Silver Falls (10 page)

And suddenly women were dead. And she had willingly gotten in the car with him, without telling anyone where she was going.

She only had his word for it that David had in
vited him over for dinner—her husband hadn't even mentioned it in his message. If Caleb Middleton was a serial killer he could strangle her, dump her, and…

But he'd been too careless. Anyone could have seen him walk up to the house, seen her leave with him, which was a whole other problem. If he was really trying to get away with murder, he was doing a rotten job of it, and she suspected Caleb Middleton was as efficient as her husband at getting things done. Maybe even better. David wouldn't be able to get away with murder—he was much too transparent. She could read his feelings clearly, when he was disappointed in her, when he was feeling affectionate, his frustration over Sophie's polite distance.

Caleb struck her as much more of a liar. A manipulator, who cheated to get what he wanted, who had some score to settle with his younger brother.

It didn't make sense. In truth, Caleb was taller, better looking, more charismatic than his brother, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He was charming and manipulative—why would he envy David? David, whose very appeal was because he was safe, ordinary.

But then, nothing made sense. She remained silent when he pulled off the interstate, heading down a dark road. She'd never driven in this direc
tion, away from Seattle rather than toward it, and she felt a little shiver slide down her backbone despite the warmth of the car.

“You know, I didn't think to leave David a message. He might come home and worry.”

“I doubt it. He'll assume you've gone somewhere with me.”

“I don't know that that's going to provide much peace of mind,” she said, her voice wry. “Anyway, I think I'd better call and tell him where we're going. Did you bring your cell phone?”

“No service around here.” They sped down the deserted road.

“How do you know? You just got home.”

“I've already been down this road in the last few days.”

“Why?”

A faint smile twisted his mouth. “I had my reasons.”

Oh, shit, he's going to kill me.
She surreptitiously squeezed closer to the door. He wasn't driving that fast, and if she moved quickly she could unfasten the seat belt and open the door at the same time, rolling out and heading into the woods at a dead run. He might not catch her, and at least it would give her a fighting chance.

He turned left, onto a dirt road, and there were no more houses anywhere around, just the road
leading through the towering trees. She shifted, trying to look like she was just getting comfortable, and moved her left hand to the seat belt buckle, sliding her right hand up toward the door handle. He was looking straight ahead, paying no attention to her, and she knew she had to take her chance soon, before it was too late.

Maybe it was already too late. If she had anything left of her brain she should do something, scratching his name into her leg or something so that they could pin it on him when they found her body. There was a dip in the road up ahead, a deep pool of water lying there, and she knew he'd slow down and swerve to avoid it. That would be her chance. Her fingers played with the metal buckle, waiting, waiting.

He sped up, splashing through the puddle, moving deeper into the forest, and she knew she had to make her move, no matter how fast he was driving, no matter how slim a chance it was, and her fingers curved around the metal flange, ready to flip it up, when he slammed on the brakes, her seat belt released, and she went hurtling toward the glass windshield.

His arm shot out to catch her. Not just to catch her, but to slam her back against the seat, absolute fury in his face, and she thought faintly that this is what it's like to die.

“Tell me, just how stupid are you?” he said. “If you thought I was going to kill you then why the hell did you come with me? Why did you even open the door to me?”

She was squirming down in her seat, momentarily intimidated by his sheer rage. “I thought you were David when I opened the door.”

“Well, I'm not. And if you were afraid of me you should have told me to leave and called someone. But no, you're too fucking polite and you're going to get yourself killed because of it.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He leaned back against his seat. “No, I am not going to kill you, no matter how annoying you are. I don't kill women. I don't kill men, either. I'm trying to…” He stopped midsentence.

“You're trying to what?”

“Feed you,” he said, putting the car in gear again.

“That's not what you were going to say.”

“And
you
have such great instincts when it comes to men that you willingly came out alone with someone you thought capable of murder. I'm not impressed.”

