Текст книги "Infinite Possibilities"
Автор книги: Lisa Renee Jones
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
There was movement and I couldn’t tell what happened and then I heard my father’s harsh whisper, No. My God, woman. How can you think that? There is no other woman. It’s not safe for you and Lara. I’m just protecting you. Just know I’m protecting you.
What does that even mean? my mother had screamed. What does that mean?
The less you know the better.
A wave of sickness overcomes me and I crawl to the toilet, certain I’m going to be ill. A knock on the door sounds. “Amy? Are you okay?”
Surprisingly, I am. Okay, I’m not. I get sick. The door jerks open. “Holy hell,” Liam murmurs, squatting beside me.
“Go away. Go away, Liam.”
“You keep saying that and I keep giving you the same answer. Not a chance.” He strokes my hair from my face and hands me a towel. “Do you want some more Ginger Ale?”
My parched throat screams in reply. “Yes. Yes, please.”
“I’ll be right back.” He disappears and I sink to the floor and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t black out. My lips curve through the nausea. I didn’t black out.
Liam curses and sets the drink on the counter, squatting down to pick me up. “No,” I object. “I need to stay here until the sickness passes.”
He looks absolutely appalled and I touch his cheek. “I’m okay.” I look at the glass on the counter. “Ginger ale?”
“Right. Yes.” He hands it to me and I sip and then gulp.
He grabs the glass. “Easy. You’re going to make yourself sick again.”
I start to lay back again and Liam grabs a huge, fluffy towel and shoves it under me just in time for it to absorb my body. Then to my shock, he lays another towel down beside me and flattens on his back as well. “What are we looking at?” he asks, staring at the ceiling.
I surprise myself by managing a laugh. “You do have a very nice ceiling.”
He takes my hand and turns his head to look at me. “Any better?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m improving.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“It’s just stress.”
“We didn’t use a condom.”
“I took a test and it was negative.”
“When?”
I sit up. “A few weeks ago.”
He moves to squat in front of me, his hands on my knees. “I’m going to have a doctor come over and see you.”
“No. No more people involved with me or us, Liam. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“I’ll take precautions.”
“We’re gambling with someone’s life by involving them in mine.”
“We’re not gambling with your life and potentially our unborn child’s.”
Our unborn child’s. Unbidden, tears well in my eyes and I look away, struggling with the idea that I am about to bring a baby into this hell. His finger slides under my chin and he forces my gaze to his, using his thumb to stroke away a tear. “Is the idea of having my child that horrific?”
I grab his hand. “No. That’s not it. You...we...I...” I squeeze my eyes shut. “We...”
“Have a lot to figure out,” he supplies. “I know. And we will, but let’s start with making sure you’re healthy. Can you make it to the bed?”
“I’m fine now. Whatever it was, it’s over.” He helps me to my feet and then picks me up.
“I can walk.”
“So can I.” I grimace at the remark as he sets me on the bed and says, “You need to rest.”
“I don’t want to rest. I want my computer back from the hotel room with all of my research on it.”
“Tellar’s man got your things from the room. They should be here this afternoon.”
Relief washes over me. “Oh thank goodness. I put weeks into that work.”
“I have stacks of research we did as well. It’s all yours to look at. I’ll show it all to you and we’ll talk all of this out. We’ll get a plan together. After,” he adds, stroking hair from my brow and flattens his hand on my cheek, “the doctor comes and checks you out.”
I grab his hand, and I can’t keep the quaver from my voice. “Everyone close to me dies, Liam. I can’t have a child and lose it.”
“Don’t do this to yourself. We’re going to get through this. Nothing is going to happen to you or the baby. You have my word.”
There is a fierceness to the way he delivers his promise, an absoluteness, and I wonder if he’s trying to convince me or himself, or maybe both of us. He leans in and kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin. My fingers wrap around his wrist a little too tightly I suspect, but I can’t seem to help it. I have this sense he might be gone at any moment.
He molds me close, flattening his hand in the center of my back, burying his face in my neck and I know he feels what I do. He is afraid I will soon be gone. He draws in a breath, inhaling my scent I think, and I do the same to him. I drink in that earthly, raw male scent of him, feeding off of it like it, he, is my lifeline, and in that moment, we are those two lost souls I’ve thought us to be on many occasions, someone so right for each other and so devastatingly bad at the same time.
Reluctantly, it seems, he leans back and says, “I’m calling for the doctor.”
