Dying to Tell (38 page)

Sadie’s body went still, but he pulled her closer.

“What did you find out?”

“That the military is closemouthed,” Jake said. “Then I had to deal with the injury and rehab.” He hesitated. That had been a bleak time too, another low point in his life.

“That’s how you wound up back here as sheriff?” Sadie asked.

“Not at first. I met Ayla’s mother in rehab. She was a nurse,” he said. “But that didn’t work out. I stayed in Virginia where she was for a while, hoping she’d change her mind and spend time with Ayla, but she didn’t. Then I got custody of Ayla, and I felt like she needed a home and stability, so eventually I moved back to Slaughter Creek.”

And maybe he’d hoped Sadie would eventually return and they would end up like this.

Only being with her tonight was temporary.

And when everything was settled and her sister was found, she would fly back to her life in San Francisco without him.

Unless he could change her mind...

He brushed her hair back from her cheek. “I dreamed about this.” And so much more.

Sadie looked up at him with such longing in her eyes that he realized he couldn’t push her. “Sadie—”

“Shh.” She pressed a kiss to his chest, teasing his nipple with her tongue, and he forgot about talking and made love to her again. He touched her with all the love he had in his heart, thrusting inside her until he felt her muscles clench around him and her fingers dig into his back.

And when she cried out his name again and fell asleep in his arms, he whispered how much he loved her and hoped that one day they could be together.

Take the key and lock her up, lock her up, lock her up, take the key and lock her up. My fair lady
.

Bessie’s voice wove into Sadie’s dream, the rhythmic rocking back and forth of her body as it hit the wall, grating on her nerves. Then she heard the scream.

Amelia.

“No, help me, stop!”

Sadie raced to the guesthouse, peered through the window. Amelia was there...screaming, a shadow above her. A man. He was going to hurt her
.

The man turned, glared at her with evil eyes. He had a needle and something else in his hand.

Sadie screamed at him to stop and grabbed his arm to pull him off her sister...

Then everything faded. The world turned black. The gunshot sounded. They were outside, the three of them in the rain. Blood was everywhere—on Amelia’s hands and clothes, on her, on the man who lay on the ground.

Her head spun, the world faded again, and she found herself slipping into the mud. Sinking into the dirt, water soaking her face, she was in a hole...a grave...

Sadie jerked awake, panting for air. The room was dark, the faint glow of the moon shimmering through the blinds. Her gaze fell on Amelia’s painting of the river, the ghostly shadow beside it.

She knew who it was.

Blackwood.

A shudder coursed through her as she climbed from bed. She lifted the canvas to see another rendition of the same scene—only this time the figure wasn’t a ghost. He was reaching for the little girl, pushing her into the grave.

Papaw’s journal entry taunted her. What had Papaw meant about her not finding out the truth about what happened? Was Amelia trying to send her a message?

There was something different about the memory, too. She had been inside the guesthouse when she’d first seen Blackwood, not outside in the yard in the rain.

Horror struck her as she studied the painting again. Someone had threatened her, had told her they knew what she’d done that night.

But the only people who knew were she, Amelia, their grandfather, Dr. Tynsdale, and Arthur Blackwood.

She contemplated the sketch of the grave and the ghostly figure. It was Blackwood. He was a ghost...

Or was he?

What if Amelia’s sketch was meant as some kind of message? A warning?

That he was back? No, that was impossible.

But what if someone connected to him knew what had happened? Maybe Amelia wanted to meet her at the river to tell her what she’d remembered.

She glanced at Jake, her body still yearning for his. God, how she loved him.

But she had to know the truth.

Hands trembling, she quietly dressed, slipped on her boots, jacket, and gloves, and sneaked out to the storage shed behind the house, which now sat in ashes. She grabbed the shovel, then tiptoed to her car, careful not to turn on the lights until she had backed away from the house and made it halfway down the drive.

She didn’t want to wake Jake.

But she had to see this thing through. She had to make sure his father was still buried where they’d left him, ten years ago.

J
ake stirred from sleep, then heard Sadie sneaking out, and threw on his clothes. At first he thought she might be going to search the ashes of the farmhouse, or that she just needed some air.

But then he’d feared she was abandoning him again, so he looked out the window.

She climbed into her car, then started the engine. It was still dark outside. Where would she be going this early in the morning?

