Breaking Hearts (19 page)

This was Simon. My protector. The boy I’d loved since I’d been old enough to love. I kissed him then, hard, demanding, desperate. He opened his mouth, swirled his tongue with mine. All the doubts, the fears, every uncertainty I owned disappeared with one blazing touch. Fire raged across my skin. I gave thoughts over to feelings, to the sensation of his body, his hands, the wonders of his mouth.

“Anything?” I brought my lips a breath away from his.

“Yes.” His whisper echoed more powerful than any scream.

“Make love with me.”

“I wanted to go slow, to savor every second, but I can’t.”

Close to the edge, I wanted to take him with me, to bring him the same pleasure he’d given me.

“Simon, please.” I could do nothing more than beg for his body, for his touch. He kissed the hollow of my throat as he shoved his boxers away, then pulled me on top of him.

The sheer ecstasy of feeling him inside me, the weeks of waiting, denying ourselves this moment, sent shockwaves through me. I shuddered above him, the moves coming faster, more frantic.

My body convulsed, squeezing him, holding him inside until he let go. He threw his head back and a growl of enthusiasm rang out in the quiet of the room. His body bucked with its release. With a final moan of pure pleasure, he grinned. “We should do this more often. Once, twice, ten times a day.”

He kissed the spot where my neck and shoulder met, then turned us so we lay facing one another.

I couldn’t stop smiling even as he kissed me. “That was amazing.”

“I think we’re gifted.” He pulled the side of the blanket up, wrapping us in a cocoon of cotton.

I snuggled closer. “I love you, Simon.”

“You’re not supposed to say you love the other person during sex.”

“It’s not during. It’s after.” I ran a finger down his spine.

“We could compromise and say it’s before.”

* * * *

As soon as the sun came up, my stomach started begging for food. The begging turned into wailing, and I decided to surprise Simon with breakfast in bed. Unfortunately, since Mom had been gone so long, the refrigerator stood cold, empty, and lonely. After a quick shower, I grabbed his keys, needing to make a trip to the grocery store. I left a note on the counter.

I’d just pushed the shifter into park when I saw him.

Sean.

In Storybook Lake.

Walking out of the bakery.

I ducked down in the seat, pulled my hat lower to shield my face, and waited. He stopped in front of his car, tapped the screen of his phone, then climbed in. After a few revs of the engine, he zoomed away toward the resort.
Shit.

My heart pounded as though trying to break free from its spot.

Sean.

In Storybook Lake.

The words circled my mind like a skipping CD. I had to get out of town. Or hide. Or something. The last thing I expected to do was swing the car onto the road behind him, all the while slouched in the seat, keeping my focus on him in the space where the steering wheel rounded over the dashboard.

He passed the road to the resort, but turned into the motel by the interstate and angled his rental into a spot not far from the front door. After reaching over the seat for his bag, he climbed from his car. I’d left the house with a twenty and Simon’s car. Everything I could use to save myself--my phone, my little can of mace, my bad ass former sheriff boyfriend--was all waiting for me at home.

Thinking of nothing but what Sean being in Storybook Lake meant, I watched the door. I counted every beat of my heart, every breath, but time meant nothing. He came out around noon, when his bar manager, Joey arrived. They stood outside yelling at each other--I could hear their voices, but couldn’t make out the words--before Sean stormed back inside. With the slam of the door, Joey left.

And still I sat. Until I couldn’t sit anymore.

Present

I missed most of Keaton’s direct testimony. I’d already heard the explanation of how he found the body after receiving a volunteer responder call to the hotel. I hadn’t cared the first time I heard it and couldn’t summon an inkling of interest now, either. As I floated back to earth, Grace stood for her turn.

“Hey, Keats.” She smiled and walked to stand directly in front of the witness box.

“Hi, Grace. How you been?” I could have sworn I heard a sigh as he flashed his golden boy smile at her.

“Pretty good.” She nodded, then looked him up and down.

His too-sexy-for-his-shirt act and the smug little grin producing dimples in his cheeks had juror number two flushing deep scarlet as he glanced at Grace.

Grace nodded. “Keaton, when did Danielle tell you Kieran was yours?”