“Well, you didn't tell me where you were taking me, and this is the back end of beyond. We haven't seen another car for miles.”

“Don't tempt me,” he grumbled. “This is a shortcut. I grew up around here, remember? I know all
the back roads. I used to come out here with my girlfriends and park.”

“Girlfriends, plural? Like you brought a bunch out at the same time?” She was beginning to feel just the slightest bit foolish. He was right, she had been ridiculously naïve for blithely getting in the car with a man she didn't trust, a man who might be suspected of murder. She wasn't usually such an idiot.

“Smart-ass,” he said. “One at a time. I'm a serial monogamist, not a serial killer.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Well, not about the monogamy, and I have to admit that part seems unlikely. I know you're not a serial killer.”

“Then why were you ready to leap to your death to get away from me?”

“Overactive imagination,” she said, pausing. “I wouldn't have gotten into the car with you if I didn't trust you.”

“Now there's a mistake. There's a world of difference between thinking I'm a serial killer and actually trusting me.” They'd pulled back onto a main road, with streetlamps spreading pools of light onto the wet pavement and the distant glow of neon beckoning.

His face was shadowed in the darkness, lit only
by the glow of the dashboard lights. He looked slightly brutal, slightly gorgeous, and once again the thought ran through her mind. Why him? Why now?

She straightened, peering ahead. “So you're taking me to some hole-in-the-wall bar where no one can see us and you'll be feeding me watered-down beer and playing bad country music on the jukebox?”

She managed to surprise him into a laugh. “That would probably be my first choice, though I like my beer full strength and I'm not sure if there is any bad country music. But there aren't any around here.”

“No bars?”

“Nope. It's a dry county. Founded by Mormons a hundred years ago, and the laws have stayed.”

“Well, I'm glad something about this goddamned state is dry,” she muttered. In fact, it wasn't raining. For maybe the first time in weeks, it wasn't raining.

“So I've found the next best thing. Look over there to your right.”

When she did so, she almost burst into tears and her voice filled with awe. “I don't believe it.”

“Believe it. An In-N-Out Burger, straight from California. You grew up near San Diego, right? You must have had these things for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You know what you want?”

“God, yes.”

He pulled up to the drive-through. “Double
double, no cheese, pickles or onions, fries and a Diet Coke,” he said, and turned to her.

“Shit. The same.” She couldn't blow her first time at In-N-Out in seven years because of pride. She didn't care that she had the same taste as Caleb, even down to Diet Coke, though anyone less in need of a diet soft drink she had yet to meet. He'd found out she'd come from the San Diego area, something she didn't tell many people. If he'd found that out he could have guessed her particular taste in fast food as well. It wasn't as if In-N-Out had a varied menu.

Except David didn't know her taste in fast food. And he would have been horrified at the very thought. But Sophie knew—maybe she'd told Caleb.

Hell, they weren't together for that long—hardly time enough for them to get into Rachel's culinary peculiarities. It was sheer coincidence that they both liked no pickles and onions and cheese. Not a sign of something more complicated.

It was hard to stay wary with her Diet Coke and a double double In-N-Out burger. She could feel her whole body relaxing into the soft leather of the rental car. She ought to be pissed about that—he'd made her change her clothes and then drove her down the mountain in that lousy Jeep. He liked to toy with people, and she had no desire to play the mouse to his jungle cat.

But she simply couldn't summon up any rage.
Not then. Maybe later, when the fast-food bliss wore off. Tonight she was in her own little corner of cholesterol heaven.

The drive back was silent, oddly comfortable, and Rachel tipped the seat back a little, closing her eyes. Strange that she could be so relaxed with the black sheep. But after the rough day, the nerve-racking back roads drive, she could suddenly let go of everything, close her eyes and feel enormously peaceful.

Caleb had turned on the radio, and she heard the rich sound of African rhythms, the sweet tremolo of Portuguese fados, the beauty of Asian flutes. “World music station on the satellite radio,” he murmured, reading her mind.

