How Secrets Die (21 page)

Now Mac answered. “I'll make sure she's not alone.”

Kate glared at him without noticeable effect.

“Good. I'll send a nurse in to help you dress while I deal with the meds. Mac, you're not going to be welcome in here for a few minutes.”

“I'll wait in the hall. I have some calls to make.”

To check on the progress of the investigation, no doubt. He probably wanted to be there, not here. “If you need to leave,” she began.

“I'm taking you home,” he said, and shouldered his way between the curtains.

* * *

M
AC
PULLED
OUT
his cell phone, earning a glare from a passing nurse. Taking the hint, he walked out from between the row of cubicles and into a corner of the empty waiting room. He called Foster.

“Chief.” Foster sounded harassed. “We got through the whole building. Your brother showed up to help. Nobody here, and no signs of any disturbance.”

“Good.” His mind churned as he tried to prioritize the remaining tasks. Some things would have to wait until daylight, but he had to have the crucial areas fingerprinted before anyone showed up with a legitimate reason for entry. “You kept anyone from touching the area of the side door and the bookshop, right?”

“Sure thing. I roped them off with tape first thing.”

Mac could imagine. There was little Johnny Foster liked better than a chance to put up crime scene tape.

“Okay, then, I want you to go ahead and fingerprint the side door, the wall areas on either side of the door where someone might have touched, and the bookshop door. We know he touched the shop telephone and the surrounding counter, so do DNA swabs before you fingerprint there.”

Although, as long as it took the state police lab to get back with DNA results, he might expect to see them by Christmas.

“Will do.” Foster sounded eager to get at it. “Then what?”

“Then get the results out to the lab ASAP.”

Mac clenched his teeth. Did he really want to trust Foster where important evidence was concerned? He itched to do it himself, but he wasn't about to leave Kate alone and unprotected.

“Listen, I'll be bringing Ms. Beaumont back to the cottage as soon as the doctor releases her. Keep in touch every step of the way. When you've finished, board up that window where I broke in. Got that?”

“Right, Chief. I'll report back on the fingerprinting.”

Chances were good all the prints would belong to people who had every reason for being in Blackburn House. Whoever they were dealing with, he wouldn't be dumb enough to leave his prints on the phone. Still, if it had been wiped off, that was evidence—negative, maybe, but evidence of intent.

As he clicked off, Mac spotted the doctor and pulled him aside for a little private chat. “What did you make of Ms. Beaumont's injuries, Doc?”

“Assorted bumps and bruises from the fall. The head injury is the worst of those, and I don't see any sign of concussion. As for the shoulder—well, she didn't get that falling.”

“No, I didn't think so.” Mac's tone was grim. He'd be finding the person who had set a trap for Kate before the guy had a chance to try anything else.

“She said she was hit by someone behind her.” The doctor pushed his glasses up. “I can't prove it, but I'd guess the assailant was aiming for the back of her head. She moved, and it turned into a glancing blow to the shoulder.”

“And if he had hit the back of her head full-on?”

“Then we'd be talking about a fractured skull. Strictly off the record, of course.”

“Of course.”

So he'd have plenty of charges to bring against the assailant when he found him. Which he would.

“Any guesses as to what the weapon was?” They still hadn't found the weapon used on Larry, and that fact frustrated him.

The doctor shrugged. “The proverbial blunt instrument.”

“The same one that was used on Larry Foust?” He snapped the question, desperate for something concrete to build a case on.

Another shrug. “Could be.” He frowned. “But I have a feeling this one had more of an edge to it. There's a straight line abrasion that might indicate something with a corner. Like a two-by-two, for instance. I didn't see that with the other injury.” He spread his hands. “Afraid that's all I can say. We don't see that many assaults, and those we do are usually the result of fists.”

The door swung open, and a nurse beckoned to Mac. “She's all ready to go. Pull your car up to the entrance, and I'll bring her out.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Harriet Longenberger had been a fixture in the ER for twenty years or more, and even the doctors, invariably younger, snapped to when she spoke. “Right away.”

He wanted to check on Foster's progress, but that could wait until he'd gotten Kate back to the house. Tomorrow they'd be doing a marathon of fingerprinting to eliminate the prints of anyone who belonged in Blackburn House. And he suspected that the net result would be no help at all.

