Watch Me (8 page)

“Ned told me you established a victims’ charity,” Owen said.

“You’re friendly with Ned?” Because of the strain between Ned and Cain she hadn’t expected it.

He gestured with the spoon he still held. “We’ve both got kids in Little League. And he isn’t so bad as long as Cain’s not around.”

Cain seemed to bring out the worst in Ned
and
Amy.

“More soup?” he asked, and she opened her mouth for another spoonful.

“Cain told me you’re a doctor. That’s quite an accomplishment,” she said when she’d swallowed.

“Not really. I went to school for eight years to get where I am, but Cain probably knows as much intuitively.”

He’d said it amiably, but Sheridan couldn’t help wondering if he harbored some envy. “Does it bother you?” she asked. “That Cain’s so good?”

“Of course not. He’s my brother.”

Cain was his
step
brother. They’d always stressed that in high school. It was almost as if the Wyatts, especially Owen’s father, hadn’t wanted to claim such a renegade. But Sheridan believed that his lack of acceptance in that family was what had
made
Cain a renegade. Although he’d played a few organized sports when he first moved to town, not long after his mother married John Wyatt, he’d quit them altogether. His grades began to suffer; he started acting out.

“What about
your
glamorous job?” Owen asked.

“What about it?”

“Tell me what working for your charity entails.”

“I mostly act as a caseworker, which means I assess a client’s needs, then fill in wherever possible. Sometimes that includes getting him or her a better lawyer or a different lab to analyze evidence. Sometimes it means getting a second opinion on a psychological profile or an autopsy, providing a safe house, a bodyguard, self-defense classes.” She shrugged. “You name it.”

“You like what you do.”

It was a statement, not a question. “It’s fulfilling.
The work’s also frightening at times, and it can get pretty depressing when funds run low or we can’t do as much as we’d like.”

He adjusted the tray. “Must be difficult for you now, being on the receiving end of the equation.”

“Being the victim instead of the helper? Definitely. But that only makes me more empathetic.”

“Your work includes trying to put murderers and rapists and wife-abusers behind bars, right?”

She swallowed the next spoonful of warm chicken broth. “More or less.”

“You’re not worried about the danger involved in crossing people like that? I mean, couldn’t one of them come after you?”

This was leading somewhere despite the benign expression on Owen’s face. “Are you thinking that what happened to me might be connected to my work and not Jason’s shooting?”

“I’m trying to figure out if it’s a possibility.”

She swallowed some more soup. “The timing and location argue against it. I’m from California.”

“You could’ve been followed.”

“I flew.” And rented a car. She finally knew that much. She supposed her rental car was parked at her uncle’s house, but she needed to ask Cain. He’d already said he planned to look for her purse and cell phone today.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyone who knew your plans could’ve talked about them. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out where you were going.”

Sheridan studied him for a moment. “Then why
bother following me all the way here? Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to take care of me in California?”

“Not all criminals are dumb and lazy. Ted Bundy, for instance.” Owen blinked at her through his thick glasses. “He’s an excellent example of a highly functional killer. If someone knew your background, knew you’d had trouble here before, this would be the smartest place to murder you. The police would naturally connect the attack to the incident at the lake. Especially if it’s a small force like this one, with no experience in real detective work. And the change in jurisdiction would—”

“I wasn’t having problems with anyone before I left,” she broke in. She knew all about the difficulties of trying to get two police departments to work together, especially two departments located so far apart.

“But the scenario
is
possible, isn’t it? Some man who abuses his wife isn’t going to be happy about you getting involved and taking her side. You’ve probably done that at some point.”

“Of course I have. More times than I want to count.”

“See? Someone could be angry and desperate for revenge.”

Was he
trying
to frighten her? She already felt as if the whole world had become unsafe….

“The degree of anger in what was done to you leads me to believe that whoever did it has something very personal against you,” he said when she didn’t respond.

Suddenly, Sheridan couldn’t eat any more. The way he talked brought flashbacks of the beating. And it upset her that he seemed so insensitive to the fact that his words might cause her discomfort.

But he’d never really had social skills. Maybe the improvement she’d noticed when he first greeted her wasn’t a true improvement, after all. Maybe he still didn’t know what to say to a woman, to people in general. “You could be right,” she said calmly. “There’s always the possibility that what happened to Jason and me was completely random. I had no enemies when I lived here.”

“No enemies that you
know of
,” he corrected.

She let the spoonful of soup he held out dangle in midair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What if someone wanted you for himself and didn’t like it when you went into that camper with Cain?”

Sheridan hadn’t told
anyone
about the camper. Not a soul. Not until she was much older and far away from the whole situation. At sixteen, she’d been too paranoid about having it get back to her parents and too angry with herself for making such a colossally stupid mistake. She’d given Cain her heart at the same time she’d given him her body; he’d taken one and left the other without a second thought or a moment’s hesitation.