“I don’t think she did.”

“Ever?”

He cocked his head to the side. “No.”

I shrugged one shoulder and he grinned.

“I’m certain. She never did. I guess I just assumed.”

“I want to be very clear about this, Keaton, because the prosecutor is making a pretty big deal of Danielle lying to you. You’re sure she never said anything like ‘Hey Keats, you’re gonna be a daddy’ or ‘we made a baby’?”

Who knew lawyers were such good actors? Grace’s wide-eyed shock at his revelation almost had me fooled. We’d gone over this a couple hundred times, but never clued Keaton in. She wanted him to realize it on the stand. She’d said the shock value would be priceless.

“No. She said she was pregnant.” He considered me over her shoulder with his eyes squinted and his mouth in a twisted line. “I believed it because we lived together. I figured we slept together at least once. I mean, we have history, and she’s Dani.” He lowered his head. “In my defense I drank a lot.” He lifted his chin. “She made me clean up my act, though. She kept me sane.”
Praise. Much better
.

“Big job, huh?”

“Aw, Grace. You know me. I don’t do anything halfway. I do it completely, or I don’t do it.” His aw shucks, down-home country boy talk had juror number two all but drooling down her shirt as cartoon hearts formed in her eyes.

“But you don’t drink now?”

“No.”

Her posture, her stance, the way she smiled at him, indicated her comfort. I assumed it came from making out with him the first week he showed up in Storybook Lake in eighth grade, or maybe from our years of friendship. I didn’t care, but to me, in this setting, it seemed important.

“Now, back to when you were married to Jocelyn Shaw the first time. You said she thought you were having an affair. Did she believe you’d slept with Dani?”

“Yes.”

I’d done everything I could to reinforce the notions she had about me and her husband. My chest pinged with guilt and I chewed my thumbnail. Keaton shot me the stop-it-I’ve-raised-my-eyebrows-at-your-behavior look, and I jerked my hand back to my side. “Were you having an affair with Dani?”

“No.”

“But you lived with her in Arizona while you were still married to Jocelyn?”

Their exchange resembled a promenade. She stepped left; he followed. She spun; he whirled along.

I almost resisted the urge to look over my shoulder at Simon, but at the last second, turned halfway in my chair. Instead of meeting his eyes, I met Jocelyn’s and she half smiled, half grimaced back. I spun to face the front.

“Yes, but by the time she got to Arizona and we got together, Joss and I had already been to court and signed the papers. I’d been gone a month or so when Dani came out west. We only went back for a court hearing at the end.” A quick image of Jocelyn’s face as I shoved my tongue down Keaton’s throat at their final hearing floated through my mind. Heat crept up my cheeks.

“When you both came back to Storybook Lake, Danielle left again. Do you know where she went?” Grace made this all sound like a conversation she’d invited the jury to eavesdrop on rather than an examination of facts and details.

“To Arizona, I think.” He looked down at his hands. “She ran into Sean at the Grand Canyon, anyway.”

“Before his death, did you ever meet Mr. Turner?”

“Yes. They were here for New Year’s the year they got married. We were all at Hood’s Hideaway for the big countdown celebration.”

“And at the party, did you witness an altercation between Mr. and Mrs. Turner?” She turned, rolled her eyes, and half chuckled. “I mean Dani and Sean?”

Calvin objected to her mention of our argument. When the judge sustained, Grace asked the same question without referring to the fight, but Keaton knew what she wanted for an answer. “She was standing at the bar talking to a friend of ours when Sean came out of the bathroom. He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her out the door.”

“Did you run into Mrs. Turner after New Year’s, before they left town?” All this Mrs. Turner business made my stomach clench.

“No. Her mom said he took her back to California the next day.”

“Now, with regard to the day you discovered Mr. Turner’s remains, you’re not a police officer, correct?”

“No.”

“A crime scene investigator?”

“No.”

“Did you actually see the body?”

“Yes. He’d been beaten and shot.”

“Nothing further.”

Keaton stepped down, then Cal called Luke Mabry, Storybook Lake’s sheriff, to the witness box.

