelve hours sequestered in that windowless room with her, Jason was more than ready to get out of there. Audrey didn’t say anything about it, but he suspected she felt the same way. They managed to slip out of the inn without Marybeth noticing, wanting to avoid having breakfast in the dining room with the other guests in case there was anyone who might recognize him. Not to mention he wasn’t up for playing the newlywed this morning.
He kept his eyes on the road, doing his best not to look at her, much as he had ever since their conversation yesterday. Neither of them had mentioned it. When Audrey had reemerged from the bathroom, he’d been back at work, trying to make himself look as busy as possible, leery of what she might say. It turned out he’d worried for nothing. She’d simply returned to her laptop without a word. Eventually, they’d begun speaking about the investigation, but nothing personal had come up again.
It didn’t matter. Neither of them had to say anything for it to be obvious something had changed between them, a lowering of the barriers he needed to remain as strong as possible. The knowledge hung there in the air between them. It was impossible for such an intimate conversation not to have an effect on their relationship, the fact that he knew things about her, had been the one to make things personal by sharing them with her, had seen her at her most vulnerable.
He didn’t regret telling her. She’d needed to know. The happiness, the gratitude in her eyes when he’d told her that Hal had loved her, had damn near melted every last bit of resistance he felt toward her. In that moment, he hated Hal for not being there for her, and felt a ridiculous amount of pleasure that he’d been the one to cause that look in her eyes.
He’d almost wanted to tell her other things. That she was everything Hal had said she was: strong and smart and beautiful. He’d never really believed Hal when he talked about her all those years ago, or even more recently. She was his niece; of course he was going to exaggerate to make her sound better than she was. He’d had no interest in meeting her, this niece Hal didn’t even have a picture of, even before he met Lisa, and especially after what had happened.
But it turned out Hal hadn’t exaggerated. Audrey was exactly what he’d said. If anything, he hadn’t done her justice. She was even stronger than Hal had said, or maybe even known. Even smarter.
And so beautiful she stirred things in a man who had no business feeling such things, and who damn well didn’t want to.
He swallowed hard. No, thankfully he hadn’t told her any of that. And he certainly wasn’t going to.
He reined in his thoughts of the woman beside him and focused instead on the case as they approached the Barrett’s Mill police station. The square one-story building was located on Main Street not far from the library. Jason had to circle the block to find a parking space, finally locating one down the street, and they made their way back to the structure.
Stepping inside, they moved toward the front desk, removing their sunglasses. A uniformed officer looked up as they approached. “Can I help you folks?”
“I hope so,” Jason said, working up a smile. “We’re doing research on a car accident that happened roughly thirty-five years ago. We were wondering if there’s anyone we could speak to about it, or if we could view the police report, if possible.”
The officer blinked at him. “That’s funny. Somebody was in here a year or so ago asking about an old car crash. About thirty-four, thirty-five years ago, I reckon.”
“You wouldn’t happen to remember his name, would you?” Audrey asked.
“No, I’m afraid not. It was so long ago.”
“Could it have been Hal Talmadge?”
The officer screwed his face up in thought. After a moment he nodded slowly. “Could have been. Sounds about right.”
“Did he get to talk to anyone about the crash?” Jason asked.
“I’m afraid not. Like I told him, we’re a small department, and nobody who’s with the department these days was around back then.”
“Did you let him see the report on the crash?”
“No, I told him we wouldn’t have it anymore. We don’t have any files older than fifteen years or so. Water main broke and flooded the archive room a while back. Anything that old was lost.”
“Do you know if anyone who was with the department back then still lives in the area?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“What about a coroner or medical examiner?” Audrey asked. “Someone died in the crash, so the ME probably would have examined the body.”
A stricken look crossed the officer’s face, the expression instantly filling Jason with dread. “Strange that you should ask. Our ME is Doc Foley, or was until last night. He would have been the ME around thirty-five years ago. But sad to say, there was a fire at old Doc Foley’s place last night. The whole place went up. They weren’t able to get to him in time.”
Jason met Audrey’s eyes, reading the same thing there that he was thinking.
Another mysterious fire, another dead person who may have known something.
This wasn’t a coincidence. The doctor must have known something after all. Unfortunately, the assassin had gotten to him before they could.
Jason tamped down the anger and frustration that rose in his gut. Damn it. They hadn’t just lost another way to the truth. Another life had been lost, all so Richard Bridges could keep his damn secrets.
