The Second Lie (23 page)

Old news. History. Long before Sam was born.

"Who told you?"

"Pierce."

That made no sense.

She and Pierce knew about the attack. Their parents had been so obsessed with their children's safety that they felt the need to instill fear in them in order to keep them safe.

But she and Pierce didn't speak about the rape. Ever. Their mother was afraid of her own shadow--she didn't need anyone reminding her why.

Yep. Lucy was really drunk now. She asked if someone was "unpoopular." The line was Sam's personal favorite.

"He told me how your father died."

"I told you how my father died," she said, her attention still on the television set. Or at least she pretended it was. "He was killed in the line of duty."

"Attacking a man who was horsing around with his daughter in his front yard."

"It was after dark. The girl screamed."

"And your father jumped the man without telling them he was a cop."

"He had on his uniform."

"Like you said, it was dark. And he jumped the guy from behind."

"Pierce gave you the long version."

Her brother was really starting to piss her off.

"Did he tell you how the mother saw it all? How she called the police, and that the county tried to use the recording of the 9-1-1 call to avoid paying my mother the money allotted to widows of officers killed in the line of duty since he hadn't followed procedure?"

"No."

"But then he didn't need to, did he? You guys weren't talking about money. My brother was enlisting your help in getting me to drop this 'meth thing.'" She mocked Pierce's voice.

Flipping the television off, Sam threw down the remote and turned to the man who alternately invigorated and infuriated her. "Let's get one thing straight, Kyle. I'm a good cop, following up on a hunch. I'm not off on some misguided mission.

"And for the record, I don't think my father was, either. He heard a scream and saw a potential attack. Adrenaline pumping, he made the decision to act first and ask questions later. The same decision I would have made. If that man really had been attacking that girl, her neck could have snapped in the time it took for my father to announce himself.

"Any cop involved in any case gets caught up in it to some extent," she continued, because Kyle seemed to be giving her words serious consideration and she so badly wanted him to understand. "The art of good police work is to be all in, and remain outside at the same time. To get inside the minds of those who break the law in order to predict their moves so that you can get a step ahead of them and stop them, without becoming one of them. Take that night my father died. Had he pulled his gun and shot the man on the spot, without announcing himself or giving the guy a chance to put his hands up, he'd have become a criminal. He'd have saved the girl, though. Instead, he risked his life to save her in the way he thought best after assessing the situation."

"Your father made a mistake that cost him his life, Sam. And it cost you and Pierce your father. Your mother her husband. You think like him, by your own admission. So how do you know you aren't making the same mistake now?"

And she'd actually thought he might understand? But she was mostly angry at herself for needing something from Kyle he wasn't able to give her. "I'm guessing Pierce called you this afternoon, after I was there for lunch and wouldn't give him a chance to harass me."

"No. I haven't spoken with your brother since he was out to play darts Saturday night."

Saturday night. She'd seen Pierce twice since then. Today and Sunday, when she'd joined her brother and mother for dinner.

As she did every single Sunday she wasn't working.

Pierce hadn't mentioned visiting Kyle either time. But then Pierce had had a friend over for dinner the day before. A male friend. Their mother had been comfortable with the guy, joking with him, as if she'd been around him a lot.

Sam had never seen the man before in her life, but she'd liked him.

She'd wanted to ask her brother if he and Paul were more than friends. But hadn't.

If she'd opened that door, he'd have felt entitled to interrogate her in return.

"I get that you and Pierce hate what I do for a living," she said now, using every ounce of self-control she had to keep her voice level. Calm. "Personally, I think the better cop I am, the more you guys hate it. I even get why. My job is sometimes dangerous. And I'm a woman. I know that you both think you're looking out for my own good. But have either one of you ever looked at me? Really seen
me,
the person I am, not the person you want me to be? Being a cop makes me happy, Kyle. It fulfills me. Why can't you guys just accept that and love me for who I am?"

"You're a cop and I think it's fairly obvious that I love you."