I ignored the testimony for a while, not needing a play-by-play of what they found. I’d seen it firsthand, walked in and found Sean. I left without calling the police or anyone else. Instead, I rushed home. When I pulled it together enough to get out of the car and face Simon, I acted as though I knew nothing. He’d been furious at my “lack of respect” for the danger Sean posed, and we argued. He’d spent the afternoon looking for me--tearing around town with Luke, growing more panicked with every stop. It hadn’t occurred to me to worry about what he was going through until that moment.

“Simon, Sean’s dead.”
I poured the rest of the story out in broken sentences, and he called in an anonymous tip, never once questioning my tale of events. Even to me, they sounded flimsy.

Near the end of Luke’s direct testimony, I pushed the memories inspired by his words away to focus on the heated interaction between Luke and Cal.

“During your investigation, what did you discover in regards to Mrs. Turner’s whereabouts at the approximate time of Sean’s death?”

Luke’s eyes flipped over to meet mine, his apology written in the cool blue depths. “I tried to verify an alibi, but I couldn’t.” His lips formed a tight line.

“How many days after finding Mr. Turner’s body did you speak with Mrs. Turner?”

“It was the next day.”

“Did you conduct the interview at the police station?”

“No. We talked in her mother’s living room.”

“Did you record the interview?” Cal’s voice held just a note of reproach.

Luke frowned. “No. I didn’t have a recorder.” Each word came with its own full stop.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t see a reason. I didn’t consider her a suspect at the time.” The sentence bit from between clenched teeth.

“Isn’t it customary to treat the estranged spouse as an automatic suspect?”

“Not when you grow up with them. I know her as well as I know my own sister.”

Cal rolled his eyes and shook his head at me. “So, being friends with the defendant affected the way you handled this case. Are you saying you ignored procedure out of friendship?”

Fire blazed behind the cool blue of Luke’s eyes. “No more than I ignore it when you run the stop sign on the corner of Dr. Seuss and Mark Twain,
counselor
. As soon as it looked like Dani might have known more than she said, I treated her like I would any suspect or person of interest.”

Cal stomped three steps away from Luke, then turned back. “During this unrecorded interview, did Mrs. Turner tell you she had been involved in an altercation of any kind with Mr. Turner?”

“No.”

Luke’s answer obviously surprised Calvin. Red splotches bloomed on his face as he reached a finger between his collar and his neck before he turned back to Luke. “Sheriff, did you feel Mrs. Turner’s reaction to Mr. Turner’s death to be genuine?”

“Yes, but considering everything I knew about their relationship, and the bruises, I couldn’t imagine why. But even Julia Roberts couldn’t fake that kind of surprise and emotion.” Luke may as well have been a defense witness for all the bite in his tone.

“Fine.” Cal’s word spat from between his clenched teeth. “When did you next interview Mrs. Turner?”

“A couple of weeks after we found the body.”

By then, makeup completely hid the evidence of a run-in with Sean.

“And you recorded this one?”

“Yes.”

“And, at any time, did she mention seeing Sean Turner the night of his death?”

“No.”

“In fact,” Calvin’s voice rose to chipmunk pitch. “Didn’t she specifically tell you she hadn’t seen Mr. Turner and didn’t even know he’d come to town?”

“That’s correct.”

Cal strode angrily back to his table and extracted a stack of papers along with a CD. He handed it to Luke. “Is this the conversation you just mentioned?”

Luke perused the papers, nodded, then handed them back to a waiting Calvin who delivered the papers to Grace. Without objection from my attorney, the court reporter marked the CD into evidence. Cal popped it into a video player.

I chewed my thumbnail. This was bad.

Court ended for the day with Luke explaining the procedure for evidence collection. In a longwinded monologue, he detailed the importance of each piece of evidence Cal handed him--sections of wall and carpet, numerous photos which showed blood spatter and pools, and a diagram of the hotel room. The next day, he would face Grace’s examination, then the Medical Examiner would be called to the stand.

After my arrest, my parents posted my bond in exchange for the majority share in my company. I had an ankle bracelet with an alarm in case I tried to stray too far from the confines of my parents’ yard and house. If I took one step too many from my little blinking box, Luke assured me a swarm of cops would come banging down the door to haul me to jail.