Dark Waters (2013) (12 page)

He liked women OK. Naked. On their hands and knees. Or backs. Legs spread. Mouth shut. Or not—depending on his mood. He didn’t like the feeling he was running out of time. He didn’t like some bitch having access to his cash or holding the key to his jail cell. Frustration was starting to work its way through his body and mind, bringing with it an anger that would only be assuaged
by reducing sweet little Anna to a bloody mess. And it was true that maybe he’d learned some of his finer dating skills in countries where women’s rights were as advanced as clockwork computers, but that’s what you got for Uncle Sam turning him into a soldier rather than throwing his ass in jail.

The sun was slipping down the horizon as they ate in silence at the massive breakfast bar that doubled as a dining table. Anna figured Brent didn’t hold many dinner parties. The silence was awkward. Uncomfortable. Brent looked like he’d rather be slopping out cells than sitting opposite her and sharing a simple meal.

What had his family life been like growing up? Had they sat together for meals? Talked over school homework at the kitchen table? What kind of man had his father been?

Brent’s expression told her nothing. His plate was wiped clean but she didn’t know if that was another remnant of prison life or if the food actually tasted good. She couldn’t eat more than a couple of bites. Instead she took a big gulp of wine to moisten her throat.

“What was it like?” she asked finally.

“What?” He stilled and then warily his head came up. “Prison?”

She nodded.

Brent pushed his plate away. “It was hell.”

“But you were allowed to paint?”

A fleeting smile cut into one side of his cheek. Damn, he was handsome. She dated people who looked ordinary. Nice. Reliable. She didn’t hang out with people who looked like they could hold their own with Hollywood bad boys.

“After a rough start, I managed to get my high school diploma and then sat on my ass for two years with nothing to do except cause trouble.” There was a glint in his eye that suggested she didn’t want to know the sort of trouble he’d caused. “At the start I wasn’t exactly a model prisoner.” He leaned back in his seat,
crossing tanned strong-looking arms. “They finally figured out that letting me paint kept the insanity levels manageable. By the time your dad arrived, me and the warden had figured out a compromise. Did your father never talk about any of this?”

“The only thing he ever said was he’d rather die than go back inside.” Her eyes rose to meet his. “And that, without you, he wouldn’t have lasted a month.” She realized suddenly that her father hadn’t exaggerated. Brent Carver might be a killer but he’d saved her father’s life—that’s why Davis trusted him so much. “Thank you.” The words tied knots in her throat as she struggled to get them out. “For looking out for him when he was just a stranger to you.”

“I may have stopped him from becoming someone’s fuck buddy”—her eyes widened at the shocking imagery—“but you’re the one who kept him sane.”

“Were you ever…raped?” The reality hit home. That it could happen to anyone, even someone as strong and intimidating as Brent. No one should have to suffer that kind of degradation.

Slowly he shook his head. “They tried a couple of times.” His eyes darkened. “I was too big, too volatile, and too damn violent to be worth the risk.” He cocked a brow. “They knew I’d kill them if I ever got them alone.” His honesty was compelling and she found herself leaning forward, drawn to him despite herself. “I had nothing to lose back then, and wasn’t exactly known for my forgiving nature.” Echoes of brutality flickered through his gaze. She shivered, imagining all the things he’d done to survive that terrible place. “You kept me sane too.”

His words shocked her.

“Oh, God.” The kitchen clock ticked in time to her pulse. “He read you my letters, didn’t he?”

“My favorite was the time you put ice cubes in your stepfather’s gas tank when he dumped your cat at the humane society.”

Her hand covered her mouth. She’d forgotten about that. Damn, she’d hated Ed that day, even though Ginger had shredded his favorite leather recliner.

“And the time you did an English assignment on
To Kill a Mockingbird
.”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember that one.”

“You told your dad that if Atticus Finch had been alive, you’d have married him and made a good mother to Jem and Scout.” He eyed her carefully. “Your dad was quiet for days after that one.”

Her stomach churned.

“You didn’t come see him very often.”

“No.” She bit her lip. The guilt just kept on building. She’d really been the worst daughter. “I went every Christmas, but it was so hard seeing him in that place and not being able to take him home.” It had been awful, even after she’d gotten used to the security measures and probing stares of both the guards and inmates. “Mom wouldn’t come with me so I’d go with Gran.” That had made it slightly easier, having someone’s hand to hold. “Writing letters was easier.”

“They meant a lot to him.” He looked out of the window. “Every time you wrote, he’d read and reread those letters endlessly. Hell, I can still recite some of them in my sleep.”

She clamped her eyes closed. This man had been privy to her innermost teenage thoughts. He knew almost everything about her. Embarrassing. Humiliating. Worse…

He turned back to face her. “Why’d you do it, Anna? Why’d you try to kill yourself?”

Inside her chest her heart imploded. She’d never told anyone the answer to that question and even though she knew he’d understand, she couldn’t describe the shame and disgust that had led to her near drowning. Her hands shook, but she swallowed the rest of her wine anyway. She went to pour herself another glass, but Brent covered her hand with his much larger one.

“Don’t,” he said.

The touch of his hand sparked a reaction through her body that she didn’t want to recognize. She licked her lips and his eyes flicked to them.

Was that desire? Her stomach flipped. She didn’t want him to desire her. She didn’t want to think about him that way either. She wasn’t who he thought she was, and he was exactly the sort of man she couldn’t handle.

She pulled her hand away, his honesty deserving at least some of the same in return. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I don’t think I consciously wanted to die.” She paused for a long moment, but he didn’t interrupt. “I just put myself in a…
difficult
…position.” The Pacific. At night. During a storm. The waves mocked her as they broke against the beach outside. She still wasn’t brave enough to be completely honest.

