Find Me (25 page)

And she'd played him off as if he didn't matter.

Yet he couldn't get her out of his head. As hard as he tried, she just kept breaking through every mental barrier he erected.

He could still smell her on his skin. No matter how many showers he took he couldn't wash away the feel of her.

Her world was so different from his… he should have known better than to go down that path. He should have recognized that she was only using him.

August's words echoed…
while little Sarah hid in the closet or under the stairs waiting for Mommy to finish up and find her
…

Kale could only imagine what Sarah's childhood had been like… how difficult growing up with that past must have proven. And then to have it publicly dashed in her face by this asshole.

Kale didn't like this guy. Didn't like his smug face. Didn't like his fancy suit. Kale didn't even like the way he fucking walked or talked.

The truth was, he had no real reason not to like the man. Except for the emotional intensity Kale had just witnessed between him and Sarah.

The two had a history.

August knew all her secrets… secrets she hadn't seen fit to disclose in any capacity to Kale despite what they had shared.

Frames of last night's frantic sex in her car flicked one after the other in front of Kale's eyes.

She'd meant it when she'd said it was only sex.

Kale stared in the direction Sarah had disappeared. Would she come back?

Maybe… maybe not.

Two young girls were dead. Their killer was running loose.

Finding that monster had to be top priority.

Sarah liked to brag about how she could take care of herself.

He hoped like hell she was right.

8:30 P.M.

Sarah wasn't about to allow Lex August to send her running for cover.

Better men had tried.

Yeah, he'd gotten to her. But when she'd cooled off she had focused her energy on the investigation. The open road had always worked wonders for her attitude and to clear her head. Allowed her to regain perspective and to analyze things more clearly. So she'd taken a road trip. First to Bangor, then to Portland. She'd perused the archives of the newspapers looking for anything on the murders in Youngstown, old and new. She hadn't found anything earth-shattering, but she had discovered one very interesting factoid.

Jerald Pope had graciously covered the funeral expenses for the two young women murdered twenty years ago. Just as he'd helped the Gerard family this time.

Did his generosity make him a suspect or a saint?

There had been only one way to find out.

"Here you are, Sarah."

She accepted the glass of wine. Jerald Pope was a perfect host. Charming. Entertaining. And vastly interesting. As was his wife, Lynda. Dinner had been exquisite.

Beautiful home. Beautiful people.

The empty place setting at the table had been the one glaring imperfection in the evening thus far.

Their daughter hadn't shown.

"I apologize again for Jerri Lynn's absence," Pope said as if he'd read Sarah's mind. "I can't imagine what detained her."

"You know teenagers," Lynda explained, dismissing his concerns. "They can't appreciate grown-up get-togethers."

"I'm sure she found more interesting company." Admittedly, Sarah had been hoping to meet the daughter. According to what she'd learned from Polly, Jerri Lynn Pope was the one who'd had a crush on Brady. Sarah would have liked very much to get a feel for the girl. Was she off celebrating because the competition was dead? Perhaps before this evening was over, Sarah would know what her thoughts were on the latest victim.

Sarah was back on track. And no one, not Lex or Conner, was going to get in her way again.

"I saw you on the news today, Sarah," Pope announced as he set his glass on a table next to the first of two matching sofas. "I could hardly wait until you arrived tonight."

Sarah wondered if he'd seen Blond Barbie's or Blond Ken's stab at interviewing her. "I hope you weren't disappointed."

"Not at all." Pope indicated the elegant sofas stationed across a sleek marble table from each other. "I must admit, I find your background fascinating."

Tension moved through Sarah as she settled on the sofa opposite the lady of the house. Had Pope been digging around in her past? Sarah braced for that possibility as he relaxed next to his glamorous wife. They made a perfect couple. Sophisticated. Handsome. Well educated. And, if Sarah's crappy past intrigued either of them, they were clearly bored with the status quo.

Few people knew about her childhood. The courts and her aunt had seen to that by changing Sarah's last name to Newton, her aunt's surname, after the trial. Sarah hadn't been happy at first. Eventually she'd understood that the move had been a good one.

"Your history is quite fascinating as well." Might as well give him as good as he gave. "Your father was a carpenter. I suppose his love of working with his hands influenced your passion for ship building." Five minutes on Google had given her a detailed history of Jerald Pope.

Pope reached for his wine, savored a swallow. "To be honest, as a young boy I hated woodworking." He chuckled. "But that changed the first time I glided across the water in a sailboat. I was hooked."

Sarah knew that kind of addiction. "Your work has garnered you international acclaim."

"Indeed," he agreed.

"You should come up in the spring," Lynda suggested. "Jerald and I will take you sailing." She swirled the wine in her glass. "There's nothing on the planet like gliding across the water in one of Jerald's vessels."

"I'll do that." Sarah wouldn't but it wasn't polite to say so. Particularly when one wanted to keep the conversation going in the right direction. She sipped her wine sparingly. The road back to the village was dark and twisty.

Despite having lived in New England his entire life, Pope didn't give off the same vibes as the rest of the citizens in Youngstown. There was a worldliness about him that was lacking in others. The same was true of his wife.

"You and Lynda," Sarah broached, "have made quite a name for yourselves with your generous donations."

The two smiled at each other. "It's only fair," the wife offered, "that we help those less fortunate."

"Absolutely," Pope seconded.

Sarah inclined her head and made a show of searching her memory banks. "I think I read somewhere that you"—she looked directly at Pope—"helped the families of the two victims twenty years ago with funeral expenses."

