Sweeter Than Sin (38 page)

As the crowd gathered around, wishing the couple well, Lana moved in close to Adam, slipped her hand into his.

“You look grim.”

He looked down, pressed his lips to hers. “You should be the one looking grim. Judging by all the sidelong looks you’re getting, word is out. People will start rushing you soon.”

She shrugged. “It’s going to happen. I’d rather it not be here.” Then she rested her head against his arm. “Why the heavy look?”

“Because it’s not over.”

Lana squeezed his hand. “No. I don’t think it is. How can it be? No answers about Max. Still too many of the men from Cronus out there. But today isn’t the day for this sort of talk.” Then she tugged on him. “Come on. I heard there’s going to be dancing. It’s been twenty years since I danced, big guy. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Maybe if I stay busy, people will leave me alone … at least for a day.”

“So you’re using me, huh?”

“No. I’m thinking more along the lines of … keeping you.” She paused and smiled at him. “Is that okay?”

He caught her up against him, pressed his mouth to hers. “Since that’s kind of what I planned, yeah. More than okay.”

*   *   *

Not everybody was at the wedding.

He’d gone over the information for the murder and attempted murder of the Shepherds. Heads would roll over that one, and if Max survived—and it looked like he was going to pull through—the murderer wasn’t going to be pleased. Whoever shot Max should have made sure he was dead, because he wouldn’t rest until he saw justice for his Mary.

That was just one of the cases he had to handle. He was walking through a damn minefield these days. Just then, he was focused on what little information he had on the events from twenty years ago. He had his own notes and he’d have to interview everybody, all over again. Now, at least, he had two witnesses to question.

Tugging on his lip, he studied the mitochondrial DNA report. David Sutter had agreed to give a DNA sample when he’d given his statement. He had more questions for that man, that was for certain.

He’d threatened every single soul in the station, and for now they were all keeping it quiet.

That wouldn’t last, though.

He couldn’t control Layla, and even if she didn’t talk, word would get out.

If everything added up the way Lana and David claimed, then what he had here was an epic clusterfuck and the whole town was going to be shaken. They’d spent twenty years with the Sutter family on a pedestal.

That pedestal had to come down.

No.

Not come down.

Be shattered, completely.

And it was going to take David Sutter being willing to do what he couldn’t do before—tell the truth about what his father had done to him and possibly countless other boys. David had no names, just a few suspicions, but those suspicions gave him a starting point.

Reaching across the desk, he picked up a picture, stared at it.

Then he rose and crossed the room, pinned the picture to the fresh board he’d started.

It was time to start thinking this through all over again, from the ground up.

*   *   *

They danced.

Flowers and lights and music filled the air, and laughter rang out.

There was one person who didn’t laugh, though. No reason to laugh. No reason to smile.

Only watch.

As they danced.

The laughter was like a needle to the ear, a scrape against the soul, a knife in the side.

No way to escape it, though.

How could they all be so happy?

How could they all be so full of smiles and cheer?

Especially him.

Didn’t he understand?

Didn’t he know?

They should all be shaken and hopeless inside. Desperate and needy.

Broken.

A soft, desperate sound filled the air. But it was lost under the sound of a love song, lost under the music and the laughter.

Read on for an excerpt from the next romantic suspense novel by Shiloh Walker

DARKER THAN DESIRE

Coming soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks

It was a slow, mostly silent walk, especially the first twenty minutes. They stopped at a cross street and David looked at Sybil for the first time when she pulled her hand from his.

She gave him a rueful grin as she tugged something from her coat pocket. “It’s a good thing I know you.”

That didn’t click until he saw her pull out a narrow pair of slipper-like shoes from a pouch that she swapped out in place of her heels. She put the stilt-like shoes in one hand and then took his hand, sighing a little in relief.

“We could have taken your car,” he said as something he recognized as guilt worked through him.

“Difficult.” She slid him a sideways smile. “I caught a ride with Trinity and Noah. I…” Her words trailed off and she shrugged. “Well, I figured you’d be there and I wanted to be with you in case you needed me.”

This time, he was the one to stop.

In case you needed me
.

Words rose in him, trapping in his throat as he turned to face her.

They were still close to two miles from the little house where Max had lived all these years. Brilliant streams of sunlight shone down around them and cars passed by but all he saw was her. Reaching up, he threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped her face.

He opened his mouth, trying to figure out the way to say everything pent up inside. He wasn’t a man who
cared
about words—they meant little, in his mind. Except what she’d just done proved him wrong. A few gentle words could somehow slash into him and yet flood him with something …
indescribable
.

Leaning in, he pressed his mouth to her forehead while an internal war waged inside him. He thought back to the first time he’d seen her, the fury that had lit inside him when he realized what he’d come across. The defiance and fear and anger he’d seen reflected in her eyes. The way she’d smiled at him the next time they met. Then, the third time, when he’d thought he was being casual about it and she gave him that slow,
I see what you did there
look.

It started then, he realized.

When he started to feel again—he’d thought it was just lust and he’d welcomed it. Lust was a
normal
thing. He hadn’t felt it, not really, until she’d given him that slow, sure smile of hers and he’d thought about covering that red-slicked mouth with his own, fantasies that he hadn’t entertained in … never. He’d never had them.

He’d fed that hot, hungry feeling then, let it consume him, but he’d never really noticed everything that grew along with it. The obsession. The
need
.

“You’re in my blood, in my soul. I can’t remember a time anymore when I didn’t needed you,” he whispered, the words slipping from him without him even realizing it.

Sybil tensed, a startled sound slipping from her.

He lifted his head and watched her from under his lashes. “I made Samuel put in that bid that bid on your studio,” he said.