Mac had just enough time to pull the car up and jump out and open the passenger door before Kate, confined to a wheelchair and looking annoyed about it, was wheeled up.

“I can get in myself,” she began, but before she could go on, Harriet had seized Kate's good arm and was guiding her into the seat, leaving Mac with nothing to do.

“You have your instructions.” Harriet nodded to the papers Kate clutched in her right hand. “Follow them.”

Most people quickly got used to being treated like a six-year-old by Harriet. Kate nodded meekly enough. Or maybe she just wanted to get out of there.

Mac slid behind the wheel and pulled out slowly, mindful of potholes.

“I'm not made of glass,” Kate said.

“I'm well aware of that,” he replied, and smiled when her gaze slid away from his. “But if Harriet is watching us, I'll hear from her if she thinks I'm going too fast.”

That earned a slight smile from Kate. “I never realized that being police chief in a small town was such a dangerous undertaking.”

“I got acquainted with Harriet when I fell out of the apple tree and broke my wrist when I was six. She gave me a lecture with my cast.”

But Kate leaned her head back, eyes drifting shut. Maybe the shot the doctor had promised was taking effect. If so, he might be able to get her settled for the night without interminable arguments.

First, though, he wanted to be sure she'd told him everything she remembered from the attack. “Tell me about the call again.”

“I already did.” She didn't bother to lift her head from the headrest.

“Did the party stay on the line at all? Could you hear any noise?”

Her forehead wrinkled. “I think the line stayed open for just a minute or two. I said Emily's name, but I didn't get an answer. And I didn't hear anything else except the dial tone.”

“So whoever it was, he took the precaution of hanging up the phone before getting into position to attack you. But how did he know you'd come to the side door?”

“I always do, ever since Mrs. Anderson told me about the shortcut.”

“So if he's been watching you, he'd know.”

Kate made a small, involuntary movement. “I don't like the idea of someone watching me.”

“No. It's not pleasant. But whoever he is, he must think you're a threat to him.”

“How? Why?” Her voice rose. “I don't know enough to be a threat to anyone.”

“You could have been killed tonight.” He hated saying the words, but she had to be aware of the danger. “You must have sensed something when you were about to be hit, or you wouldn't have moved. What was it? What made you turn?”

Kate frowned and then rubbed the lines between her eyebrows with her fingers. “I'm not sure. I don't think I heard anything—just sort of sensed someone behind me.”

“Man? Woman? What was your first instinctive response?”

“I don't know, I tell you. I suppose I think it's a man, but only because a man seems more likely. If it's this guy Bolt...”

“Bolt might have a reason for attacking Larry, if he thought Larry was giving him up to the cops. But I can't think why he'd go after you.”

She didn't respond, and a glance told him that her eyes had drifted shut again. There was no point in asking more anyway, he supposed. Kate couldn't tell him what she didn't know.

He turned into the driveway, slowing as the tires crunched gravel, and Kate's eyes opened at the sound.

“Thanks for driving me home.” She began what was obviously going to be a dismissal.

“I'm staying,” he said in a tone that he hoped left no doubt.

“No, you're not.” She pushed the door open with her right hand and then gasped at the effort.

“You can't be alone. Doctor's orders, remember? I'll stretch out on the sofa. I'm not leaving you tonight.” He got out, coming around the car to help her get out.

Kate tried to pull away, but he put his arm around her waist, avoiding her injured shoulder, and supported her as they walked to the wide-open door.

“You extending an invitation to burglars?”

“I forgot I left it open. For the light, when I ran over to Blackburn House.”

Parking her in the wicker chair on the porch, he checked the cottage quickly and found no sign of disturbance. “Okay, let's get you...”

He stopped, because Kate had fallen asleep, slumped uncomfortably in the chair. Mac lifted her gently and carried her inside. Once there, he hesitated for a moment and then went on through to the bedroom, lowering her on to the bed.

As Kate's head touched the pillow, her eyes flickered and opened. Her breath caught at his nearness.

“It's all right,” he said, his voice husky despite his effort to sound normal. Looking down at her lying on the bed was enough to test the resolve of a saint. “You feel asleep. I carried you in.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “I'll be okay now. You can leave.” But he saw the same desire in her eyes that he knew was in his.

