Tell Me No Lies (23 page)

"Try me, Sashenka."

The way he said her name, so foreign-sounding on his tongue, yet so sweet Tears welled, and she tensed, willing them away.

"Trust me. Let me help."

She was so tired of the tears. And the lies. So very tired.

"How does Petrov know Luka?"

"Petrov..." She swallowed, the words drying in her mouth. "Petrov killed him." Her stomach twisted, she felt sick with exposure. "He killed Sonya, too."

"No, Alex, she had a heart attack."

"He killed her! I can't prove it, but I know, here" she thumped her chest where her heart was thudding dully "that he's responsible. He killed my father, he killed everyone I've ever cared about."

Hank was silent.

She'd spewed out the bald truth, and he sat staring out the window. For the first time she realized they were parked in the middle of the orchard. In all directions, pinkish white puffs of blossoms floated on trees.

She had a strange impulse to run and hide in their thick branches, cover herself with blossoms and disappear.

She opened the door and got out of the car. The air was warm and tinged with a heady fragrance. The earth smelled alive with promise, new life beginning even as old life waned.

Walking blindly, she ended up beneath a tree, her back against the hard trunk. She removed her hat, dropped it to the ground, and unpinned her hair, letting the spring blow through it. fresh and unsullied.

Hank came after her, his step slow and deliberate, as though working it all out, trying to make sense of what she' d just told him.

But it didn't make sense, and she didn't want to wring meaning out of it either. So much better to forget, to drift away on spring and apple blossoms.

"What kind of apples are these?"

He glanced up at the branches. "Jersey Macs. They're early fruit. Summer harvest Very soft and hard to keep. We don't grow many."

"Why grow any if they're such a bother?"

He smiled, a little knowing curve of his mouth. "Once you've tasted Jersey Mac pink applesauce, you won't ask that question."

"And over there?"

He turned to look where she pointed. Dozens of trees faced them, their pink-tinged white fur swaying in the breeze. Blossoms danced on branches or floated leisurely to the ground. A pale carpet was beginning to form.

"Macintosh. And those are Spartans, Honey Crisp, Cort-lands." He pointed in several other directions. "We have Red and Golden Delicious on the other side, Northern Spy, Ida Reds. And over here" he turned in the opposite direction "there's Winesaps, Romes, and Fujis."

"It's so beautiful"

"Yes, it is."

"How could anyone give it up?"

That mouth of his went to work again, this time the smile wry. "Once you get beyond the pretty facade, it's just hard work. And it doesn't always pay off. Do you remember the freak hailstorm we had two years ago in June?"

She shook her head.

"No, why should you? A summer hailstorm to most folks is just a weather oddity. But it was devastating to us. It took three-quarters of the apple crop. Almost put us out of business."

"But you hung on."

"Yeah, we hung on." He shifted impatiently. "Alex, what does this have to do with "

"And now things are... different"

He shrugged. "Look, can we get back to Petrov?"

She peered down at her hands. Miraculously, they'd stopped shaking. "I've told you everything I can."

"You've told me that Petrov killed Luka Kole, but you didn't tell me why or how you know."

She looked away, out toward the magic of earth and tree and blossom. "I can't talk about that"

"Why not?"

"Why can't you talk about what happened here, with your family?" She turned back to confront him, and his eyes grew cold. "See? We all have secrets we'd like to beep."

He gave her another terse, sardonic laugh. 'It's no secret. It was in the paper, on TV, radio. I'm surprised you don't know about it."

"I was in and out of Moscow most of last year. What did I miss?"

Hank opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. "My sister was..." He took a breath, willing his voice to stay calm and even. "My sister was married to a guy with a lot of trouble in him."

"Maureen was your sister?"

He nodded.

"And Tom, that was her husband?"

Tom. The
name still conjured up that nightmare face coming at him, lips contorted in a crazed grimace, arms rigid, hands fixed on the screwdriver with a cast-iron grip.

"Tom Stiller. We were high school buddies. On the football team. He was the big shot quarterback. Never did get over that taste of celebrity. He was always looking for a shortcut to fame and fortune."

"And did he find it?"

He shook his head, bitterness bubbling up. "No, he got Maureen pregnant and that was that. They got married and ran Apple House. He started drinking, and the drinking got worse, and then he started shoving Maureen around, and" he shrugged, cutting the litany short because who'd want to hear all that pain and who'd want to tell it "it was a mess."

"Why didn't she leave him?"

Oh, the dozens of times she'd tried. "It never stuck. He always crawled back. I think she'd become his excuse for failure, and he needed an excuse. We tried counseling, rehab, anger management, you name it. Finally, Maureen had had enough. She filed for divorce. The day the papers showed up, so did Tom. Drunk. Wild. Raging. They must have been going at it for hours before Trey called me."

He remembered the panic in the boy's voice. He couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"Slow down," Hank had told him.

"You have to help her," the boy screamed into the phone.

"Who? Help who?"

"Mom. He's got her. My dad. Please. Please, help her."

Help her. Christ. He'd been a big help.

"By the time I got there, Tom had dragged her into the toolshed behind the house."

"What happened?"

He felt the sun on him again, hot as a spotlight as it bounced off the white metal shingles of the shed. He remembered the sweat, the nail-tearing fear. The sound of his heart like a cannon in his ears. Could he talk Tom out or would he have to break in? If he broke in, could he get to Maureen before Tom did?

He should have gone in sooner. The familiar rebuke burned through him. He should have gone in sooner.

"I broke into the shed. He came at me with a screwdriver. Nearly killed me. I..." Another pause, another breath. Another wave of regret. "I shot him."