It should have bothered her. But it didn't. She was too caught up in missing the worlds she'd lived in, that now seemed a lifetime away, the color, the music, the taste and smell, the people. And for a brief moment she wanted to cry.

And then she thought of Sophie. Sophie, who made friends wherever she went, who learned to read in Brazil, who had her hair in cornrows in the Caribbean, who danced in Mozambique and sang in India. Sophie in her new, safe, ordinary world, with new friends and a better school than Rachel could have ever provided.

It was right. It was fair.

But why did it suddenly feel so wrong?

T
he house was dark when Caleb drove into the driveway, David's black BMW sitting in front of the garage like a silent reproach.

“Oh, shit,” Rachel muttered beneath her breath.

“What? He's going to beat you?”

“Yeah, right. Your brother doesn't even like to swat flies—you know that. He's very Zen. No, he'll just be disappointed.”

“Well, slip into bed and maybe he won't notice what time you came in.”

“We don't…No, you're right, he probably won't notice,” she said, hastily switching words.

“You don't what? You don't sleep together?”

Shit. “Of course we do.”

“No, you don't. David has always slept lightly—the slightest sound would wake him up. If you shared a bed there's no way you wouldn't wake him up. He's my brother, remember?”

She could try to bluff, but the thought that she'd
be tempted to do so was annoying. Her blissed-out burger buzz had vanished, and she was back in the land of tofu and lemon water. The night was dark, and it had even started to rain again. “Exactly. My thrashing keeps him awake, so we have separate rooms. And in two days I've already figured out how your mind works. Yes, we have sex. All the time. We just go to his room or mine. Or the living-room floor. Or the kitchen countertops. Or the…”

“With Sophie in the house?” he said mildly enough.

Double shit. She'd been getting defensive again. “She goes out often enough.”

“So why were you going through your elaborate seduction routine tonight? Not that I wasn't appreciative, but if your sex life is all that good how come you have to resort to candlelit dinners and low-cut shirts?”

“I'm thoughtful,” she snapped. “We're newlyweds.”

Caleb's soft laugh had to be the most annoying sound in the entire world. “And it's such a love match.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I'd rather fuck you.”

The porch light came on, the front door opened to the rainy night, with David silhouetted in the darkness.

“I'm sorry we woke you up, darling,” she said as she reached the door.

David was in his pajamas, his blond hair mussed, his eyes sleepy. He looked like a little boy, and a rush of tenderness welled up in her. She stepped inside, her bare feet cold on the flagstone entry, and David leaned out and waved at his brother before he closed the door. Closing them in again.

“I'm so glad you took care of Caleb, darling,” he said, brushing her cheek with his soft lips. “I meant to tell you I'd invited him for dinner but then things got out of control on campus with the news of the body they found, and I just couldn't leave.”

“Of course not,” she said, pulling off the colorful shawl and holding it in her arms. David never liked it—he said the bright colors assaulted his eyes and detracted from her pure beauty. Which was a ton of shit, but flattering anyway, and she did her best to accommodate him. “Sophie's over at the Bannister's.”

“I know—I saw Maggie on my way back to campus. I think that was an excellent idea as well. Dear Sophie pretends to be very strong, but these things can be devastating to young girls.”

Sophie didn't
pretend
to be anything, but Rachel kept her mouth shut. “Do you want to come into the living room? We could turn on the fire, light a few candles, snuggle on the sofa?” And end up
doing the wild thing on the ancient Persian rug in front of it, making up for the other night's failure.

David shook his head. “I'm exhausted, and I've got an early class tomorrow.” He planted a soft, damp kiss on her lips. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Soft and damp. So different from Caleb's kiss. Kisses. Hard and wet and…

“Would you like to join me tonight?” she said, wiping that erotic thought out of her mind. She needed something, she needed David to drive away the memory, the
feel
of Caleb. She needed to be held, to remember why she chose this man and this life. “I'm feeling a little shaky myself.”