But she’d always believed he’d at least done her the courtesy of maintaining his silence. “Who told you I went into the camper with Cain?”

“I was there.”

Sheridan didn’t know how to respond. “You were
where?
”

“Cain had insisted I get out of the house for a change and took me to the party. I wasn’t enjoying myself, so I found a quiet spot where I could go unnoticed.”

The thought of having a witness to the single most
intimate moment of her life made Sheridan sick. “
In
the camper?”

“Right outside it.”

Sheridan wished she could trust him, but she felt sure he was lying. He’d brought it up for a reason, which could only be that he wanted to make her aware that it wasn’t the secret she’d always thought. “What if I said we were just talking?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t doubt you.”

Yes, he would. He already knew the truth. She was even willing to bet he’d been
inside
that camper and had watched the whole thing—or listened to it.
God
… Her trip home was becoming more excruciating than she’d ever dreamed. “What does Cain say?”

“I haven’t asked him. He wouldn’t admit it, anyway. He doesn’t need to boost his ego. He could have anyone.
You
were about the only girl I thought would rebuff him.”

There was an underlying accusation in that statement. And she deserved it. She’d been no smarter than the others. But, even at this late date, she didn’t want to embarrass her religious parents with rumors that might get back to them through old friends.
The Kohls thought their daughter was so good, but she slept with that Granger boy when she was only sixteen….

Sheridan could easily imagine what Amy would do with that kind of news. “I knew better than to get involved with him,” she hedged.

“With whom?” Cain strode into the room, clean-shaven and handsome.

“No one,” she managed to say.

Cain had such presence. But she couldn’t spare him
a smile. The old hurts and regrets and self-recriminations made her chest burn as if he’d pressed a branding iron into it, a branding iron with a giant
I
for
Idiot
.

Maybe he could feel the tension in the air, because he didn’t push for a more satisfactory answer. “How’re you feeling?”

“I…I’m getting shaky. I think I need to sleep.” Taking the blankets with her, she turned onto her other side so she wouldn’t have to look at him or his brother.

“How long has she been awake?” she heard Cain ask.

“Maybe thirty minutes.”

“She didn’t eat much.” He wasn’t pleased.

“Half a bowl of soup isn’t bad. And I got some of your tea down her.”

There was a pause. “I’ll give her more later,” Cain said. Then he called his dog and they went out.

“L
ater” seemed to arrive in the blink of an eye, but the sun was beginning to set so Sheridan knew it’d been hours.

“Time for dinner,” Cain announced, gently shaking her shoulder.

The sickening realization of what Owen had told her was there, waiting to ruin the rest of her day. “I need a pain pill,” she grumbled, fighting consciousness.

The rattle of dishes indicated that Cain had brought a tray and was setting it on the nightstand but she didn’t bother to open her eyes. She wasn’t hungry. Every time she thought of her conversation with Owen—every time she imagined him hiding out in that camper—she wanted to pull the blankets over her head.

“I’m taking you off Vicodin,” Cain said.

This
got her eyes open.
“What?”

“It causes too much disorientation and can be addictive. I prefer to use herbs and other natural remedies.”

He hadn’t mentioned this in the hospital. “You’re kidding, right?”

His expression said he wasn’t kidding even before he spelled it out. “No.”

“Why?”

“I told you, what I have is better for you. You’ll heal faster. Trust me.”

Healing fast sounded good. But trusting him? Trusting him in that camper had proved to be a disaster. “You’re sure there’ll be a real difference?”

“You’ll see.”

She eyed the mug on the tray he’d carried in. “More tea?”

“Yes. You’ll have some with every meal.” He waved at the dresser by the foot of the bed. “I brought your purse.”

At last, a bright spot. Reassured that her driver’s license and credit cards were now in the same general vicinity she was, Sheridan managed a grudging “thank you” despite her bad mood. She tried to sit up to see it for herself but fell back when black spots danced before her eyes.

“Take it easy,” he warned and eased her into a sitting position by propping several pillows behind her. “Okay?”

She nodded, but the fact that he smelled so good—that even now she wouldn’t mind burying her nose in his T-shirt—made her grumpier. “Where was it?”

“At your uncle’s. Your stuff was spilled out on the kitchen floor.”

“Was it actually spilled or was my purse ransacked?”

“Spilled, I think. Your money, credit cards—I’m pretty sure it’s all there.”

How had that happened? During a struggle? If only she could remember where she’d been, what she’d been doing, what she’d
seen
. “Did the police come up with prints or any other evidence?”

“No. Whoever grabbed you was wearing gloves.
There was some blood spatter near the sink. I’m guessing he got into the house while you were putting your groceries away. You saw movement or maybe his reflection in the window, turned and he hit you.”

“So none of the blood was his.”

“No.”

