The Best Man to Trust (12 page)

Meredith turned the information over in her mind. She knew he wouldn’t like what she had to say, but she had to say it. “Do you think he might have had an ulterior motive to bring her—to bring all of you—here?”

It took a second, but Tom jerked his head toward her, and Meredith knew he’d picked up on her implication. “You think
Scott
killed Haley and Jess? Why?”

“Maybe revenge?” she suggested carefully. “She dumped him, all her friends turned their backs on him. This could be some sick way of getting back at them, and punishing Rachel.”

“That’s way too twisted, and not something Scott is remotely capable of. He’s not a killer.”

She hated the pain she heard in his voice and wished she could let it go, but she couldn’t. “He could have changed over the years without you noticing it. You said you didn’t keep in touch much, only met or talked a few times a year when you were in Chicago.”

Meredith watched his jaw tighten with anger. “Scott’s not a killer.” His tone allowed for no further argument. “What about Rachel? Alex is right, she’s the one who brought everyone here. And she decided to get back together with Scott after all this time, too.”

Meredith thought back to her conversation with the woman, remembering the genuine sadness she’d heard in her voice. At least she’d thought it was genuine. At this point, who knew what to believe? “What’s her motive?”

Tom was silent for a long moment, finally letting out a long breath. “I don’t know. There’s still so much going on here we don’t know about.”

“And we’re figuring it out too slowly.” And two people were dead, and more lives were in jeopardy as long as they continued fumbling around in the dark.

A wave of frustration and despair washed over her. Overwhelmed by the feeling, Meredith gave her head a small shake.

Tom didn’t fail to notice. “What is it?” he asked.

“Part of me can’t help wishing Adam was here,” she admitted. “He would know what to do. No hesitation, no doubt. Just action.”

“You and your brother must be close,” he said.

She nodded. “We were all we had growing up. Our parents weren’t what anyone would call loving. Our father only cared about his career and making money, and our mother didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. I always had the feeling they only had children because it was what they were supposed to do, and they would have been perfectly happy without us. Adam was five when I was born, and he looked out for me, up until the time he left for college.”

“It sounds like it’s a good thing you had each other.”

“It was.” She smiled sadly. “The funny thing is, I used to resent him a little, too. Our mother wasn’t exactly nurturing, but Adam was still her golden child. He was handsome and brilliant, while I was awkward and quiet. He was the valedictorian of his class in high school. I was the salutatorian of mine.” Story of her life. Never quite good enough. Always second best.

“That’s still impressive.”

“Not really. You know what they say. ‘Second place is the first loser.’”

He frowned. “Who says that?”

She grimaced at the memory. “My mother did, actually.”

“No offense, but she doesn’t sound like somebody who’s worth listening to.”

“I know that now,” she conceded. “Unfortunately some things aren’t that easy to shake. Growing up, it seemed like no matter what I did, all I ever heard was ‘That’s not what Adam would have done!’ And for the past few days in the back of my head, I keep hearing, ‘That’s not what Adam would do!’”
Or would he have had to do any of this?
she wondered. Would he have realized what was happening before it did, stopping the murder before it ever happened? Would he have somehow known who the killer was and recognized what they had planned?

There was no way of knowing. Adam wasn’t here. She was. And she was responsible for everything that happened here—and the lives of everyone at Sutton Hall.

“You’re doing great,” Tom said firmly. “No one could question the choices you’ve made. You’ve done the best you could under the circumstances. We’re going to get through this.”

She looked up into his strong, solemn face. She wasn’t entirely certain she believed him, but at the moment, she was grateful for the kindness.

“What about you?” she asked. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“One of each,” he said with a smile. “They’re great.”

If they were anything like him, she believed it. Because he was great. Strong and loyal and brave, and smart and considerate and caring. Again there was that sense of amazement in the back of her mind that someone so good-looking could be even better on the inside, as great as this man was.

It suddenly struck her just how much she liked him. She simply
liked
him, as a person, who he was deep down. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone she simply liked on a basic, instinctive level. Maybe she never had. She’d certainly never met anyone like him before. If only she had. If only he’d noticed her. If only she’d been brave enough back then...

It was foolish to think that way. There was no changing the past, no way to go back. Thinking about it was a waste of time. All that mattered was that she
had
met him—here, now—at a time, at a moment when she needed him. It was the lone bright spot in these terrible few days, and she would always be grateful he’d been here for her, even as she couldn’t help wishing he hadn’t had to be.