“Oh, Rachel, I'd love to, but it's just been too long a day,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “You don't mind, do you? I find I have the need of solitude in order to regroup. You understand, don't you?”

“Of course,” she lied. Caleb said he'd dream about her. Actually he'd said worse than that, the bastard. And without David beside her, she was going to have the same sort of dreams.

Better than dreaming about murdered young women, or thinking back to poor Tessa, only a few years older than Sophie. Gone, torn from a young life by a monster. And it was happening all over again.

But Tessa had been in San Francisco, a thousand miles away. There couldn't be any connection
with a local college student, and the less she heard about the second body the better.

“Good night, dear,” David said, his voice breaking through her abstraction. “You really don't mind, do you?”

She summoned a bright smile. “Of course not. I'll see you in the morning.”

“I might be gone before you wake up. But I almost forgot—Stephen Henry has summoned you for lunch. I told him you could make it. One o'clock at his house.”

Shit. “I had other plans. Actually I was thinking of taking Sophie and going on a little trip. Just to get some fresh air, maybe some sunshine…” Her voice trailed off.

He gave her a dazzling smile. “I think that's a wonderful idea. I know all this rain has been getting to you. We natives are used to it—we call it liquid sunshine—but I can understand that it might be a little hard for you two to grow accustomed to it. This business up at the falls must bring up some terrible memories.”

Rachel felt relief flood her. “It has. I just think it would be good for Sophie if I took her away for a few days.”

“And I agree. In another week she'll have a break for Thanksgiving, and I'm sure I can get away myself. That's one good thing about Caleb's
return—he can keep my father busy while you and I have some time away.” A faint look of anxiety darkened his eyes. “Unless…you didn't specifically invite me. Maybe you wanted to go alone?”

“Of course not,” she lied. He'd been so sweet, so amenable, that she couldn't possibly tell him the truth. “I was just thinking we might go a little sooner.”

“There's no particular hurry, is there? You don't want to give Sophie the impression that you're running away, do you?”

“Of course not.” Her smile was brittle.

“That settles it, then. I'll make arrangements for someone to cover my classes next week, and I'll even call Sophie's school for you and tell them she may be taking some extra time off. We can be gone for a week.”

“I can handle it,” she said.

“Of course you can.” His voice was soothing.

“But that's what I'm here for—to make things easier on you. In the meantime, if you wouldn't mind going to visit my father tomorrow I know he'd appreciate it. He's an old man, darling. He needs the company, and you know how he thrives on gossip. I expect he's going to grill you about Caleb, not to mention the recent murders.”

“Just how I wanted to spend my afternoon,”
Rachel said. “I'll need to leave by two-thirty to pick Sophie up—”

“I've already made arrangements. I'll pick her up—you stay and entertain my father.”

She considered pointing out that Stephen Henry was a preening old bastard, and she preferred to take care of her daughter herself, but she was learning tact, slowly but surely. Besides, David was still pushing for the adoption, and Rachel had no intention of hurrying. She could put up with Stephen Henry's nonstop monologue on his favorite subject, himself, for the sake of family harmony. At least David wasn't objecting to her leaving, even if he wanted her to wait. She could do that much.

“Thanks anyway, but I'd rather pick her up,” she said. “I'll have plenty of time to visit with Stephen Henry and then make it to the school. I wouldn't want to put you to any extra trouble.”

“It wouldn't be—”

“I'll take care of it.” She couldn't keep the slight edge out of her voice.

“Of course,” he murmured, and once more she felt guilty. He'd only been trying to help. “Good night, dear,” he murmured.

She resisted the impulse to slam her bedroom door behind her. The bed was neatly made, the hundred pillows she liked tossed on top of it. She was exhausted, but her feet were dirty, and a hot
shower would probably help her sleep. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them lying on the spotless hardwood, simply because she knew she could, knew that David wouldn't come in and start scooping them up and hanging them in her neatly organized closet.