I nod. “Yes. Okay.”
He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and walks to the window. My attention is riveted on him, this man who could very well be the father of my child. I study him, his strong profile, the way he moves with grace and confidence, the way he makes everything seem easy. Except us. We are not easy any more than we are the calm water of the Hudson River just beyond the windows. We are caught in the hurricane of turbulence, passion, and a past I can’t even remember.
Chapter Nine
In less than an hour from the time Liam places the call, Dr. Murphy, an attractive forty-something woman, has arrived, and according to Liam, she makes a living catering to the rich and famous. Translation, she gets paid the big bucks for keeping her mouth shut. I pray the opposite doesn’t apply as well.
She and I take a seat at the window in Liam’s bedroom and I am acutely aware of Liam hovering nearby. I’m also aware of Dr. Murphy’s perfectly fitted navy blue suit, and her red hair braided at her nape, while I am a blonde, frizzy, just showered mess, who managed a few dabs of makeup from the stash I had in my backpack that made it to New York with me. I am also braless, thanks to Liam’s overzealous dagger action, and dressed in an oversized T-shirt, tennis shoes, and Liam’s sweats that I’ve had to pin up.
Dr. Murphy admires the water for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this view.” Her lips curve. “Alex and I went way back. I actually live next door but there is something about the view from his room.”
“Oh,” I say, and my mind can go all kinds of places with that one.
“Oh,” she repeats, looking amused. “And yes to whatever you are thinking. I knew Alex quite well.” She pulls a blood pressure machine from her bag. “Let’s start with some basic vitals, shall we?”
She pumps the cuff up. Liam paces behind us. Back and forth. Back and forth. Dr. Murphy unclamps my arm. “Blood pressure is good.” She stands to eye Liam. “But mine won’t be if you keep pacing behind me.” She points to the door. “Out.”
“I’m staying,” he insists.
She crosses her arms over her chest and gives him a steely stare that impressively rivals the one he returns. “You leave,” she warns, “or I leave.”
Liam, who has changed into jeans and a teal blue pullover that matches his now stormy eyes, gives her a fierce look. “I don’t like being strong-armed, Dr. Murphy.”
She doesn’t even try to deny that’s exactly what she’s doing. “You don’t have to like it. I’m the doctor and I insist all of my patients have privacy.”
Liam eyes me and I quickly tell him, “I’m perfectly fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but says, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Once we’re alone, the doctor pulls out her stethoscope and checks my heart, then listens to my lungs and takes my temperature. “Liam tells me you’re having blackouts.”
“For six years off and on. There are triggers I’m aware of and acupuncture helps.”
“Describe the blackouts.”
“It’s more flashbacks to a terrible time in my life. I see spots and get pressure in my head and then everything just goes black.”
“How often?”
“I went years without any at all, but now...a couple a day.”
She whistles. “That’s not good, especially if you think you’re pregnant. It limits our testing abilities and medications.”
“I’ve had MRIs and CAT scans. They showed nothing.”
“How long ago?”
“Years.”
“That’s too long ago.” She purses her lips. “You said they went away and came back?”
“Yes. A stress trigger set me off again. Really. I know what is wrong. I just...I need to know if I’m pregnant and if the blackouts can hurt the baby.”
“What was the diagnosis?”
“I don’t know. The doctors just tried to shove drugs down my throat.”
“Did you try medications?”
“No, and I won’t.”
“Why?”
Because I can’t risk my thinking process being impaired, but instead I say, “I just won’t.”
She reaches in her bag and pulls out a blood drawing kit. “Let’s take blood and run a full panel, as well as a pregnancy test.”
“I need to know about the baby now.”
Digging in her bag, she produces a little plastic cup and hands it to me. “Fill it and I have a strip test for immediate results. Let me do the blood draw first. It’s Friday and I want to get them to the lab so we have them back on Monday.”
Lab. My name. “No. No test results. No lab.”
“Nothing is done in your name,” she says, reading my worries. “Discretion all the way.”
Reluctantly, I stretch my arm out and she wraps a rubber tube around it. “Have you seen a counselor?” she asks, readying the syringe. “In cases of post traumatic syndrome, which I suspect is what you’re dealing with, talking to someone and dealing with whatever happened to you can be helpful.” She glances at my arm. “Ready?”
I nod and she pokes my vein. “I’ll think about it,” I promise, and it’s not a lie. I plan to talk to whoever I have to, to get at the truth, just not a counselor who could be put in danger with me.