Suddenly realizing just how long she’d been sitting there staring into his eyes, she made herself look away, even as part of her regretted breaking the unexpected intimacy they shared.

Even as part of her recognized that as long as she’d been staring into his eyes, he’d been staring back.

“We should get to bed,” Meredith said. “You’re going to need the rest if you’re going to work with Rick in the morning.”

Tom frowned. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

“I’ll watch over everyone else, try keep an eye on them and make sure nothing happens.”

“And who’ll keep an eye out for you?”

It was a valid question, and she couldn’t help feel a flicker of apprehension as she thought about it. She did her best to shake it off, the way she had to. “I’ll just have to keep an eye out for myself. I am the one in charge here, right?”

He didn’t respond, but she didn’t miss the way his lips thinned with disapproval. She knew what he was thinking, but she meant what she said.

As much as she appreciated him being here for her, when it came right down to it, the only one a person could rely on was her—or him—self. She’d learned that the hard way with Brad, when she’d failed to be strong enough, failed to defend herself. She couldn’t do that again, couldn’t be that weak. She was going to have to take care of herself.

Learning how to do that was a long time in the making.

* * *

T
WO
DOWN
...

Poor, stupid Jess. So scared. So cautious. And in the end, she hadn’t seen it coming.

She’d left her room to use the bathroom, and on her way back she’d let her guard down at just exactly the wrong moment. She’d been a step away from being safely back in her room.

Instead, she’d met her fate.

A memory of the way her face had looked at that moment lingered. No, she hadn’t seen it coming—the first stab at least.

The second and the third...those she’d seen.

And in the final moments, when she’d been told exactly why she’d had to die, a flash of recognition had passed over her eyes, briefly eclipsing the fear.

In the end, though, the fear had won out. The sheer terror that she was about to die.

And then she had.

The fear was the most satisfying part. Dying wasn’t enough. They deserved to suffer.

One of them in particular... That would happen soon enough.

Everything was going according to plan. Soon it would be over.

And justice would be served at last.

Chapter Fourteen

Tom was up early the next morning. He’d had too much running through his head to let him get much sleep. Too many vivid memories of Haley and Jess, as they’d looked in life—and death. Too many questions and too few answers. Too many doubts about the people around him, both the strangers and his old friends.

Too many thoughts of Meredith, peering up at him, vulnerable and lovely and brave.

Meredith, looking terrified as the murderer moved in on her for the kill—

It was the last thought that finally forced him out of bed. He would sleep when this was over, when they were safe.

A check out his window confirmed that the snow seemed to have slowed down. The flurries weren’t coming down nearly as hard or fast as they had been the past two days. Unfortunately, he still got no signal on his phone. Pulling on his boots and warmest clothes, Tom took his coat with him when he left his room. He wasn’t sure when Rick would want to get started on digging out to the garage, but he wanted to be prepared. The sooner they got the process started, the better.

There was no answer at Meredith’s door when he knocked. Fighting the nervousness clawing up his spine, he told himself she must have gotten up already and gone downstairs. A burst of anger rose from the pit of his stomach at the idea of her wandering around alone, even though he had no right to tell her what to do. This was her house. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Frustration burned in his gut.

The only person in the kitchen when he walked in was Ellen. She looked up from the counter at his entrance, a distinct wariness in her eyes as they flew toward the door.

Doing his best to squelch his disappointment at finding her alone, Tom forced a smile he wasn’t close to feeling, hoping to put the woman at ease. “Good morning.”

She managed to return the gesture with a small, polite smile of her own before quickly lowering her eyes to the counter. “Morning.”

“Have you seen Meredith?”

“She and Rick went to get some supplies they thought you both might need to get to the garage.”

His first instinct was to ask where exactly they’d gone, so he could go there, so he could see her. Swallowing the words, Tom drew in a slow breath. Meredith was fine. He’d see her soon enough.

He slowly realized that, in the meantime, this was the first opportunity he’d had to be alone with the cook. The woman remained a mystery to him, probably more so than anyone in this place. And if he was inclined to believe Rick wasn’t the killer, that meant Ellen was the most likely option.

She started to turn toward the stove. Tom didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t put her back to him entirely as she worked, keeping him in front of her the whole time. Because she didn’t trust him, or because she was pretending not to?

“So, Ellen,” he said, doing his best to sound casual. “How long have you been a cook?”

He saw an unexpected spark of amusement enter her eyes. “You sure you’re not a reporter, too?”

He had to grin at that. “I’m sure.”