Her abject despair must’ve shown on her face, because he seemed to want to cheer her up. “I brought your luggage, too. I thought you might like to get out of that hospital gown.”

She felt exposed in the loose-fitting, tied-at-the-back gown, especially since she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. But what she’d brought to sleep in was probably even less modest. She’d planned on being alone. “I usually wear a tank top and a pair of panties.”

Their eyes locked and enough electricity to light up Manhattan seemed to charge through the room. But a moment later, Sheridan wondered if she’d been the only one to experience it.

“However you’re most comfortable is fine by me,” he said.

Was he pretending she didn’t tempt him, regardless of what she wore? “Can you step out for a minute?” she asked. “I have to use the bathroom.” He’d helped her before, but she was more lucid now and had added motivation to do it on her own.

He didn’t go. He slid the tray aside so she wouldn’t knock against it as she passed. Then he reached for the covers.

She quickly pulled down her flimsy hospital gown before his efficient movements exposed her bottom.

“Ready?” He started to slide a hand around her back, but she stiffened and did her best to move away. She wanted to stand on her own, but he ignored her resistance and swept her into his arms. Then he sat her on the toilet, making her feel about as powerful as a child.

Hating her own weakness and pain, Sheridan waited for the door to close, at which point she had some privacy. Still, she knew Cain was just on the other side, waiting for her to finish.

Why had she come home with him? What had she been thinking?

It was the drugs, she decided. They’d affected her brain. And the fear. She felt safer with Cain than someone like Ned, who was less intelligent, less aware, less capable and a whole lot less caring about the people around him.

When she was done, she used the walls and the sink to keep from falling and washed her hands. But once Cain heard the toilet flush and the faucet turn on, he opened the door and scowled when he saw her dragging herself around by the fixtures. “You could black out and hit your head. You know that, right?”

She pushed him away when he touched her. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t force her to accept his help, but he stayed close, watching her struggle with every step, inching along, clutching the walls and the furniture. She probably showed him an excellent view of her bare butt when she climbed into bed, but she didn’t care. She’d made the trek on her own. That in itself was a victory—until the pain hit fresh and throbbing, punishing her for pushing herself too hard.

Wincing against a sudden wave of nausea, she closed her eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

When she couldn’t answer, he pressed a hand to her forehead, but she turned her face away.

“What’s wrong?”

She smothered a groan and wiped her top lip, which was beaded with sweat. “Nothing.” She shouldn’t be sweating; it wasn’t even hot in the room.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“What do you think? Everything’s wrong,” she snapped. “I need to move to a motel, where I can take care of myself.”

She opened her eyes to see how he was taking this news and found him studying her with a frown. “You
can’t
take care of yourself. Not yet.”

He was right. It was stupid to argue. But acknowledging her inability nearly made her cry. She was so miserable and helpless. Someone had done this to her on purpose. Why? It made no sense. She hadn’t been in town long enough to offend anyone.

“Will you please get me my Vicodin?” she asked. “A lot of it?” She needed to shut down. She was too aware of the pain, too aware of Cain, too aware of the past.

“Sheridan.”

She wouldn’t look at him. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he’d noticed the tears threatening to spill over. She’d come back to Whiterock to put the past right—at least as right as she could put it. She owed it to Jason to do everything in her power to bring his killer to justice. And now she couldn’t do anything
except depend on this man. The man who was the reason Jason had been at Rocky Point. She’d
used
Jason, trying to make him jealous. “What?” she muttered.

“I understand you feel like shit, okay? But it’ll help if you eat. Then I can give you some tea to ease the pain. I also have an ointment. It doesn’t smell great—it’s actually for horses—but you’ll see what it does for bruising.”

Did he have something for heartache, too? She’d distanced herself from Whiterock for twelve years, and thought she was strong enough to finally come back here. And now this…

She rolled away from him. “Forget the food. Just give me whatever painkiller you’ve got.”

Putting a hand on her back, he briefly brushed the bare skin in the gap between the ties of her gown. He was trying to soothe her, calm her as he would one of his injured animals. She had no illusion that his touch meant anything more. “You
have
to eat, okay? The tea might make you sick if I give it to you on an empty stomach.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.” Gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t groan at the pain caused by her movements, she burrowed beneath the covers.

He pulled back. “Being uncooperative isn’t going to help.”

His voice had become stern, almost angry; and she welcomed that because it allowed her to be angry in return. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” As he drew back the covers, she felt cool air. “I’m in charge of your care now,” he said, moving her firmly but gently into a sitting position and holding her
chin so she had to look at him. “And you’re going to eat a few bites.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Why are
you
taking care of me?”

“Because last time I checked, there wasn’t a line forming!”

She brushed an impatient hand across her chin before her tears could drop onto her chest. “I don’t have a single friend here.”

“What have I done wrong?” he asked. “Because this sudden change in your behavior is confusing the hell out of me.”