Pope nodded. "I did. The families were devastated. I heard about the troubling financial problems they were having prior to the tragedy. I couldn't take away their pain, but I could lessen the stress in other areas." He shrugged. "It was the right thing to do."

"Unfortunately," Lynda added, "at a time like that, there's little anyone can do. I'm very proud of my husband for his thoughtfulness."

Another of those shared smiles.

Was it possible for anyone to be this perfect?

"You grew up in Tennessee," Pope said, shifting the conversation back to Sarah, "but you were born in Minneapolis."

Surprise flared before Sarah could restrain the reaction. Only a handful of people knew about that part of her past. Evidently he'd done far more than five minutes on Google looking into her background. "Home was actually a small suburb of Minneapolis."

"You lived above a meat market." Pope inclined his head, studied her a moment. "I find your childhood as ironic as it is fascinating. You were a butcher's daughter."

Inside, where he wouldn't see, Sarah cringed. She hated that term. But her feelings went deeper than that. She hated her father. Hated her past. "I suppose it is a bit ironic." She blocked the idea that Kale Conner now knew all about her past. Along with the chief and the mayor… and obviously Pope.

"I'm sure you run into all sorts of strange people in your work," Lynda commented. She pinched her lips together and gave a little shake of her head. "You must feel a very strong conviction to deal with such horrific cases."

What Lynda really wanted to ask was had her mother's decision to murder eight people influenced Sarah's decision to immerse herself in murder and mayhem. Her fingers tightened around her glass. Sarah wasn't going to kid herself here. If Pope had uncovered her humble beginnings, he had the whole story. He was a rich, powerful man. Getting the real story on Sarah had likely been a piece of cake for him.

"I have some stories that would give you nightmares," she admitted. They sure gave them to her. No, that wasn't true. Her nightmares were all related to her own private story. "As far as motive or conviction"—she held the other woman's gaze a moment—"the truth drives me."

"Perhaps you'll write a book one day," Pope offered. "Perhaps."

"We could write a book, couldn't we, Jerald?" Lynda brushed the back of her hand across her husband's jaw. "Our life has been anything but dull."

Pope nodded in answer to his wife's question. "We've traveled extensively. The deeper and darker the territory, the better."

Lynda laughed. "Africa and Mexico were my favorites."

"The unknown intrigues my wife, Sarah. Whether it's a safari or a venture deep into rugged, uncivilized terrain. She loves a challenge."

"What I love most," Lynda qualified, "is having you at my side wherever I am."

He touched his wife, the slightest caress of her arm. Sarah observed the interaction. Wondered what it was like to have that kind of connection to another human being. Her one stab at a real relationship had ended badly. Today had been further proof of that reality.

After things went south between her and Lex, Sarah had come to terms with the idea that she didn't have the proper foundation for building a relationship. The Popes, the Conners, all had something she didn't: a childhood that included the necessary pattern for developing relationships. She hadn't gotten that from her parents. Again, Conner attempted to elbow his way into her thoughts. No way. He was one of them. Sure, the sex had been great but that was where their connection began and ended. Besides, on some level his life was just as screwed up as hers, he just hadn't recognized it yet.

The last thing either of them needed was each other. "Did you formally study for your chosen profession?" Sarah blinked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Of course she studied," Pope said to his wife. "Sarah has spent her life analyzing people. My guess is she has it down to a science. Isn't that right, Sarah?"

"That's right. College and I didn't mix." Probably had something to do with the alcohol and the bad memories of her childhood. She'd leave that part out of the conversation. Not that it mattered. Pope could very well have a copy of her college transcript.

"Are you analyzing us right now?" Lynda searched Sarah's face. The green eyes were stunning with her black hair and porcelain skin.

The question allowed Sarah's tension to recede a fraction. She laughed softly, then allowed her face to show just how dead serious she was. "Of course."

The Popes had a good laugh over that one. But it was the look they shared that gave away the slightest hint of their own tension, at least from the wife.

Sarah made her nervous. Or maybe it was the subject.

Not everyone was immune to the emotional impact of murder discussed so casually.

"Which has been your most difficult case?" Pope asked, keeping the conversation moving.

"Definitely the—"

A door slammed in the foyer. Pope pushed to his feet. "It sounds as if the errant offspring has returned." He glanced at Sarah. "Excuse me."

"It's about time." Lynda watched her husband go, then turned back to Sarah. "You were saying."

Sarah decided to change her answer. "I think the most difficult case has been this one."

Lynda looked surprised. "Really? You've only been here a couple of days. Has this one proven that unsolvable already? The police are equally puzzled, I hear."

"Yes. This one has me and the police bewildered. I can't explain it… but…" Sarah might as well say it. "Nothing is what it seems. I'm certain we're missing something that's right under our noses."

"My, my," Lynda noted, her tone amused but carefully so, "you've been in Youngstown a mere two days and you've already found us out."

"Don't misunderstand me—"

"No. No." Lynda held up a hand. "You're correct in your conclusion." The polite, collected expression shifted, the change ever so subtle. Her lips tightened. Eyes tapered in unconcealed derision. "Our village is filled with good, decent people but they are very shortsighted and incredibly narrow-minded."

"That's a polite way to size it up." Sarah had found the fire and she wanted to stoke the blaze. She could educate the lady in the ways of small-town America. The smaller the town, the smaller the minds.

"The kids are no different. They run in cliques. You're either in or you're not." Lynda shook her head in something like disgust, then took a long swallow of her wine. "And if you're not, you're left out."