Her lips quirking, she shook her head. “All my life, really. But only a few years now as a job.”

“What’d your family think about you taking a job here? They must be worried that they haven’t heard from you in a while.”

The look she shot him said she knew full well he was fishing. Still she answered. “I don’t have any. Not anymore,” she added after a beat.

“I’m sorry.”

Ellen shrugged. “I’m not. Sometimes you’re better off. I used to have a husband, until he found a pretty young thing he liked better and took off. It was a lousy thing to do, but I know I’m better off without him.”

He eyed her carefully. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re pretty cynical about marriage after that. You didn’t have any doubts about working here and cooking for weddings?”

“A job’s a job. And I’m not that cynical. Certainly not cynical enough to start killing bridesmaids, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Okay, so he’d been grasping at straws. Damn, he needed some answers.

Ellen shook her head. “I’ve had enough tough times in my life to learn that all you can do is pick yourself up and move on.” She paused just long enough to send him one more, rather pointed look. “You’d be surprised how much a woman can overcome. Especially if she has the right person to help her.”

The words seemed loaded with meaning, and Tom wasn’t sure at first how to interpret them. Who had she had to help her? And what was her purpose in telling him...

Then in a flash he understood.

She wasn’t talking about herself. She was talking about Meredith.

And him.

He suddenly remembered the way she’d looked at him and Meredith yesterday, that gleam in her eye. Was she simply imagining things, or had she sensed something between them?

He had to admit, if she had sensed something, she wasn’t imagining it. There was something between him and Meredith, a connection he never would have expected, especially not now, not under these circumstances, when there were so many more important things to think about, when people were dying and lives were on the line.

Or maybe that was exactly the time to see things, feel things, so much more clearly. They were surrounded by so much uncertainty, there was little time to waste questioning feelings or wondering about emotions. They were fighting for survival, relying on their guts and instincts to get them through.

And every instinct he had was pointing him toward Meredith.

The door suddenly swung open. A moment later Meredith stepped through.

At the sight of her, his lungs relaxed slightly, easing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding in his chest. She looked over at him and smiled.

Damned if something didn’t clutch in his chest all over again.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

“You ready?” Rick asked, having followed Meredith into the room. The handyman was obviously prepared to go, his gloves and hat already in place.

“Absolutely,” Tom said.

“You haven’t had anything to eat yet,” Ellen protested.

Tom reached out and plucked a muffin from the plate she’d just placed on the countertop. “Done.” He turned to Rick. “Let’s do this.”

The sooner they got to work, the sooner they would be out of here, be safe.

He looked at Meredith, the urgency building in his gut.

All of them.

* * *

“I
WONDER
HOW
it’s going out there,” Meredith murmured. She peered through the window above the kitchen sink at the world beyond. Not that what she was looking for would be visible outside the window anyway.

The snow hadn’t stopped entirely, but had thankfully tapered off enough that she could at least get a glimpse of the outside world through the flurries, even if most of what she could see was several towering feet of snow. Opening the front doors of Sutton Hall, Meredith had found the snowfall came up to her chest.

It had been hours since Tom and Rick had left, armed with two shovels and a plan to hollow out a path from the house to the garage. They hadn’t come back, hadn’t been heard from since.

“I’m sure we’ll hear soon enough,” Ellen said, rinsing off the dishes in the sink to prepare them for the dishwasher. “They’ll be wanting lunch pretty soon.”

Meredith would have thought they would have wanted it long ago. Lunchtime had passed over an hour ago. The rest of the wedding party had come and gone already.

She did her best to fight the anxiety churning in her belly. They were probably fine. They were busy, of course. The task they’d gone to accomplish wasn’t an easy one. It would take them several hours at least to make it to the garage. Or maybe they’d made it there and had started working on the plow, getting so caught up in it they’d forgotten about lunch.

Maybe...

“I should have gone with them,” Meredith said, mostly to herself. “It’s my job. I should have offered to help, too.”

“Only two shovels,” Ellen pointed out.

Meredith couldn’t argue with that. It didn’t make her feel better. At least if she was out there she would know if they were okay.

If Tom was okay...

She nearly shook herself. She knew she was being ridiculous. She had no reason to think anything had happened to them. Not that she thought Rick would do anything to Tom, even if he was the killer. It would be too obvious he was responsible.

Unless it looked like an accident...

Or the killer came up behind them unnoticed while they were busy working, striking before they could do anything about it—

Jerking upright, Meredith pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to go see if there’s any sign of them.”