The bastard had to be stopped.
“Thank you for your help,” Jason said, before the officer could start to wonder about the timing of them looking for information the ME could provide the very day after the man died. He wouldn’t mind the police figuring out the ME’s death wasn’t an accident, but he and Audrey couldn’t get involved. This was Bridges’s town, and Jason wasn’t about to trust the local cops with the truth. “I really appreciate it.”
He and Audrey quickly made their way out of the station, Jason bracing himself for the officer to call after them.
He didn’t. Thirty seconds later they were back on the street.
“Our assassin is tying up loose ends,” he murmured under his breath.
“We have to stop him,” Audrey said, echoing his earlier thoughts so completely he couldn’t help but glance at her. “Bridges can’t get away with all of this.”
“We will,” he promised her, just as he had himself. He didn’t know how they would, but they were going to. “The newspaper office isn’t far from here. We can swing by there first, see if the reporter who covered the story still lives in the area—”
“Or if he died recently, too,” Audrey murmured.
He couldn’t blame her for her dispirited tone. It felt like they were a step behind. It was exactly what they’d considered yesterday. Bridges’s man had the book. He knew exactly where to go, exactly whom to stop. They only had to hope there was anyone left, and that there was any chance they could get to that person first.
The newspaper office was a short distance away from the police station. It didn’t take them long to get an answer. The current editor informed them the reporter who wrote the story had died twenty years earlier. Furthermore, no one who’d been with the paper thirty-five years ago was still around, either alive or in the area.
Another dead end.
“We should make sure Clint is okay,” Audrey suggested, her tone troubled as they moved down the sidewalk. “Just in case.”
“Good idea.” Not to mention Clint happened to be the best source they had at the moment. Yesterday he’d claimed not to remember the names of anyone else who’d worked at the Bridgeses’ farm that summer, but maybe it was early enough that they’d catch him when he was more lucid and capable of remembering. “Jason Stone?”
Recognizing the voice immediately, Jason nearly closed his eyes and swore. He did his best not to show any physical reaction, never missing a step or slowing for an instant, even as he admitted it didn’t matter. The moment he’d been hoping to avoid as long as possible had arrived.
He’d run into someone he knew, someone who’d clearly recognized him.
Seconds later, a face suddenly appeared in front of him and a hand clapped his shoulder with irritating familiarity. That was Ted Hagan, all affable smiles and big gestures masking a ruthless nature.
He peered into Jason’s face with almost ghoulish fascination. “Stone? It is you! I can’t believe it.”
“Hagan,” Jason acknowledged with a tight nod.
“What are you doing here?” Hagan gave his head a vigorous shake. “Like I have to ask. Just couldn’t stay away, could you?” The comment was accompanied by another hearty, fake-friendly clap on the shoulder.
“Something like that,” Jason said. There was no use denying it. He knew the man wouldn’t believe him anyway.
“So how are you doing?” Hagan asked, his face creasing with faked sympathy. As if he cared.
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
“Hey, do you want to grab coffee? I’d love to catch up.”
Jason was sure he would. “Sorry. I don’t think I have time.”
“Oh, anything I should know about?”
“No, nothing like that. Nice seeing you.” Without another word, he hustled Audrey past the man before Hagan could angle for an introduction.
“Who was that?” Audrey murmured under her breath.
“A columnist for the
Post,
” he said shortly. “We’re running out of time. Hagan is a gossip. It won’t take him long to spread the word around here, and soon every reporter in town will know I’m here. From there, it’s only a matter of time before it gets to Bridges’s camp, and Bridges himself.” It was one thing for their pursuer to suspect they were here. It was another to have him know it for sure. He’d ramp up the search for them. How long could it take before he identified them as the newlywed couple who’d so recently arrived in town?
Jason barely managed to keep from swearing as he and Audrey hurried back to the car. This was bad.
He didn’t even want to think about how it could get any worse.
S
HAW WAS DRIVING SLOWLY
down Main Street, drinking a cup of coffee and carefully examining the face of everyone in sight, when he saw them.
He almost didn’t recognize them. They’d dyed their hair, they were wearing sunglasses. But there was something about the woman in particular that grabbed him. She couldn’t change the shape of her face, her body, or the way she walked—all of which were distinctly familiar.