Dying to Tell (4 page)

“Fragile?” Mike mumbled. “Holy cow, the freaking nutcase blew her granddaddy’s brains out. They should have kept her locked up years ago. She’s a menace to this town.”

Jake’s first instinct was to defend the woman in the jail cell, but there wasn’t much he could say; Amelia’s history was common knowledge.

Mike growled. “I even heard she’d committed other crimes, but the former sheriff covered up for her.”

Jake frowned. That had to be gossip. He hadn’t heard about any other crimes.

A low rasp made him jerk his head up toward the door. He hadn’t realized it was open.

Sadie Nettleton stood in the doorway, her face pale and tortured.

Dammit. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

And judging from the pain in her eyes, she’d heard every word his deputy had said.

S
adie had thought that long ago she’d toughened up. She’d built a wall of steel around her so that bitter words and gossip couldn’t touch her anymore.

Hearing the stories of abuse, trauma, and illness her patients had suffered had also brought a reality check—she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered hard knocks, and she refused to indulge in a pity party.

But the cruel comments about her sister sent her on a fast train back to her childhood, and she felt vulnerable again. Scared. Aching to be something she wasn’t and would never be.

Whole again.

But she’d be damned if she’d show it.

A lean blond man with his back to her, the one who’d been speaking, suddenly pivoted. He raised his eyebrows when he saw her, and his jaw went slack. She was accustomed to people’s reactions when they saw her and Amelia, especially together, but his was different.

The idiot had just realized he’d been trash-talking her sister.

The legs of the wooden chair the other man was sitting in hit the floor with a whack, then he stood and circled around in front of the desk.

“Sadie?”

Dear God. It was Jake.

His gravelly voice was so sexy and familiar, it nearly brought her to her knees with pain and longing for all she’d lost. All she couldn’t have.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She simply soaked in the sight of her former lover. That don’t-mess-with-me expression. That wide jaw darkened with beard stubble that made him look as if he should have been straddling a Harley instead of wearing a badge. Those high cheekbones that hinted at Native American blood in his background. And that mouth—lips that were thick and full, lips that made her body yearn for them to be on her.

Lord help her. He was even more handsome than she remembered. He’d always been athletic and muscular, but his body had become more defined, muscles more honed. His shoulders had broadened, he’d grown at least two more inches, and his arms were thick as he folded them across his chest.

She’d known him since they were in grade school, and he stuck up for her when other kids teased her because of her sister’s erratic behavior. Then in high school, he played football and baseball, and all the girls wanted him. Although he dated around, he never seemed cocky or arrogant like some of the other popular kids.

She had admired him from afar, but never dreamed that he’d go out with her. He had his pick of girls, and dated Brenda Banks for most of his junior year.

That summer, Sadie had volunteered as a counselor at the local YMCA and taught the art camp. He volunteered there as well. He was so kind to the little kids and patient with the middle-schoolers learning to play ball that she couldn’t help but fall for him. Still, she kept those feelings secret.

Midsummer, she enlisted the kids to put on an art show for their families and the town.

The day before the show, Jake brought his lunch over to sit with her. He told her that he had no artistic talent, and that he admired her creativity. After that day their friendship grew until one night, during one of the campouts, when the campers were asleep, he walked over to her tent.

They took a stroll in the moonlight, held hands, and talked for hours. He told her he’d broken up with Brenda and that he wanted to be with her. He even made a necklace out of a piece of flint by tying it to a piece of string, then put it around her neck.

They also shared their first kiss that evening under the twinkling stars.

When school started, she figured he’d drop her and go back to his crowd, but he hadn’t. And she’d fallen hopelessly in love with him.

But she didn’t see love in his eyes now. Instead, his dark coffee-colored eyes were intense, angry, filled with a coldness that made her stomach quiver.

The blond stared at her with avid interest. Curiosity. Then sexual interest. Then as if she were a bug he wanted to dissect.

As if he were comparing her to her sister.

She sighed in frustration. She’d hated that part about being a twin. Everyone thought they were supposed to be just alike. To think alike. To read each other’s thoughts.

So they expected her to be crazy too.

Guilty or not, old instincts died hard, and she still had an innate urge to defend her sister.

But Papaw is dead...You have a mission here—to find out exactly what happened. What—or who—drove her to that point.

Sorrow gripped her for a moment at the thought of never seeing her grandfather again.

On the heels of that sorrow, the memory of breaking up with Jake taunted her. His father had just disappeared. Jake had been torn apart.

She’d had to leave because she knew the real story about what had happened to him.

It was the only way to protect Jake and her sister. And herself.

Of course he knew none of that.

And he never could. It would hurt him too much.

But judging from the anger sharpening his eyes, he remembered that she’d walked out. And he hated her for it.

Jake felt as if he was eighteen again, with his tongue tied to the roof of his mouth. Dammit, he’d hoped, prayed, that Sadie would have no effect on him now.

He was dead wrong.

The years fell away, and he saw her standing in the rain alone when she was eight and had missed the bus after school. Then the first day of high school, when she’d painted a picture of the sunset in art class that had made him realize that underneath that shy girl lay talent.