No. In addition to all the other reasons why it would be wrong, he couldn't possibly take advantage of Kate when her guard was down. When...if...something happened between them, it had to be because the time was right. Because they both wanted it, and they were both free to make the choice.

“I'll be in the next room. All you have to do is call out and I'll be here.”

She nodded. He should go. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Slowly, giving her every chance to draw back, he brushed her lips with his. Hers opened in response, and a little sigh escaped her. He drew in the scent of her, the feel of her lips, the sound of her breathing. He'd never wanted a woman like this in his life.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again lightly. “Remember. Just shout if you need me.”

And then he straightened and beat it out of the bedroom before he could break all the rules and most of his own resolutions.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

M
AC
HAD
CHECKED
in with Foster several times and finally told the kid to lock up and go home. There was nothing else that could be done tonight. Tomorrow they'd move on with the business of getting fingerprints for comparison. He could just imagine how some of Blackburn House's residents would feel about being fingerprinted.

Finally, leaving one of the shaded table lamps on to provide a dim light, he stretched out on a sofa that was too short to accommodate his six-foot frame. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he drifted into a light doze.

Jolting awake at a slight sound, Mac swung to his feet in a quick movement, heart pumping. What...?

It came again—a kind of strangled choking sound from the bedroom. He pounded across the room and thrust the door open, gaze probing the semidarkness.

Kate sat straight up in bed, hair ruffled around her face, her eyes wide and staring. He switched on the small lamp on the dresser, gaze sweeping the room for signs of an intruder. Nothing. The room was just as he'd left it. He checked the bathroom and closet—nothing. They were clear. No indication anyone had been here.

But still Kate stared, as if she saw something he didn't. It took a moment for Mac to realize that her gaze was dark and unfocused. She wasn't looking at something in the room. She was staring at some image that existed in her own mind.

He approached the bed with care. “Kate.” He said her name quietly, afraid of jarring her. “It's okay. Wake up. You're safe.”

Easing himself on to the edge of the bed, he touched her right hand gently. Slowly, very slowly, her eyes blinked. She turned to look at him, gaze focusing on his face.

Mac smiled in relief. “There you are. For a minute there, you looked as if you weren't home.”

“I... I'm all right.” She lifted her right hand and thrust the tangled mass of honey-colored hair away from her face. “Sorry.” She took a deep breath, as if she'd forgotten to breathe for a moment. “I'm awake now. Did I...did I say anything?”

“No.” He possessed her hand again, holding it between both of his. “You sounded as if you were choking. About scared the life out of me.”

“You don't look scared.”

It was the sort of retort he expected from her, but somehow lacking the usual bite.

“Bad dreams?”

She made a face. “You could say that.” She stirred. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Just about 3:00 a.m.” That dead hour of the night, when vulnerable minds were prey to dark dreams. He knew all about that. In his nightmares he was always back in Afghanistan, clawing helplessly at the rubble of what had once been a loving home.

Kate shoved back the quilt he'd pulled over her. “I'd better get up. I can't just go back to sleep.”

Again, he knew the feeling—that fear that if he slipped back into dreams too quickly, the bad memories would take over again. “How about a cup of tea?” He stood back and put a steadying hand under her right arm to help her up. “That's my mother's remedy for night terrors.”

“Good idea. I'll meet you in the kitchen.”

Obviously she wanted a few minutes of privacy, so Mac headed for the kitchen. After a brief search he located a teakettle, and by the time she came to join him he had the water boiling and the mugs ready.

Kate looked as if she'd splashed water on her face and run a brush through her hair. She was pale and crumpled, but he found just looking at her filled him with tenderness.

“All ready,” he said. “Sugar?”

“One, please.” She dragged a chair out before he could do it for her and sat down. “Thanks.”

“All part of the service,” he said, trying for a cheerful note. The shadows under her eyes were like dark stains on her fair skin, making him want to soothe them away.

He set the cup down in front of her and took the chair on her right, mindful of her painful shoulder. “I think I can guess what your nightmare was. Or maybe is.”

Kate's eyes met his. “Yes, I guess you can. Jason, alone in the cemetery. Usually I'm trying to reach him, but I can't. At least, not in time.”

