Whispers (43 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Whispers
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Outside the fog was thick and damp, brushing against his collar and flattening his hair. Kane barely noticed as he slid behind the wheel of his Jeep, flipped on the ignition and put the rig into gear. Tonight, come hell or high water, he was going to get the truth.
 
 
Headlights cut through the night, two beams that refracted in the rolling fog as a car—no, some type of SUV pulled into the circular drive. As Paige peered through the blinds, she felt a premonition of bad things to come. No one visited her and her father at night. No, this wasn't going to be good. She licked her lips nervously as she spied a man climb from behind the wheel. As he opened the door of the rig, the interior light switched on. Paige's heart clutched as she recognized Kane Moran. His features were blurry in the gloom, but she recognized Kane Moran just the same. Damn, the guy was a pain in the rear, as sticky as gum on a shoe on a hot day.
She didn't wait for him to ring the bell, but opened the door as he climbed the two steps to the deck that circled this house set on the cliffs, the same house she'd lived in all her life. “What are you doing here?” she asked and slipped onto the front porch so that her father wouldn't hear the conversation.
“I need to see your father.”
“He's resting,” she said quickly. “He's an invalid. He goes to bed early.”
“He's been ducking me.”
“Do you blame him?” Jesus, the guy wasn't taking a hint and Paige was nervous. She glanced over her shoulder to the windows of the den where her father had been watching television. “You're dredging up a lot of pain for him. I would think you would have the decency to let everything be.”
“I just want the truth.”
“So you can profit from it,” she said, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “Don't try to elevate this from anything more than what it is, one person making money off another person's tragedy.”
“You think that's what I'm doing?” One side of his mouth lifted into a sexy smile, the same kind of grin she remembered from her youth, before she'd lost twenty pounds, before the braces had come off, before she'd learned how to color her hair and have it layered into a flattering style, before she'd discovered the magic of makeup. It was the same knowing grin that Weston's friends had bestowed upon her as they'd teased her so mercilessly.
“I know what you're doing.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Me?” she asked, breaking out into a nervous sweat. “Nothing.”
“Then let me see Neal. Hear what he has to say.”
“No, not now, you'll only upset him.”
“Would he prefer to be served with a summons?” Kane asked, his smile disappearing, the glint in his eyes hard determination. “Because that's my next step. I think I have enough evidence to prove that your brother was murdered and that it was done by someone who knew him. I'd think you, and your father, would want that information. I'm sure the police will. There's no statute of limitations on murder, you know, and if you'll recall, three men died that summer. Three young men. Harley was just one of them. I think they're all connected and the most common thread is that they all worked for dear old dad. Now either I talk to him right here, right now, or I show the DA what I've found and Neal can talk to a homicide detective.”
“He already has, dozens of times.” She sounded forceful, but her palms were damp and it was all she could do not to rub them down the front of her khakis.
“Well, that was just a warm-up for the main event,” Kane said and, from the corner of her eye, she saw the blinds of the den move, fingertips pushing the slats down, old eyes behind glasses peering through. Oh, God, it was all unraveling.
“Just go home and leave us alone.”
“Can't do it.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. She and Moran turned toward the window. Her father drew the blinds open and waved them both inside. Paige's heart dropped like a stone. She shook her head but Neal scowled and motioned more violently.
“Looks like he wants to chat,” Kane observed and walked past her toward the door. She grabbed hold of his arm.
“I don't know what you found, but I think I should talk with you first.”
“Something you want to get off your chest?”
She licked her lips. Her head was pounding with the truth. Images of the night Harley had died. Brutal pictures. Dark memories. It had been so dark aside from the lights of the marina. The sailboat had been rocking on its moorings, its masts jutting upward, lights glowing from inside. In the distance Paige heard a party going on and some music drifting over the water. There were people on the deck of the sailboat, a tall man she recognized as Harley and a woman with blond hair and something in her hand. A weapon.
Paige shivered now. Even though she'd been far away and it had been dark, Paige remembered how the woman had struck Harley from behind. Fiercely. Angrily. Hard enough that the sound, the sickening crush of bones had echoed over the water. Paige, standing in the shadows had gasped and dropped her gun, the gun she'd intended to use to scare Harley into wising up, into realizing that Kendall was the woman he loved, but now . . . now some blond—Kendall?—was in a rage, intent on bashing Harley's face in. Paige had dropped her mother's gun. It had slid across the deck and into the water with a loud plop. Paige didn't wait to be discovered. She'd turned and run as fast as her legs could carry her to her bike, hidden between the parked cars. And then she pedaled away as fast as she could before Kendall saw her, before Kendall, sweet, beautiful Kendall had realized that Paige had witnessed her crime.
You should have stayed. You should have called for help. You should have done something to save your brother's life, even if it meant incriminating the only girl who had treated you with any grain of dignity, but instead you ran, refusing to let anyone see you, leaving the gun, leaving Harley to drown. There was a chance you could have saved him. He didn't die from the blow, but because he drowned and you knew how to swim, had been on the swim team . . .