The night he’d first kissed her in the moonlight.

She’d been thin then, but feminine and sweet and so standoffish that most of the guys were afraid to date her. That, and they were afraid of her sister.

The intensity was still there, but she wasn’t thin now. Hell no. She’d developed curves in all the right places. Luscious curves that made his groin tighten.

He dragged his gaze from her eyes, torn by the well of emotions in them, and tried to wrestle in his reaction.

She might be Amelia’s twin, but they looked nothing alike to him. Sadie had always had a life about her. A spark that her sister hadn’t.

Her hair was a curly auburn mess now, spiraling over her shoulders in waves as if it had a mind of its own. Her clothes were nondescript—a plain black skirt, boots, and sweater—as if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

But those eyes. Those damn blue eyes were like sapphires, dark and full of secrets and...pain.

They always had been.

That anguish had sucked him in once.

Never again.

“Hey, ma’am, you’ve got to be Amelia Nettleton’s sister.” Mike’s deep drawl jerked him from his thoughts.

Sadie gave a curt nod, her gaze latching onto Jake.

Jake’s throat hurt, but he cleared it and took charge. “I didn’t know if you’d come or not.”

Anger flashed across her face for a brief second before she plastered on her tough-girl face. One he recognized from years before.

He’d thought it had been a mask back then, but maybe she really hadn’t given a damn.

She tightened her fingers around her big leather shoulder bag. “Of course I came. My grandfather just died.”

“Holy mother,” Mike said in a muffled voice. “You even sound like your sister.”

Jake wanted to argue with that. Sadie’s voice was lower, sexier. Especially when she’d whispered his name in bed.

Sadie shot Mike a belligerent look, then turned back to him. “Where is she, Jake?”

He hated to be the bearer of such bad news, especially considering the way they’d parted. “In the back.”

Her expression didn’t falter. Calm, cool, collected. Only he knew her better.

He knew she could lose control, that she was ticklish behind her ear, that she liked long, heated kisses and skinny-dipping in the dark at Slaughter Creek.

That she moaned long and hard when she came.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, obviously oblivious to his thoughts. “Your version, before I talk to Amelia.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. So that was how she wanted to play it. As if nothing had ever happened between them. As if they’d never been friends. Or lovers. As if he’d never held her in his arms while she’d cried out in ecstasy.

Or cried over her miserable life with Amelia.

As if they’d never talked about running away together.

As if she hadn’t run without him.

Well, two could play that game. He could be just as cold. He’d had lots of practice.

He gestured toward the double doors separating the reception area from his office, the interrogation rooms, and the holding cells. “Come on back to my private office, and we’ll talk.”

She nodded, and he led her to the small space he called his own. She glanced around the office as if noting the details, and he wondered what she was thinking. An apology for the tiny space, the mess, the lack of high-tech equipment, lay on his tongue, but he refused to apologize.

That would mean he cared what she thought, and he didn’t.

He couldn’t allow himself to.

The desk was a massive, scarred oak one that had belonged to his grandfather, the chair comfortable worn leather. He’d hung his military commendations on the wall, along with his diploma and a family photo of him and his brother, Nick. They were celebrating a win after a high school baseball game. Both he and his brother had been on the team. He was catcher, Nick, pitcher. Nick had hit a grand slam that day to win the game.

That was before his father disappeared and their life had fallen apart. He and Nick hadn’t handled it well, hadn’t been close since.

Another reason he had a picture of Ayla on the desk. Her sweet, innocent smile reminded him that once in a blue moon, good things did happen.

Sadie didn’t comment on the room or even make small talk. Instead she fidgeted, then dropped into the wooden chair across from his desk.

He stopped at the coffeepot on the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee, then gestured an offering to her. She shook her head no, her lips pressed into a thin line.

He slid into his chair, listening for Amelia’s sobs. She’d bellowed half the night, until Doc Tynsdale drugged her. But the cell block in the back was silent, and that made his nerves crawl in a different way.

He took a sip of coffee, his gaze locking with Sadie’s. She remained all brave face and businesslike. A front? Or was she just trying to hold herself together for her sister’s sake? She had to be upset over her grandfather’s death.

Still, he wasn’t exactly a stranger.

Did she not remember his touch? That he’d loved her once? Did she have any idea of the heartache he suffered when she broke it off with him?

Hell, he’d felt like a fool. All those times he’d driven by her house, by their favorite spot by the creek, pining for her. He’d even kept her painting of Slaughter Creek, although he stowed it in the attic so it wouldn’t remind him of her.

She cleared her throat. “Tell me what happened, Jake. Did Amelia really kill Papaw?”

He drummed his knuckles on the desk. “It appears that way.”

When she showed no response, he tacked his professional mask in place. He was a lawman. She was the sister of a suspect in a murder investigation.

If she’d talked to Amelia lately or to her grandfather, she might offer a clue that could help them understand this whole damn mess.

Then he could close the case; focus on finding out what happened to his father. She could leave, and he could forget about her all over again.