Her hand lay on the table between them, and he clasped it warmly. “It fades. It never goes away, but it fades.”

She pulled her hand away. “How would you know?” The bitterness filled her voice.

Mac stared down into his cup, as if he could read the future in its dark depths. Or maybe the past. He was going to tell her what he never told anyone. He had to. She'd come along when he had stopped even looking for someone, and her pain had made him aware of the empty place in his heart. Even if nothing came of their relationship, she deserved to understand.

“I did two tours in the Middle East—one in Iraq, one in Afghanistan.” He tried to keep his tone easy, but he could sense the sudden still intensity with which she watched him. “It was toward the end of my second tour. We were working with Afghani tribesmen—fierce fighters, most of them. They were trying to reclaim their land. Had been for a long time.”

He gave her a brief glance, and she nodded, her face grave and set.

“There was one village in particular—it had been hit by both sides, it seemed like. The middle of a war zone is no place to be safe. But they went right on living their lives, raising their kids, and I guess waiting for it to be over. Friendly to Americans, too. Inviting us to supper, even though they had little enough.”

He swallowed hard, not wanting to go on but knowing he had to. “There was a family I got to know—mother, grandfather, a couple of young girls, a boy of about six or seven. Cute kid—smart, lively, always trying to pick up English words. Ahmed. I didn't have much to spare, but I gave him a little penknife I used to carry on my key chain. He was proud as can be of that.”

His voice choked suddenly, and he had to stop. Kate put her hand over his, her fingers tightening.

“We got ordered out, of course. Ahmed was upset, sure I was going to get killed and he'd never see me again. I told him I'd be careful. Told him we were going to chase the bad guys away so he could sleep safely in his bed. He believed me.” He held her hand as if it were a lifeline. “We were gone two days, searching and not finding the enemy. And during those two days, they attacked the village. When I got back...the house was flattened. The room where Ahmed's mother had served us stew, where the grandfather had smoked his pipe and told stories...everything gone.”

He had to press his hands against his eyes for a moment before he could go on. “We helped the villagers dig it out. We found Ahmed under a collapsed wall with one of his sisters. Looked like she'd tried to shelter him. He was holding that penknife in his hand.”

Mac swallowed against the painful constriction in his throat. His eyes burned with the tears he wouldn't shed.

“You can't blame yourself.” Kate's voice was soft. Distressed. “You couldn't have done anything else.”

“I told him he'd be safe.” His fingers tightened on hers. “I let him down.”

“The people who attacked were responsible for his death, not you.” She was silent for a moment, as if processing her own words. “Why did you tell me?”

“I think you know,” he said. “We're alike, you and I. We're both fighting battles that can't be won, because they're over.”

He ventured to look at her, but her head was down, her loosened hair swinging to hide her face. She was very still. Finally she took a deep breath.

“Maybe you're right. I think I'm too tired to know.” She rubbed her forehead. “But I don't think I need that tea after all.”

Kate stood, her hand on his shoulder for balance. With a quick movement, she bent and dropped a light kiss on his lips. “Good night, Mac. And thank you.”

* * *

A
LTHOUGH
M
AC
'
S
STORY
had hardly been a soothing bedtime tale, Kate slept soundly the rest of the night. Maybe bringing their pain out into the open was good for both of them. Maybe she slept because of knowing Mac was just on the other side of the bedroom door, ready to jump into action. Whatever it was, she'd slept better than she'd have dreamed possible.

She woke to the sound of Mrs. Anderson's voice in the living room. She was lamenting the fact that she'd been out the previous night and hadn't been there to help. Mac sounded as if he were trying to stem the tide of her self-recriminations. He wasn't succeeding.

Dragging herself out of bed, Kate shoved her feet into slippers and padded to the door. She'd better go to his rescue.

“Kate!” Mrs. Anderson rushed to her the instant she heard the bedroom door. “My dear, how are you? I'm so sorry I wasn't here last night. If only I had been, you could have come to me. Why did it have to happen on the one night of the month I'm always out at my card club? I just feel so guilty.”

Kate saw Mac's head come up at the mention of Mrs. A's schedule. He was thinking exactly what she was. Had someone known that the bed-and-breakfast would be empty last night and planned accordingly?