His words silenced her. Instantly.

Kyle hadn't spoken of his feelings since the day he'd come to tell her he was marrying a girl who'd been four years behind them in school. A girl he'd only dated for a few months. A girl too eager to get out from under her father's control and who thought farm life seemed like a hoot.

Amy Wilson hadn't been in love with Kyle, but then, Sam had never believed that Kyle loved her, either, though he'd tried to convince himself he did. Kyle had been in love with the fantasy life he'd imagined for himself. A wife working side by side with him on the farm, day in and day out. Delivering animals and birthing babies, cooking and cleaning and helping bring in the crops.

With his mother dying so young, Kyle had never had a woman around. He'd built a fantasy of the ideal farm wife and thought Amy could fulfill it.

But once Amy had gotten a taste of real farm life, she'd decided it wasn't what she wanted at all. She'd only lasted a few months.

Soon after the divorce, when Sam had ended up back in Kyle's bed, they'd made love--but he'd never spoken of love.

And not in the thirteen years they'd been sleeping together since then, either.

"I love you, too, Kyle. You know that." She should be holding him. Feeling his arms around her.

"James and Millie stopped by this afternoon," he said. "They said you'd been to see them."

"We have to find out who dumped those chemicals on your land."

"They seem to think I'm in some kind of trouble."

"I never said anything like that."

"Maybe not, but the questions you asked led them to conclude I'm a suspect, not a victim."

She'd asked the questions she'd had to ask.

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing. But I'm not done looking. Until we find out who's dumping the waste, and perhaps stole chemicals from you, it's an open case, Kyle. I've been granted a subpoena to look at your bank records."

Kyle stood, an imposing figure in her relatively small living room. "Just in case you decide I'm a bad guy, I'm lawyering up. If you have any further questions, call David Abrams."

He wasn't smiling. He didn't trust her any more than she trusted him. The truth was looking straight at her from the eyes of the only man she'd ever loved.

But she heard his voice again, telling her that he loved her.

"I know your lawyer, Kyle. As a matter of fact, I spoke with him a couple of weeks ago."

She couldn't let it end like this. He'd just admitted, after thirteen years of silence on the subject, that he loved her. And they'd get through this case. One way or the other, no matter what, she'd do what she could to protect him.

She wanted to tell him that, but knew he'd just throw the words back at her. He wouldn't believe her.

"Susan's pregnant again," she said instead, grasping for a more neutral topic

"I know."

Kyle had always wanted a house full of kids. Sam hadn't wanted any--not while she was working the streets. She'd never have been able to make the tough decisions if she knew she had babies at home who needed her.

"Are you envious?" she asked.

"You want the truth, Sam?" His gaze bored holes into her heart, and she could see the tension he barely held in check. "I ran into David early Wednesday morning at the grocery store a few weeks ago. He was there getting diapers after having been up all night with a sick toddler. He'd spent the past thirty-six hours at home tending to the boy. And had to be in court at eight. He looked like hell. And I'd have given my right arm to be him."

Alarm bells rang in Sam's brain. A Wednesday morning a few weeks ago...

"Was that the first? You always stock up on the first of the month...."

"Yeah," Kyle said. "Clara was there early, running a test on Grandpa."

She'd followed Maggie Winston to David's house on Tuesday, August 31. The day David was at home with his son. But when she'd asked him about the girl on Thursday, the second, he'd said he'd never heard of her.

Of course, she could have her dates wrong.

But she didn't think so.

20

"C
ome here."

She was beautiful today. More so than ever before. Makeup improved some women. On her it had only messed with perfection.

Mac watched as Maggie came toward him.

Sweet, angelic perfection.

"What?" Her smile lacked coyness, artifice. It lacked sexual invitation. But her eyes gazed at him with such adoration that, God help him, he felt an answering surge of affection deep within him.

"I just wanted to have you near for a moment," he told her. "To feel your energy close to mine. Do you believe in personal energy?"