One corner of her mouth twitching, Ellen sent her an all-too-knowing look before turning back to the dishes with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Meredith was already stepping away from the sink, heading for the door. Suddenly she stopped, reconsidering. Wandering through the house on her own still seemed like a risky idea. Spotting a rolling pin lying on the countertop nearby, she grabbed it, relishing the weight of it in her hand.

She hurried through the dining room, keeping a close eye on her surroundings. The garage was on the west side of the property, on the other side of the house. To find the shortest route there possible, Tom and Rick had left through a door in the back of the west wing. She’d have to use the same one.

Crossing through the main foyer, she made her way to the corridor running the length of the west wing. They weren’t using this side of the house as much, she reflected, taking in the row of closed doors. The east wing had been in better shape and less in need of restoration when they’d come here, so it had only made sense to start there. Not to mention the kitchen and dining room were there. They were finally almost done with the restorations over here. They just hadn’t decided what to do with these rooms yet.

If they would need to do anything with them,
Meredith reflected. After this weekend, they weren’t likely to have any guests, so the rooms would likely—

She heard them a split second too late, the footsteps rushing up behind her. She automatically started to turn—

She never had the chance. Something hard and solid hit her upper back.

She flew forward, knocked straight off her feet. The rolling pin burst out of her hand before she could think to grab it tighter. The ground came rushing up at her. She barely had time to throw her arms out before she crashed into the ground.

She didn’t have time to recover, didn’t have time to move. Suddenly a hand fisted in her hair, yanking hard. Before she could cry out from the pain, from the fear, her head was slammed down into the floor. Every bone in her skull seemed to crash together. Stars exploded before her eyes, blurring her vision.

Dazed, she barely registered something tugging at her hip. No, her pocket...

She understood in a flash. Her keys. They were going for her keys.

Fighting the cloud of pain fogging her brain, she lashed out, kicking her legs, thrashing from side to side. Sucking in a breath, she threw her mouth open and yelled as loud as she could.

Even to her ears it sounded weak, a low moan instead of the scream she wanted—needed—to release.

Panicked, terrified, determined to fight them off, it took her a moment to realize the hands were no longer at her side. She couldn’t feel anyone’s presence nearby.

They were gone.

“Meredith?”

The voice came from farther down the hall ahead of her.
Tom,
she recognized, relief flooding through her.

“Meredith!”

Moments later she felt a hand on her shoulder. She instinctively flinched, until the gentleness of the touch registered.

“Hey,” he said, his voice again a balm on her nerves.

She slowly rolled onto her side, trying to ignore the throbbing in her head. She placed her hand on the floor to push herself up to an upright position.

“Easy,” he said, reaching out to help her sit up. She looked up to find him kneeling beside her. “What happened?”

“Someone knocked me down,” she said, wincing at both the pain and the memory. “They hit me, slammed my head into the floor...” She swallowed, the memories rushing back.

It was all painfully familiar. The feeling of being pushed, of being struck, of someone on top of her, of her head being knocked into the floor—

The back of her eyes began to burn. She immediately closed them and lowered her head, refusing to let the tears come, to give into the emotion, to let Tom see.

He swore. “You could have been killed.”

Every instinct she had automatically rejected the idea. “No,” she said faintly. She thought back to what had happened. “I don’t think they were trying to kill me. I felt them fumbling for my pockets. They were trying to take my keys.”

“And they damn well could have killed you to get them.”

His voice was tight with anger, though not toward her, she knew. She was familiar with that sound.

She felt a finger touch lightly under her chin, prompting her to raise her head. She didn’t resist. The finger disappeared. Then, so softly she didn’t realize it at first, his hands were sliding against her cheeks, cradling her face.

“Look at me,” he ordered, the tone soft but firm. She raised her eyes to obey.

And found herself looking straight into his.

The breath caught in her throat. She peered, helplessly, into his eyes, into his face, until everything else in the world seemed to fade away. There was nothing but the man in front of her, looking back at her. The tightness that had been gripping her body gradually eased, her racing heartbeat slowing to a steady, even throb.

He really did have the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. It seemed as though she could get lost in them forever, drifting in a sea of deep, bottomless blue. Yet it was more than the color than pulled her in. It was the kindness she saw in them, the empathy, the humanity. In the back of her mind she recognized that she’d never seen such a look in Brad’s eyes. Not for her, not for anything. Because he hadn’t been a good man. And Tom Campbell was, deep in his core. She felt the unmistakable truth of it in hers.