A few minutes later, Dr. Murphy does her strip test.
“Well?” I prod, and I’m actually wringing my hands together, I’m so on edge.
Dr. Murphy doesn’t make me wait. “It’s positive.”
My hands go to the arms of the chair and I clutch the leather in a death grip. I pretty much half-hear everything else she says. Something about the nausea passing in another couple of weeks. She’s going to get me vitamins and she is all for acupuncture and more of that counseling she’d suggested. She’ll call with the blood work. She squeezes my leg. “I live next door. If you need an ear or a friend–”
“Thank you. I...thank you.”
She gives me a worried look and seems to want to say more but thinks better of it, gathering her things and leaving. I stare out at the water without really seeing it. Instead I am back on the porch with my brother as he says, You can’t handle the truth. If tonight told me anything, it’s that. I think of the fight between my parents I’d overheard. Then the fight between my mother and a stranger I’d overhead. And then, the man in the sedan. There were things happening right before my eyes and I hadn’t seen them. Or I’d ignored them. And now they are dead and I can’t bring them back. This baby will be here before I blink and this danger can’t still exist when it does. Doing nothing is what I’ve done for six years. I can’t do nothing now. And I can’t stay in the very place where my handler might have died warning me to leave.
I dart to my feet and sprint across the room toward the door, rushing down the stairs and pausing in the foyer at the sound of Liam and Dr. Murphy murmuring words I cannot hear at the bottom level. Emotions are racing through me like an electric charge and I can’t stand still. I pass through the archway and enter the living area and sit down on the arm of a chair, the water to my back. I stand back up. I sit down.
Liam appears under the arches and all that emotion in me balls in my chest at the sight he makes, tall and commanding, with an easy grace and power that he wears like a second skin. This is the father of my child.
I rush toward him and grab his arms, his hard muscles flexing beneath my palm. “I was told to leave New York. We have to leave New York. We have to go anywhere but here. And then I need answers. I have to make this end. I have to.”
“We, Amy. You aren’t alone anymore, and who told you to leave, Amy?”
“The same person who saved my life six years ago.”
“Which is who?”
“I don’t know.”
His lips tighten. “Come sit down and talk to me.” He hauls me with him to the front of the chair and sits me down, squatting down in front of me. “Tell me about this stranger and why you trust this person.”
I don’t hesitate. We both have something to lose now and I’m done holding back. “I was in the hospital when I got a call. He, whoever he was, told me that I would die too if I didn’t leave right then and meet him in the back of the hospital.”
“So you did?”
“I was eighteen and in shock.”
“I know, baby. This isn’t me judging you. Quite the opposite. And Tellar didn’t know you were in the house when your family died when he said what he did.”
“I knew they’d been murdered.” My voice trembles. I think it’s more than my voice. I think I’m trembling all over.
“How? How did you know?”
“There were weird things going on.”
“What weird things?”
“I thought one or both of my parents were having affairs. And then my brother had hinted at some kind of trouble but he told me I couldn’t handle knowing the details.”
“When was that?”
“The week of the fire.”
He leans back on his heels. “So you met this stranger in the parking lot and then what?”
“He gave me money, passports, and written instructions. He was with me all of five minutes and then he put me in a cab by myself and I never saw him again.”
“Can you identify him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. He wore a hoodie and it was dark in the cab.”
“What kind of instructions did he give you?”
“I stayed at a hotel in Austin for a few days, until I received a delivery with an airline ticket and my new identity.”
“And that identity was Amy Bensen?”
“No. Right before I met you, I’d foolishly decided I was off everyone’s radar and I could try to rebuild a happy life. I’d taken a job at a museum because...well...”
“I know why. Go on.”
I inhale and let it out. “The night I met you, I received a note that said I’d gotten myself noticed and that I had to run again.”
“How do you know it’s him who contacted you again?”
“Everything was handled exactly like the first time. And...”
“And what?”
I hesitate a moment, but I’m carrying his child. I’m trusting my instincts. “The man showed me a tattoo and told me any communication would also have the exact same image.”
“And the note did?”
“The one in New York that told me to go to Denver did, yes, but I had communication after that and it was missing. I was also promised money for support that never came. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think he’s dead, Liam. He has to be dead.”
He scrubs a hand down his face. “I need to see all of the notes.”
“They’re in my things in the motel. I normally keep them with me, but at the diner I had no place to lock things up and it made me nervous.”