“Now, I'm going right over and fixing breakfast for you, and I'll bring it here. You just relax, and I'll be back with it in a few minutes. I have an egg casserole all ready to come out of the oven.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Kate discovered that she was ravenous. Besides, agreeing would at least get Mrs. Anderson out of the way so she could have a word with Mac.

When Mrs. A. had bustled off to her kitchen, Kate raised her eyebrows at Mac. “So, did someone know about Mrs. Anderson's card club night?”

His lips quirked. “It wouldn't be difficult to find that out, I'm sure. Although I can't picture someone like Ax Bolt knowing or caring.”

Obviously Mac was still fixated on the drug aspect. She could understand that, and certainly someone like Bolt sounded likely to resort to violence.

“Why would Bolt attack me? I don't know anything about him.”

“True, but he may not realize that. He may think Jason confided in you.” He stepped closer, reaching out to trace the line of her cheek with one finger. “Never mind about that for the moment. Mrs. A. will be back before we can blink. How are you?”

“Better for the sleep.” She tried to move her shoulder and instantly regretted it. “Stiff. Sore.”

“Taking it easy today may help. Don't forget that the pills the doctor ordered are on the kitchen counter.”

“I won't.” She studied his face, bristly with the night's growth of beard, eyes dark with concern for her. He looked tough. Dangerous. And so close she couldn't take a breath without inhaling the scent of him.

“Kate.” His voice had deepened, roughened, and his gaze was so intent it warmed her skin.

“Here we are.” The door rattled as Mrs. Anderson pushed it open with the tray she carried.

“What did I tell you?” Mac grinned.

“A good hot breakfast will make you feel much better.” Mrs. A. carried the tray to the kitchen table. “And then I'll help you get washed up and dressed. It's not easy to do with your arm in a sling. I know that—did I tell you about the time I broke my wrist? I fell on an icy sidewalk.”

“I remember,” Mac said. “I have to go,” he murmured to Kate. “It'll take some pushing to get the tests moved to the top of the list for processing. Still, if the DA thinks there's a drug connection, he'll move it along.”

“There may not be,” she said quickly. “You haven't forgotten...”

“I haven't forgotten anything.” His voice was low, and his look scorched her skin. “I'll check back with you later. Meanwhile, stay in, rest and keep the dead bolt on. Okay?”

“Okay.” She hurt too much to argue the point.

“Good girl.” He grinned as he said it, as if he knew it would make her mad. “Take care.”

The next half hour was spent eating under Mrs. Anderson's supervision and answering her many questions as briefly as possible. Finally she took refuge in claiming that the police didn't want her to discuss it with anyone. Mac hadn't actually told her that, but she felt sure he'd agree, especially if faced with this barrage of questions.

Kate was truly thankful for the woman's determination when it came to getting cleaned up and dressed. She hadn't realized how incapacitating it was to have one arm in a sling. Mrs. Anderson, having been through it herself—Kate heard the story of slipping on the ice three more times—seemed to know just what to do.

Even so, by the time they'd finished, she was exhausted and only too glad to stretch out on the sofa. After Kate promised to call immediately if she needed anything, Mrs. A. departed, leaving restful silence in her wake.

Kate smoothed her hand over the sofa, thinking of Mac. He'd have been too tall to get much rest on it, but she didn't suppose he'd have rested much, anyway. He'd been on guard, determined to keep her safe from all the things that go bump in the night. She smiled, remembering how she used to make that promise to Jason when she put him to bed.

Mac had opened up to her last night, moved by her pain to share his own private nightmares. She knew instinctively that he didn't talk about it often, if at all. That fact that he told her meant...well, among other things it meant that he recognized the bond between them.

It was a bond that both thrilled and dismayed her. She'd be leaving soon, and she knew now that Mac wouldn't leave Laurel Ridge. This town was his atonement for what had happened in Afghanistan. He hadn't been able to save Ahmed and his people, but he'd transferred that pain into dedication to his town and its residents. Everyone in Laurel Ridge was part of his responsibility, and he wouldn't let them down.

So while he stayed here, the guardian of this place, she would go...where? She didn't have a job. She didn't even have any viable lead. It had begun to look as if she'd have to find some other venue for her work than the dwindling pages of a big-city newspaper.