Eyes wide, she nodded.

"Yours is filled with love," he told her. "With all of the love and care you give to the kids you deliver those packages to."

She nodded again.

"You know they couldn't get the medication any other way."

"Just like Jeanine couldn't."

"And as long as you don't ever open the bag, don't ever see what's inside, you can always honestly say that you don't know what's there."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to open the bag so the medication isn't contaminated."

"That, too. But...we're taking risks, doing this."

"I know."

"I just want to make certain that you--and the others--are protected."

"I know. But I'd take the risk, Mac." Her eyes teared and he longed to pull her onto his lap. And keep her there, secure. "The last month Jeanine was alive...you should have seen her. The sounds she made when the pain got so bad...I still hear them sometimes. Mostly in the middle of the night."

He needed to be there for her. In the middle of the night.

But he couldn't be. It wasn't their journey.

"You hurt for all the sick kids whose parents can't afford to help them."

"Yeah. It could be me, too, you know. My mom doesn't have insurance for us, either."

"I can feel your hurt, Maggie. And your worry. It makes me want to help you not hurt so much."

She just stared. And he knew he had to be careful. So very careful. Many great men had fallen because of lust. And maybe even because of love. In the wrong time and the wrong place.

And sometimes, men were made great by the love of an angel.

"Would you like that? If I helped you not hurt so much?"

"Yes." Her voice was raspy now. As if her throat was as dry as she made his.

Another inch and his arm would brush her breast. That's all he needed. Just a hint of intimacy between them. To comfort him in the dark of night. And in another woman's arms.

Because he wasn't going to take from his angel. He wasn't going to hurt her. Or anyone else. He was a good man. Born to help others.

He moved the inch. Heard her intake of breath. She'd felt him.

And hadn't retreated.

The harvest of the prototype took two days to bring in because Kyle picked it by hand.

He worked alone, by choice, and at one point it occurred to him that in his own way he was as driven as Sam. Not wanting to go there, he turned his thoughts to the shipping arrangements he'd made to see his product safely to his ethanol-producing partner.

When the crop was processed, he would know, finally, if he really was capable of growing a corn that could produce twice the starch per kernel. He'd been told to expect a report within a month of shipping.

After all the years of planning and attempts at implementation, one more month should seem like no time at all. Instead, it loomed longer than the years that had preceded it.

He was losing Sam again. Who'd have thought it could possibly hurt more the second time around?

And he lay awake at night planning what he'd do if he was arrested. James and Millie would stay with Grandpa. And surely he could be out on bail almost immediately. Assuming he could use the farm for collateral.

If not, as much as he hated to, he'd ask Bob Branson for help.

He'd have to come up with money to pay David Abrams, too.

And thoughts of money inevitably led to the knowledge that Sam had requested access to his bank records. For all he knew, she already had them.

And depending on how far back she went...

He wrestled with the idea of coming clean. He'd learned his lesson. Keeping secrets from Sam didn't pay in the long run. But she'd also shown him, unequivocally, that he couldn't trust her to trust him. If there was a chance that she didn't have to know the rest--at least while she was investigating him for methamphetamine involvement--he had to take that chance. The warrant allowing her access to the bank records had been open-ended. But Sam was really only interested in the past six months. If that was as far as she looked, he'd be okay...

This was generally where Kyle got out of bed and put an end to all thought with a bottle of whiskey at the kitchen table.

In spite of the lack of restful sleep, he stayed busy the next week. Tuesday he finished cleaning and organizing the storage barn. He worked with Rad every morning. And every afternoon he rode Lillie along the entire perimeter of his property. It took a while. Didn't matter. The land was his. He wasn't going to have its health, or his life, put in jeopardy by any drug-dealing jackass.

On Wednesday, he rode toward the site of the fire with Sam on his mind. Maybe he should've told her the rest about Sherry Mahon. But what good would it have done? It would only hurt her more. Make her doubt him more.