His chest swelled as he inhaled. “Why?” He watched her like the answer actually meant something.

“Didn’t
you
ever think about ending it all?” she countered.

Dark history shrouded his eyes and she wanted to know his secrets, but he wouldn’t tell her any more than she would tell him. Not the whole story, never the whole story, where the truth lay.

The phone rang and Brent leaped at the distraction. Anna cleared plates and shook her head at herself. She needed to find conversation that didn’t revolve around death or prison. Trouble was, they didn’t exactly have a lot in common, and small talk seemed puerile.

“Send it to me via a secure account.”

Anna’s head shot up.

“Yeah, see if you can find out who’s doing the surveillance. I need to know exactly what we’re up against.”

Anna poured herself a glass of water and watched Brent put on coffee as he talked into the phone. He hung up without a good-bye.

“News?” she asked.

He clenched his jaw. “The private investigator I hired spoke to that woman in your daddy’s building who he was friends with—Viola Bernstein. The guy also paid the rent for the next few months so you don’t need to worry about it.”

She hadn’t even thought about that. “I’ll pay you back—”

“No.”

“I can’t take money from you.”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Why not? You think you’ll owe me?” He stalked closer, so much bigger than she was. “Don’t you get it yet?” Pain and fury burned in his eyes. “Yes, I thought about killing myself.
Often
. Getting out of that insane asylum any way I could. You know what saved me in the end? Your daddy saved me. So if you think I wouldn’t give my last cent to help him and you, you’re mistaken.”

She sucked in air. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you more than you want to admit, and you don’t like it,” he said bitterly. “Welcome to my world.”

She averted her gaze because, despite what he thought, he didn’t know everything. Her father wasn’t the only liar in the family, and the truth still cut her to ribbons. She should have moved past it by now. She had moved past it—it was just that her father’s death had stirred up the memories.

Sure…and she had a normal sex life and a regular boyfriend.

“Anna.” His voice dropped, his expression serious. “Davis was a good man who showed me I could also be a good man. He gave me back hope.” He hooked her hair behind her ear, his fingers just brushing her skin. He loomed over her, but she didn’t feel like he was going to attack her. It felt more like he’d die to keep her safe.

A spark of want shot through her. Her breath hitched and she swallowed hard. Dammit, she didn’t want this physical attraction on top of the mess her life had become. Men like Brent Carver were off-limits to a woman as careful as she was.

“What did the PI have to say?” Her voice was breathy, but the words had the desired effect and he backed away as if suddenly aware he stood too close and might intimidate her, given his less-than-Boy-Scout history. And although she was hyperaware of him, it wasn’t because he’d killed someone. It was because of something
else she hadn’t felt since she was a carefree teen. Something she thought had died the night of her high school prom.

He grabbed himself a coffee. “Want one?”

“Yes.” And like that they moved on. “Please.” As if the heat and connection and pure weight of emotional baggage between them evaporated. It left her confused and off-balance and grateful.

He poured her a cup and went over to his laptop and opened it up. Clicked on his e-mail provider and then opened an audio file.

They listened to the 911 tape.

“
I work for the Holladay Foundation. Someone’s been stealing from the company so I took it back before it disappeared forever. I want to come in. I need police protection
.” The words echoed around Anna’s brain. Why hadn’t the police protected him? Why hadn’t someone saved him?

“I should phone the police and find out what they’re doing to investigate his death,” she said.

Brent sipped his coffee, sprawled in the chair in a corner of the kitchen where he kept his computer. “My PI spoke to the cops. They’re treating it as an accidental death. Said security from his firm chased him when they found out he was stealing, and Davis jumped under the train rather than get caught.”

“Don’t you think that’s possible?” All the energy sagged out of Anna and she sat on a bar stool looking down on Brent. “That he panicked and ran and then made up all this stuff about someone being crooked?” Because her father would rather die than go back to prison.

He looked at her from beneath dark brows. “Doesn’t explain why security people from the foundation have been staking out your dad’s place waiting for the mailman.”

Her eyes widened. “Except if it is their money, they’ve every right to want it back.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Crap, she’d been so stupid. “I need to go home.”

He held his hands wide. “Why? What the hell changed? That phone call just told you Davis thought his bosses were stealing
from the charity he worked for. He said he thought someone was going to kill him.”

“He was lying, Brent,” she said bitterly. “The same way he lied when the cops knocked on our front door all those years ago and hauled him and Mom off for police questioning. The same way he lied in court.” She locked her jaw. Shame tasted bitter on her tongue.

Brent climbed to his feet. “I can’t believe you don’t believe in your own father—”

“Said the man who killed his?” Anna was incredulous. “Don’t judge me.” She shoved against his chest to gain a little space, but it was like pushing a house. He didn’t move.

Panic bit and she shoved harder. “The evidence was all there, he set up those offshore bank accounts—”

“Anyone could have framed him.”

Disbelieving, she stared at him. “His codes were used to make the transactions. He didn’t have a single alibi for the times when the money was moved—”

“He was a scapegoat, a patsy—”

“And if you believe that you’re the biggest fool in this room!”

“Oh, I’m
definitely
a fool.” He scowled. “Having done time, Davis made an even better patsy second time around, except he caught on. Stopped them in their tracks.”

“Oh, please. No one is that unlucky.”

“Seriously?” He looked at her like she’d started speaking dog. “What planet are you from?”

Fury lit a flame under her skin. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“So why aren’t the police investigating his death? Why the desire to sweep it all under the carpet in a neat tidy package?” he asked.