Guilt tore through her and she realized that she was crying, tears drizzling down her cheeks as Kane Moran stared at her. It was over. All the lies were at last being uncovered.
“Yeah,” she finally said, swiping at her face with the back of her hand. There was no reason to try and protect Kendall any longer. And some of Paige's infatuation with her friend had worn thin over the years . . . how could Kendall have ever married Weston? Harley had been weak, but Weston . . . he was just plain cruel. “Maybe you're right,” she admitted. “But there are some things I want to tell you without my father hearing.” She opened the door and led him into the den where her father was about to learn that his daughter-in-law, the mother of his grandchild, had killed his son.
She walked him into the den where her father sat in his motorized wheelchair. He looked Kane up one side and down the other, then motioned Paige to the bar. “Get our guest something to drink.”
“I'm fine,” Kane said, shaking his head.
“Well, I'm not. I'll have a scotch and soda”
Paige hesitated. “But the doctor said—”
“To hell with that old sawbones. Get me a drink. What more damage can it do? Put me in a damned wheelchair?” he demanded. Paige knew there was no talking to him. He was in one of his moods. Fine. Then she'd pour him a double—no, maybe a triple. He didn't seem to mind as she handed him the glass and he took a long swallow. “Now why the hell are you here? For that damned book you're writing.”
“That's the main reason.”
“So tell me, who killed my son?”
“I'm still working on that.” Kane glanced at Paige and she looked pointedly at the television where an old rerun of a comedy her father had enjoyed years ago was playing. “I thought you two could help me.”
“Bah. I've already said what I had to say a long time ago. You think my story has changed?”
“No, but I thought you might shed some light on who would want him killed.” Kane had a theory, one that he'd been working on. He knew that Tessa had hit Harley over the head, that she in essence had delivered the blow that had taken his life, but there were still some pieces to the puzzle that were missing. The gun in the water didn't make sense. Harley drowned, the blow to his head hard, but not severe enough to have necessarily caused him to black out. So why hadn't he tried to save himself?
“Who?”
“That's what I'm asking you.”
Paige could barely breathe. This was getting too close.
“He had women trouble. Worse than Weston did. Couldn't choose between Claire Holland and Kendall Forsythe, who's now Weston's wife.” He snorted as if there were no choice involved. Kane visibly bristled, but Neal didn't seem to notice. “Kendall came from a good family, loved that boy, she did, but he was all twisted up over the Holland girl, the middle one. She had him twisted around her finger so bad that Harley thought he was going to marry her.” He snorted, then tossed back his drink. “If you ask me, she probably did it. Harley must've called off the engagement . . . and she freaked out.”
All the muscles in Kane's shoulders bunched. His smile had long ago disappeared. “I don't think so. According to Claire,
she
broke off the engagement.”
“Yeah, right.” He acted as if no one would be that stupid. “I always told the police she was the one. Harley didn't just fall over the side of the boat and hit his head and drown.”
“Not like Jack Songbird?” Kane threw out.
“What're you saying, that the same person killed them both?”
“And Hunter Riley.”
“For the love of Christ, you
are
writing fiction, aren't you?”
“All I want to know is who would most benefit from Harley's death.”
Paige swallowed hard as her father glared at Kane over the rim of his glass. “Well, that's pretty simple to figure out, isn't it? But believe me, Weston didn't kill his brother.”
Kane's eyes narrowed and Paige saw a spark in his eyes. As if he'd been waiting for Neal to say just those words. “Why didn't he?”
“Because he was far away from there. Not even in town.”
“You're certain?”
There was a moment's hesitation and in that split second Paige knew her father was lying. Had been for sixteen years. Just as she had been. “I said he was with me, didn't I?”
“For most of the night. Some of the rest he was with Kendall, but there are still some holes.”
Kendall? Had she and Weston lied to protect each other?
That didn't make any sense.
“You're fishin', Moran. Without any bait.” The old man laughed as if he'd pulled one over on Moran, but Paige knew differently and she realized that tonight, she'd have to tell the truth. She'd borne the lies long enough. Been loyal to Kendall for all the wrong reasons. She'd tried to protect the only friend she'd thought she'd had and to what end? It was all unraveling anyway and Weston was losing it. It was only a matter of time before he would completely snap and then everyone, she herself and Kendall included would be in danger.
 
 
“I don't like it . . .” Claire rubbed her arms and stared into the damp, foggy night. Sean had been missing for four hours, not long enough to file a missing person's report but enough hours had passed to move her from worried, past edgy, and into frantic. For the first time since he'd first brought it up, she wished she'd broken down and bought him a cell phone or a pager so that there was some way to communicate with him. Already she'd waited, then gone looking and now, like it or not, she reached for the telephone and dialed Kane on his cell.
He picked up on the second ring. “Moran.”
She sagged against the edge of the kitchen counter. Just the sound of his voice was steadying, yet made her want to cry. “It's Claire.” Her voice caught.
“You okay?”
“No . . . not really. It's Sean. He's missing.”
A swift intake of breath. “How long?”
“Over four hours.”
“Where'd he go?”
“I don't know. We had an argument and . . . and . . .”
Pull yourself together, Claire!
“And he took off. I thought he'd go somewhere and cool off, you know, once he'd sorted things out, he'd be back. That's the way it usually works.”
But nothing's been usual since you came back to Oregon.
She glanced out the window, couldn't see past the murky fog.
“What was the argument about?”
She hesitated. Gathered herself. “I told him the truth about you. That you're his father.”
“And I take it he wasn't thrilled at the prospect.”

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