He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Yeah, Tellar? What’s the ETA on Amy’s things picked up from the motel?” He listens a moment. “I need them now. There’s some stuff inside that might hold answers.” He ends the call. “He’s on his way ”
I nod and take his hand. “There are memories coming back to me. If I go back to Texas, I’ll remember.”
“No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
“I am tired of being the hunted, Liam. I want to be the hunter. And damn it, I want to say goodbye to my family.” I choke up. “I didn’t even get to go to the funerals.”
He cups my head. “Not now, baby. Not until it’s safe.”
“I can’t wait any longer to make this end. I can’t have a baby like this. I can’t.”
He blanches. “It’s true then? You’re pregnant?” His voice comes out all smoky and hoarse.
“I thought Dr. Murphy told you.”
“No. Tell me. I want to hear it from you.”
“Yes. I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant and that’s why I–”
He kisses me, a touch of lips to lips, his mouth lingering on mine, emotions rolling off of him, crashing into me and my fingers curl in his shirt, before, reluctantly it seems, he presses his forehead to mine. “You’re having my baby.”
My fingers curl on his cheek. “Yes. Yes. I’m having your baby.”
His hand goes to mine and he holds it a moment, and I can almost feel a shift in him, a subtle tension that crawls between us, building and building. “Liam?” I question, pushing away from him to search his face, catching the storm clouds an instant before he releases my hand and stands up.
For a moment, he towers over me, devastatingly male, even more devastatingly tormented, and I have to assume the torment is over my being pregnant.
He rubs the back of his neck and then turns away, stalking to the window, and when he gives me his back, it’s like he slams a door, shutting me out. Shell-shocked, I stand up, and I feel like the deer in headlights he once accused me of being, uncertain where to go or what to do. What to say. “You’re right,” he says, facing me.
“Right?” My question comes out cracked, as broken as I will be if he rejects the child I’d thought he’d embrace.
“You want out of New York. You got it. We’re leaving. We’re going someplace far away from here and disappearing.”
“What?” I gape. “No. Being invisible while we hunt for my hunter, that works. Disappearing isn’t a solution.”
“You’re going as far underground as I can get you.”
“Liam,” I plead, and I’m in front of him by the time his name leaves my lips, my hand flattening on his chest. “Let’s talk about this.”
“We’ll talk when you’re underground.”
“I get why that’s your first reaction to me being pregnant but it’s not the answer. We can’t have a child that we hide away like some sort of animal.” And that’s what he wants. I see it in his eyes. “I won’t let that happen.”
“You having the baby and being safe doing it is what’s most important right now.”
“Ending this before our child becomes a target is what’s most important. I want this to end.”
“I’ll end this, Amy. You and our child will be off someplace safe when I do.”
“You mean you’ll take over my life rather than helping me get control of it again myself.”
The doorbell rings. He growls low in his throat, his hands coming down on my shoulders as he turns me and presses my back to the pillar. “You are my woman, carrying my child. This isn’t up for negotiations. We’re doing it my way.” He turns and stalks across the room.
Chapter Ten
Momentarily stunned, I stare after him. His way? Is he serious? He claims that we are in this thing together and then issues a command like that one? This isn’t even about what the right decision is. I really don’t know right or wrong at this point, except in this case. Liam dictating instead of talking is absolutely wrong and the kiss of death for our relationship if we don’t deal with it, and now.
I storm through the living room, determined to stop him from answering the door, but I’m too late. By the time I make it to the foyer, I can hear both Tellar and Derek talking to him. Balling my fists by my sides, I remind myself that I both want and need my suitcase that Tellar is delivering, but I do not know why Derek is required to deliver it.
Knowing I will spout out the many things blistering on my tongue and meant for Liam alone in front of company if I keep standing here, I turn on my heel and head back to the living area. The rumble of Liam’s deep, authoritative voice behind me vibrates in my body and for once it’s not soothing. I am far too tempted to say my piece regardless of who hears.
Saving everyone from a scene, at least for the moment, I detour to the kitchen. Somehow, that leads me to stare into Liam’s pathetically empty fridge. He was right. The kitchen isn’t well stocked and my emotional upheaval seems to be translating to hunger.