“You’re confused.”

“That’s right.”

She glared at him, and he glared back. Like most men, he was uncomfortable seeing her cry and wanted to do something to stop it. But his attempts to help hadn’t worked and he was getting frustrated.

“Are you somehow blaming me for this?” he asked.

“The attack? No.” She couldn’t blame him. He’d saved her. And he’d been kind to her since. But she couldn’t banish the images Owen had evoked. Through the years she’d replayed that act with Cain like a favorite, worn-out movie—and enjoyed it every time. Knowing Owen had been there ruined it, made her cringe in horror.

“Tell me what’s changed.”

She sensed that Cain’s first instinct was to use his hands to calm her, but the way she’d responded to his touch made him rethink it.

Sheridan could understand why Cain’s dogs obeyed
him. She felt the same compulsion. But it was that charisma, that magic
something
he possessed, that’d gotten her into trouble before.

Throwing back her shoulders, she swallowed hard. “Owen was watching us that night,” she whispered.

Cain didn’t immediately speak. He glanced away, rearranging the fork that sat on the plate, along with some steak he’d cut into bite-size pieces. “What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a bitter laugh. “I suppose with all the other girls, you must’ve forgotten. Just to refresh your memory, we made…we had sex once. In a camper. At a party. I was sixteen and you were—”

“I remember.”

There was plenty of emotion in those two words, but Sheridan couldn’t begin to guess what those emotions were. “Owen was there, too. He was watching us the whole time. Did you know that?”

“No.” His complexion darkened. He was either angry or as embarrassed as she was. Except that Cain didn’t get embarrassed. He was too indifferent for that.

“Yes,” she insisted.

“How do you know?”

“He told me when he was here earlier.” Her head hurt. Her whole body hurt. But she had to stop crying. She didn’t want to cry in front of Cain. “He…he said he was outside the camper when we went in. It was the way he said it that led me to believe…he was there. Inside.”

Cain folded his arms, but he wasn’t relaxed. “Even if that’s true, you don’t have to worry. He hasn’t told anyone. He
won’t
tell anyone.”

“That’s it?” she said. “Don’t worry about it? He was a witness to the most humiliating moment of my life!”

He rocked back as if she’d slapped him, the flash of pain that crossed his face surprising her into silence. Then he stood up and left the room, returning a few minutes later with her prescribed medication and a glass of water to wash it down.

“Here.”

The harsh words she’d spoken had snuffed out the fire of her anger and resentment. But now she was cold and empty and ached with a sick sort of regret.

The pills were her ticket out. She needed them, needed the escape they’d give her. Taking them eagerly, she swallowed them both at once. Then, his jaw set, Cain took the empty glass and the tray and walked out.

Cain couldn’t get hold of Owen. So he sat outside on the porch steps with his dogs, grateful for the cool night air. He’d spent the past eight days thinking about the man who’d hurt Sheridan, the rifle that’d been found in his cabin, his stepfather’s deep-seated doubt and his mother. For some reason, being with Sheridan brought Julia back, made him miss her in a way that left him feeling as young and abandoned as he’d felt at seventeen. His mother had been the one right thing in his messed-up childhood, and he’d had to watch her waste away until she was gone.

He leaned back on his hands and gazed up at the starry sky.

Sensing his restless mood, Koda whined in commiseration, his tail thumping the wooden planks. Maximil
lian rested his muzzle in Cain’s lap, and Quixote dozed at his feet. Cain preferred the simplicity of animals to the complexities of humans. He probably should’ve let someone else take care of Sheridan. Let Ned post a guard at her hospital room door. Something. But he didn’t believe in a lot of the remedies used by conventional doctors. The chemical they prescribed for one malady only created another. Cain knew that with some work on his part and a little grit on Sheridan’s, he could do a better job. Maybe he couldn’t mask her symptoms quite so well, but he could heal her without causing other problems.

He wanted to do it, to give her a real chance at a full recovery. He supposed it was his way of trying to atone for corrupting her when they were younger, when he was so busy wreaking havoc with anything or anyone he could.

Nudging a rock out of the dirt, he tossed it across the clearing and listened to it land somewhere near the shed that housed his tools and lawn equipment. Owen had never mentioned the camper to Cain. Why would he tell Sheridan he was there? He had to know it would upset her, would upset any woman. It’d been her very first time, which made everything worse. And, apparently, it’d been humiliating. Cain had done his best, but…hell, he’d been a mixed-up seventeen-year-old back then. What did he know?

Grabbing the cordless phone he’d carried out with him, he tried Owen again. It was getting late, but he didn’t think he’d be able to go to bed until he made his stepbrother answer for the stupid blunder. It was one thing that Owen hadn’t made his presence known be
fore any clothes came off, but it was even worse to embarrass Sheridan by telling her twelve years later.