The hot water beat down on her skin, and the room filled with steam. She turned her face up to the showerhead, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

And all she could think about was Caleb.

 

“The door's unlocked!” Stephen Henry's deep voice came from the old house, and, steeling herself, Rachel pushed it open, stepping inside. He was sitting in the living room, his books, his coffee, everything he needed at hand, a cashmere throw over his useless legs.

“Come and give an old man a kiss,” he said.

She bent down and clinked cheeks with him, both sides, European style, as he demanded, and with-drew before he could prolong it. “Where's Dylan?”

“I gave him the day off. He's already made lunch for us, and I told him you could serve us.”

Of course you did,
Rachel thought. “Happy to,” she lied, taking a seat far enough away so he couldn't grab her knee. He liked to touch women, which was one strong reason why she didn't make
any effort to get Sophie to like him any better. It wasn't that she didn't trust him.

She just didn't trust him.

“What's up?” she said.

“Ah, this younger generation,” Stephen Henry said, blithely ignoring the fact that he was the forefront of the baby boom. “Always in such a hurry. Why can't we be civilized, talk about art and literature for a bit?” He always pronounced it “litrachur” in particularly affected tones, which annoyed her to no end. Particularly since David had picked it up.

“S.H., I've got film to develop,” she said in her sweetest possible voice. “Much as I adore spending time with you, it's sometimes difficult. Weekends are usually better, but David said this was a royal summons, so here I am, your loyal subject.” She kept her voice light, giving Stephen Henry exactly what he wanted. An audience and a cue.

He chuckled. “Royal summons, eh? I certainly wish my sons were even half as obedient as you are.”

That rankled enough to make her speak. “No one has ever called me obedient in my entire life.”

“Ah, but you've changed. In the four months you've been a part of our small family I've seen you mature, blossom. Your wardrobe, your jewelry, your entire manner. When David first brought you back I was, frankly, appalled. You were too ener
getic, too wild for a sleepy little backwater like Silver Falls. But clearly I underestimated my son—he saw through the gaudy clothes and unconventional behavior to the sweet, reasonable woman beneath all that. You've curbed your impulsive nature as well. And your daughter is exquisite.”

“Glad to know we pass muster,” she muttered. Stephen Henry was partly deaf, and much too vain to wear a hearing aid, and she'd been docile for long enough.

“I beg your pardon, love. You were mumbling. You have to learn to enunciate. It's a sign of a bad education when people mumble.”

Rachel's smile grew strained. “You know me, S.H. I'm street smart. I learn from books that I choose—that way I don't have to waste my time on anything that doesn't interest me.” Like self-indulgent poet snobs.

“Oh, I know you, my dear. You're too smart not to further your education. If it weren't for your unfortunate illegitimate pregnancy…”

Oh, she really was going to have to hit him. “But then I wouldn't have Sophie.”

An indulgent smile wreathed Stephen Henry's soft pink face that never saw the sun. Then again, if he wanted sun he sure as hell wasn't going to find any in Silver Falls. “Very true. And not everyone is cut out for higher education.”

“S.H., I know you didn't invite me over to talk about my educational deficiencies.” Stephen Henry was oblivious to the tone creeping into her voice.

“After lunch, my dear. Dylan has made us a delicious shrimp salad and chosen an excellent wine.”

Oh, yeah, that was why she hadn't made some phony excuse. Stephen Henry did eat well. And after last night's forbidden carb fest she was finding twigs and tofu even less appealing.

She had to wait through Stephen Henry's tedious monologue over heavenly shrimp salad and a crisp chardonnay, paying him only the slightest bit of attention. He was lecturing her about how sensitive David was, but right then she wasn't in the mood to be lectured, and she resisted the impulse to ask about Caleb's childhood, something that seemed to have slipped Stephen Henry's memory completely. Fortunately all she had to do was give him the right cue and he'd start off again, prattling on with his fork filled with food, hovering hopelessly near his constantly moving mouth.