I wait a few expectant moments and when the three men don’t appear, my hunt for food has me opening what turns out to be the pantry. I find a bag of Oreo cookies that support Liam’s earlier confessed love of sugar-laden treats. I grab them, fill a glass with milk, which is surprisingly within the proper date considering the state of Liam’s fridge, and head to the table. Claiming the spot that puts me facing the island and anyone who enters the kitchen, I proceed to down six cookies and all the milk without so much as a tiny churn of my stomach. Apparently, the baby has a sweet tooth that won’t be good for my health or waistline but I’m happy to get anything in my stomach that stays down.
I’m about to go for another cookie when my hope that Derek and Tellar would leave proves futile. The three men pile into the room and it takes mere seconds for me to have enough testosterone standing in a row in front of the table, staring at me and my cookies, to make my head ready to explode. Most women would welcome these three men for many reasons, however I doubt it would be when they were stuffing their faces with food like I am now.
Avoiding eye contact with Liam, with his best interest in mind, I set my uneaten cookie back in the container. If I see that arrogant “my way is King” attitude in his eyes, my tongue will be whiplash ready. My distraction gets me nowhere fast. I’m back to staring at the three men’s stony faces, or rather two of them, and they at me. Seconds of silence tick by and it’s like no one breathes, and I get the distinct impression they are all waiting on me. Maybe Liam warned them I was a torpedo ready to blow. He was right, but I’ve practiced way too much restraint these past years to have none now.
I wave at the group. “Hi.”
The instant easing of tension of the room is like a rubber band popping. All three men seem to relax, muscles stretching and shifting. Okay, correction again. Two men relax. Liam is unmoving, his stare willing mine to find his, and I refuse.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Derek says, setting down a folder on the table, then claiming the seat at the end of the table, followed by the package of cookies. He lifts my empty glass. “But you didn’t leave me much to wash it down with.”
I study him a moment, his blond hair neatly styled, his customary suit replaced with neatly pressed dark blue jeans and a white polo, and although I get why Liam is invested in me, I’m not certain I’m buying Derek’s reasons for being here.
Liam walks to the fridge, retrieves the milk, moves the glass in front of me and fills it, the sweetness of the act belying his ability to excel as a complete asshole. His eyes meet mine, and the connection, that damn connection, I feel with him, punches me hard in the chest. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“I need more than cookies,” Tellar complains, sitting next to Derek, and cater-cornered to the right of me. “I worked up an appetite hauling all the shopping bags Derek’s sister gave me to supply your closet.” He snatches up a cookie.
“Liam told my sister to shop for you,” Derek explains before I can ask. “She’s an overachiever when it comes to spending money.”
When normally Liam spending money on me would be a concern, it’s the last thing on my mind at the moment. “You shouldn’t involve her. I don’t want her put in danger.”
Derek snorts. “My sister going on a wild shopping spree is just another day of the week. She was the perfect tool to get you what you needed. Believe me, nothing is suspicious and she’s not in danger.”
Liam plops a duffel-style bag on the table in front of me, and I'm surprised by the unfamiliar item I hadn’t noticed until now, my gaze lifts and connects with his. “What is this?” I ask and the pull between us is magnetic, or rather, more of a current dragging me under.
“Your things from your motel room.”
My brows furrow and I glance at Tellar. “Why didn’t you just use my suitcase?”
He makes a face. “Suitcase? There was no suitcase. There was no bag at all.”
“There was a suitcase,” I assure him and concerned about what its absence means, I am on my feet in an instant, digging through the bag to find nothing but a few clothes, toiletries, and that’s it.
“Not what you expected?” Liam asks.
I shake my head and sink back into my chair. “Everything I told you about was in the room. The notes. Weeks and weeks of research into my past. It’s all gone.”
Liam moves the duffel off the table and settles into the chair directly across from me. “We have months of research we’ve done too. We can recreate yours. Maybe we already have.”
“We can’t recreate the messages I told you about.”
Tellar grumbles a curse, scrubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Amy. My man said nothing looked disturbed so he assumed he was the first to get there. We’re tracking the PI’s activity before we came in contact with him. We’re hoping that leads us to answers.”
“I’ll take any answers I can get. And it’s not your fault. I was afraid to carry the documents with me and have them stolen from my backpack that wasn’t locked up. Obviously, that was a bad call.”
“It’s okay–” Liam begins.
“No,” I correct him, my voice lifting as I continue. “No, it is not okay. Stop saying everything is okay. It is what it is and what it is is not okay. The notes could have helped us track down my handler.”
“Handler?” Liam and Tellar both ask at once.
I sigh, and clearly, I’m not even used to communicating with other human beings. “It’s what I call the stranger who helped me hide.”