*   *   *

Well, well, well. Sybil walked into the studio and all but dropped her jaw. Okay, yes, she’d known the group the contractor had gotten for most of the construction was one of the Amish families out of Switzerland counties, but Caine was on it?

What were the odds?

He hadn’t so much as looked at her, but she recognized him—
would
recognize him, no matter what, whether it was a dimly lit street and he was striding down the street with more confidence than any man should have, or if he was here, among the rest of the quiet, soft-spoken men, like a wolf among sheep.

In that very moment, he looked up and like he was surprised to see her, he blinked and cocked his head, then just nodded.

But she saw it, in just that moment, that he wasn’t surprised.

He’d known this was her place. Once they were done, it would be her studio and she planned on making something of it.

She smiled back and lifted a brow.

He kept his face blank, a shutter falling across his features, but she didn’t let it get to her.

He was here.

What to do about that?

*   *   *

That memory, more than a dozen years old, slammed into her and she reached up, curling one hand into the thick, woven material of the black sweater he wore. It was scratchy-soft under her hand, the heat of his skin like a furnace.

“Samuel?”

He shrugged restlessly, a gesture that was out of place on him. “He was Tom’s father. Used to head up the crew before I took over. Tom is going to be taking over now, I guess. I asked Sam to take the job. Actually, I convinced Abraham to talk him into it.”

“And why did you do that?”

He pressed his face into her hair and she shivered at the feel of his breath teasing her skin. He mistook it for cold and wrapped him arms around her, pulling her close. “Because I wanted to be around you. It was a weird thing for me. I never cared if I was around anybody or not—no. That’s not right. I preferred
not
to be around people, but on that job, I tried to get the inside work as much as I could. Abraham heard about it, thought maybe I was…”

Sybil turned her head slightly toward him, rubbing her cheek against his when she felt the rasping brush of his stubble. “Getting better,” she murmured. “But there’s no getting better. It’s not like you had a cold, is it?”

“More like cancer.”

“They’re the cancer.” She stiffened and lifted her hands to his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. “
Them
. Not you.”

*   *   *

Volatile emotion sparked in her gaze but for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he had a hard time meeting her eyes.
Them …

Sometimes he deliberately fooled himself, especially lately. Always with her. She’d known—always known. Now, aware of her vivid stare, as the ugly realization slammed into it, he let some of the bitterness he felt spill out.

“Yeah. They were a cancer. And they spread it around.” He caught one of her wrists, dragged it down as he continued to watch her, stroking a finger across the inside. “You see so much, Syb. You always did. When did you figure everything out? How long have you known?”

She blinked, looking confused.

He advanced on her, moving his hands to her waist and urging her back, back, back until she bumped up against the brick wall of the building behind her. “Did you just look at me that first time, the second time, or was it the third time when you realized how completely fucked up I was inside?”

“Exactly where are you going with this?” she asked, her voice level.

“When did you know?” Bracing a forearm on the wall by her head, he dipped his head until their eyes were on level. He’d never been able to figure it out, why she could stand to be around him, put up with him. He’d never figured it out.

Her gaze met it. Then she angled her chin up and narrowed her eyes. “I figured something pretty shitty had happened to you the first time we had sex. Those scars all over your back didn’t exactly happen because
boys will be boys
, right?”

Something twisted inside him and he swallowed his throat. “You didn’t know…”

Sybil heaved out a breath, the motion causing her breasts to rise and fall. “Hell, David. What did you think was going on here? Some sort of marathon session of pity fucks?” She curled her lip as she said the words and they fell distastefully from her lips.

One hand clenched into a fist. “It’s occurred to me.”

Sybil reached up, slid her fingers inside the neckline of his shirt, the tips splaying out until she could trail them over the topmost edges of the scars. She never once moved away. “I don’t
pity
you. Something in me breaks knowing what was done to the boy you were. You’re not him anymore. Either they killed him or you did. But you’re
not
him. You’re you and I wake up every day wanting you, needing you. Don’t think otherwise, not for one minute.”

Some of the tension he felt drained out of him and he dipped his head, buried his face in her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Sybil hooked an arm around his neck as she turned into him. “We’ve established the fact that you’re fucked up. I figured that out a while ago, but I don’t think you’re fucked up so much as … pulled in. You only let pieces of yourself out in small doses.”

Eyes closed, he listened to the rhythm and cadence of her voice as he let the words sink in slowly. Not fucked up. Oh, hell. Yes he was.

If he was smart, he’d pull free of her and stay away.

But that was one thing he couldn’t seem to do.

After a moment, Sybil nudged him with her hands and he eased back, staring down at her. A car went blasting down the street, stopping at the stopsign with just a squeal of the brakes before speeding off down the street like a bullet. Neither of them even looked away from each other.

“I don’t pity you,” she said again. “That doesn’t mean I can’t hurt for what was done. To you, to God only knows how many others.”

He let his hands fall away as a torrent of bitter anger rose inside him. He fought to keep it trapped. Letting it explode out of him wouldn’t hurt anybody but Sybil.

“God.” He spat it out as some of the rage leaked free. Spinning away, he stared down the street. He laughed and even that felt like acid boiling up his throat.

*   *   *

The sound of that laughter, ugly and broken, was like jagged glass on her skin. Sybil stared at his averted back, every line of his body rigid. “God knows how many?” he echoed. Then he turned and looked at her. “There is no God, Sybil. God wouldn’t allow the things that happened here
to
happen. So not even
He
knows.”

A wave of sadness rolled through her.

Sighing, she moved up and stroked a hand down his back. She might not have the kind of faith that somebody like Noah did—his could probably move mountains. That was the saying, right? But she did believe in something higher than herself. It seemed kind of sad to think this was it, that there was nothing else.