Hell, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let her run away.

Not this time.

He snatched his keys, grabbed his gun and jacket, then rushed outside, jumped in his car, and followed her. Keeping a safe distance behind her so she didn’t spot him tailing her, he tried to guess her destination.

The logical explanation was that Amelia had contacted her, and she was going to meet her.

But why hadn’t she woken him up and asked him to go with her?

She wound around the mountain, then veered down the road leading to the old river mill, and he turned, slowing and keeping
his lights on dim. He kept his eyes trained, searching the area for another car waiting to meet her.

Or someone else who might want to do her harm.

She bounced over a rut, then drove to the right side of the mill and parked along the river, near a wooded section that was overgrown with weeds.

Why would Amelia choose to meet Sadie out here in this deserted area? Had she been hiding out in the old mill?

Irritated that Sadie hadn’t confided in him, he turned onto the dirt road that led to the mill, then parked a few feet down, on the shoulder of the road.

Moving as quietly as he could, he eased himself from his car, retrieved a flashlight from his trunk, then crept through the woods toward the mill. Twigs and leaves snapped and crackled beneath his boots, moisture raining down from the trees as the wind shook the leaves.

He paused next to a group of pine trees, shock bolting through him. What in the hell was Sadie doing?

She had a shovel and was digging a hole in the ground.

A hole that looked like a grave.

Sadie jammed the shovel into the wet dirt next to the homemade marker Papaw had made to indicate the location of the grave.

Not that she would ever forget the exact spot where they’d left Blackwood’s body.

Papaw had said it was bad enough that they were disrespecting Blackwood by not giving him a proper burial; they had to at least mark the grave.

Her grandfather had been a drinker, but he’d also been a religious man, and he had insisted on praying for Blackwood’s soul once they’d put him in the ground.

She jammed the shovel deeper, tossing dirt to the side, her chest aching with the effect the memories had on her own soul. She had helped protect Amelia to keep her from prison, but she’d felt as if she’d lived in her own private prison for years.

Never getting close to anyone for fear of being hurt again. Never loving, because she didn’t deserve love.

Not after she had betrayed Jake.

The scent of wet earth, red clay, and moss rose around her as she poured her frustration into digging up the grave. Perspiration dampened her face and neck, and her hands felt clammy as the hole grew deeper. She found the four stones Papaw had used to mark the grave’s corners, her stomach lurching as she imagined what condition Blackwood’s body would be in after ten years in the ground.

Papaw had rolled Blackwood up inside a blanket for protection, and seconds later, the shovel hit the worn, frayed fabric. Twigs snapped in the distance, and the wind howled.

Her nerves prickled, and she glanced around the mill.

What was she doing out here? Blackwood was dead. There was no way he could have survived the shooting.

What could she accomplish by digging up his bones?

But the doubts that had assailed her earlier bombarded her again. Someone knew about that night and had threatened to expose her.

But Amelia was the only other person alive who had been there.

Had one of her personalities, a new alter, made the threat? Perhaps a guilty conscience pushing Amelia to remember and tell the truth?

The urge to run nagged at Sadie, but she had come too far now to turn back. She had to know if Blackwood was still here.

Shaking with the force of her emotions, she knelt to touch the blanket. Bile rose in her throat, just as it had that gruesome night, guilt eating at her like a live beast.

Leaves crackled in the tense silence, the wind tossing her hair around her face as she lifted away the folds of the blanket.

She staggered backward. Dear God.

The grave was empty.

Dread balled in Jake’s belly as he watched Sadie kneeling by the grave. Her face was ashen, the low cry that ripped from her throat raw and anguished.

What the hell was going on? Why had she dug up a grave? Who had been buried here?

Dammit, he wanted some answers. And Sadie would damn well tell him the truth.

He stepped from the edge of the woods, his boots squishing through the damp leaves as he bypassed the pile of dirt Sadie had shoveled aside.

She seemed to be lost in her thoughts, and didn’t realize he was there until he spoke. “Sadie?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide and wrenched with guilt, shame, and something else...fear.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, battling a feeling of impending doom. “What are you doing?”

Shock strained her features.

“Who was buried there?” he asked in a gruff tone.

“I...oh, God, Jake,” she murmured. “He’s not there.”