“The one with the tattoo?” Derek asks.
I gape at Liam. “I trusted you with that information. Just you.”
As unapologetic as ever, he doesn’t so much as blink at my irritation. “His cousin works for the Feds. He can run it through the federal data base and see if it gets any hits.”
“If I had the letters,” I conclude, “and now I don’t.”
“Can you draw it?” Derek asks, obviously unaffected by my inference of distrust. And honestly, if I trust Liam, and he trusts them...
“I can,” I confirm, “but I’ve researched it in libraries and the internet and I can’t find anything like it.”
Derek pulls a paper and pen from the folder and slides them in my direction. “The Feds operate in a whole different world of possibilities.”
A glimmer of hope forms inside me and I scribble down a drawing of the tattoo as best I can, drawing the triangle and the odd design in the center. Inspecting my work, I flip the paper around for Derek to view and announce, “That’s pretty close.”
Liam reaches across the table and drags the drawing to him, giving it a close review, and I don’t miss the muscle in his jaw that jumps. His steely eyes find mine. “The only thing similar about this tattoo and mine is the triangle. There is no connection and this means nothing to me. You know that, right?”
Shocked by his directness though I really don’t know why. This is Liam I’m dealing with, I nod. “I know.”
His jaw tenses, flexes. “Do you? Because I’m not sure I’m convinced.”
“I am. I know.”
His attention stays fixed on me, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Okay then,” Tellar mumbles, sliding the paper to look at it. “Means nothing to me either.”
“Ditto,” Derek agrees, “but we’ll see what my cuz has to say.”
Liam's gaze snaps to Derek and he taps the table. “Did you bring the papers I asked you to bring.” Derek pulls a bundle of stapled documents from the folder and holds them up. Liam motions to me. “Give them to Amy.”
Frowning, I accept the documents, not sure what to expect. “Travel records for me and Alex,” Liam explains. “I want you to see there isn’t a connection there between us and your family.”
“I...Liam I didn’t ask for this.”
“You didn’t have to, and you don’t have to ask to look at the research we did on your life. It’s your life.” And his expression tells me his choice of words is not by accident before he goes on to explain, “We put together a list of everyone who could be connected to you and your family and looked for anything suspicious. There’s nothing that connects the dots for us, but there might be for you.”
“I hope so, I...” The memory of me and Luke kneeling near the bushes, while I watched my mother argue with the man by the black sedan, comes to me. I straighten with the impact of what I’ve seen. Luke. I need to talk to Luke.
“Amy?” Liam asks, sounding concerned.
I blink him into view, eager to share what I’ve remembered. “There was a boy who lived next door to me in Texas, named Luke Miller. He was with me one night when my brother and father were out of town. It was midnight and we were standing on the porch when this black sedan pulled into the driveway and then to the side of the house. My mother raced out the door and down the steps. She never saw us. We hid at the side of the house and listened as she argued with the driver.”
“What were they arguing about?” Derek asks.
“I’m going to give my standard answer. I don’t know. Their voices were too muffled.” I inhale and force myself to admit what I don’t want to be real. “But based on their body language and the emotional context of the exchange, I’m pretty sure there was something personal between them.”
Liam arches a brow. “An affair?”
I nod. I can’t manage anything else.
Derek clears his throat. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, Amy, I feel like I need to say this. Statistically my cousin would tell you to look close to home and in the bedroom when a murder takes place. I think this man is a good lead.”
“I’m not in denial that you could be right,” I assure him, “But I’m also convinced there was something going on with my father and brother. And before you ask me how I know, I have nothing to go on but a vague warning from my brother to me and a warning I overhead from my father to my mother about protecting us.”
“Listen to your instincts, baby,” Liam reminds me softly. “They haven’t failed you.”
“My instincts say I need to talk to Luke and find out what he saw that night, but I’m not sure how I do that when I’m supposed to be dead.”
“I can do it,” Tellar offers. “I’ll come up with some masterful story like being a reporter writing a story on your famous father. But what is it that you think he might know that you don’t know?”
“I didn’t see the man’s face. Luke snuck around the drive to leave and it’s possible he did.”
“You never talked about it later?” Liam asks.
“He was home on a college break and we pretty much parted ways that night.”
“Miller,” Derek repeats absently. “Miller. I remember that name.” He opens a folder, scans down what appears to be a list and I watch his expression tighten, his discomfort palpable. “I have his information.”