A shock wave ripped through Alex. He'd killed Mandy's father. His own brother-in-law. "And Maureen?"

"She was already dead, though I didn't know it He'd thrown her across the shed. She fell on a scythe, and the tip tore through her brain."

"My God." Images swirled, making her stomach flop.

"Yup. Prettymuch of a screwup all around."

"I'mm sorry." She knew how inadequate those words were. People had said them to her often enough.

He blew out a breath, as though exhaling the deep emotions, and swooped down to pick up a fallen branch. He cracked me branch in two, then in two again, and, with a brutal toss, flung the pieces into the field as though throwing away the ache.

He turned to her. "So" his mouth twisted into a wry semblance of a smile "now that I've shown you mine, how about you showing me yours? Why do you think Petrov killed Luka?"

The moment had come. She had to make a choice. Other pictures crowded her head. The cold, black hole she'd just left Luka in; the similar place she would soon leave Sonya. They had paid for her revenge. Would he?

She searched his face; he looked so strong. Invincible.

But no one was immune. Death stalked all.

Would he be safer knowing what he was up against? Or was it better to leave him in the dark?

People stumbled in the dark. Fell.

She didn't want him to fall, didn't want another grave on her conscience.

"Luka knew ..." She licked her lips. "He knew something Petrov didn't want him to know." Her voice came out hoarse and forced.

"What? Some kind of proof against him?"

She shook her head. "I don't know exactly. That's why I was in the apartment. I thought... maybe I could find whatever it was."

"But what could Luka know that would hurt Miki Petrov? How are they connected? And what does it have to do with you?'

The last barrier. Was she ready to breach it? Blood pounded in her ears. She was drawing him into her perilous life. Pushing him closer and closer toward a sharp-edged precipice. She saw him tumble over, an endless, hopeless fall. She heard the scream that she never wanted to hear again.

She froze, lungs clogged. She couldn't speak, couldn't make the words come. All she could do was shake her head.

He muttered a curse under his breath. "If you're right, whatever Luka knew killed him. If you're tied into it, you could be in danger, too."

Another cold wind rippled through her. The man with the camera. Did he take pictures of her? Would Miki recognize her? Would he make the connection? And if he did, what could Hank do about it but get caught in the cross fire?

"I can't. Please. Don't push."

"Push? There was a man with a damn camera back there. I'm not the one doing the pushing." His jaw tightened. "I could subpoena you, bring you in as a material witness."

"Handcuff me and throw me in jail? Somehow I don't think you'll do that."

"Why not?"

"Just a hunch."

He ran a hand through his hair, and she wished she could recapture her fury of the previous morning. Anger was as good a defense as any against him. But when she reached for it, she discovered it gone. As though it had been buried along with Luka.

"They threatened my family."

"What?" She looked at him sharply. "Who?"

"Those federal boys you launched at me. They made a veiled threat against my family if I don't butt out."

She felt the blood drain from her face, then flood right back. Mason. "I... I didn't mean... I didn't know... I would never "

"So they did come from you."

She opened her mouth, saw the gleam of satisfaction in his face. Dammit, she'd fallen right into his trap.

"Don't you want to see the bad guys punished?"

She swooped down and picked up her hat. Breathing time was over. "More than you'll ever know, Detective. But you're not the one who can do it." She marched back to the car.

He followed, keeping pace easily. "I think you just insulted me. What's the matter don't think I'm man enough?"

"Oh, you're plenty man enough." Her face heated, and something exploded between them. Quickly she doused it. "But you're a small-town cop, and this is way over your head." She reached the car, opened the door. He closed it.

"I'll say it again, Alex. Tty me."

"No." She crossed her arms, as if that could protect her from his tenacity. "I've said enough. Take me home."

"And then what?"

Then what? What did he think? "Then I carry on as before."

"Carry on? Clanking around in that huge castle in the forest? I don't think so." He opened the car door and nudged her in. "I'm taking you back to the farm. My mother would love to lavish sympathy and attention on you anyway. And Mandy has already made up a visitation schedule."

She didn't argue; truth was, she didn't really want to go home to an empty house. Too many memories. Too much sadness.

He slid behind the wheel and sat for a moment. "Look, I think I should tell you. I saw Petrov today. It's my fault he sent a goon with a camera. I told him you were Luka Kole's daughter and that you were burying him today."

"What?" Her whole body stilled.

"What's the harm, Alex? Why shouldn't! tell him? Oh, because you think he's responsible? Because you don't want him to know of your relationship with Kole? Which one is it, column A or column B? And how am I supposed to know if you don't goddamn tell me?"

She was silent. Would Miki believe him? What would he do?

"I want the truth, Alex. All of it."

But she couldn't tell him and keep them both safe. Not yet. Not ever.

13

Alex stared out the window as Hank drove through the orchard, the car bumping over what at times was only a narrow dirt path. The trees seemed to go on forever, petals in every direction. She let her gaze drift over them. She didn't want to think about Miki. About death and revenge. Or what he would do with the information Hank had given him, or what her next move would be.

She wanted to pretend she didn't have to move. She wanted to think about apples, about roots and family tradition.

"Will you sell?"

He cut a glance her way, but went along with the change of subject. "I don't know. My mother doesn't want to, but as the summer progresses, I'm not sure we're going to have much choice."

Who did? "Why don't you hire someone?"

"These days who wants to come out and run an operation for someone?" Everyone wants their own piece of it, and who can blame them?"

"There must be someone out in the great wide world who needs a steady job, a home, roots, and who might trade labor for training." She heard the longing in her voice, knew it for the fantasy it was. Her own, ready-made to block out whatever was coming next.