Текст книги "Within Temptation"

Автор книги: Tanya Holmes

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
No Quarter Given

SHANNON

____________________________

I shot to my feet and collected my things in a panic, but he uncoiled from the sofa right after me. And the awareness was swift.

I felt him at my back when I grabbed my scarf. I felt him in my blood when he sighed my name. I felt him in my bones when his breath kissed my neck.

Six feet and several inches of imposing heat flowed out of him, making me weak…dizzy. Except for the trembling, I couldn’t move. Nothing seemed to work—my arms, my brain…everything froze.

The scarf slipped from my useless hands to the floor, forgotten.

“Stay,” he whispered, looming behind me.

Fear squeezed my throat. “I-I can’t.”

“Stay.”

My eyes fluttered shut as he kneaded my shoulders. The weight of his hands, strong, yet gentle, made me melt.

His fingers slid down my arms to lace with mine. “Why’d you disappear on me?” he asked, his voice deep and raspy.

I couldn’t form a thought, much less a reply.

“Why?” he asked again.

My tongue finally unglued. “Something came up at the—”

“You’re lying,” he murmured into my hair.

“No, I….”

“Stop.” When he tied our hands beneath my ribcage, I went boneless, and the back of my head rested against his chest. “You ran because you feel what I feel. That’s why you’re trying to run now. Admit it.”

I hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.

“See,” he breathed, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I was trembling wholesale. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t help it.” He buried his face in my neck, his chest rising and falling like he’d run a mile. “My reaction to you is…. Damn. What’s that fancy word of yours?” He sucked my earlobe and whispered, “‘Visceral,’ right?”

He turned me around and I could feel him gazing down at the top of my head. Looking at him wasn’t an option. If I did, I’d be lost. So I studied the floor planks, noting the contrast between the pale wood and his golden skin. Brown hair dusted his toes, and his feet were twice as large as mine.

The beginning notes of Nat King Cole’s “Nature Boy” filled the silence. He nudged my chin up with a finger, and what I saw stole my breath. His eyes burned. Instinct made me back away until a wall appeared out of nowhere, and just as he’d done at the garage, he moved in on me. His muscles expanded when he rested his forearm above my head to box me in. Unlike the wall at my back, the wall of muscle in front of me didn’t hold me steady, and the more I stared at it, the weaker I became.

Trace touched my mouth with his fingertip, pressing past the barrier of my lips until my teeth parted. My breath rushed in on a gasp as he penetrated and explored. All the while, he stared down at me, his intent sure. Before I could stop myself, I’d sucked and drawn his finger in deeper. He swore softly and his nostrils flared. After I realized what I’d done, I shamefully jerked my head away, dislodging him, but the seductive taste and feel of him remained.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I obeyed, giving in to the carnal awareness whittling my breath down to short, audible pants. My heart stopped once he lifted his glistening finger and sucked it into his mouth. He kept his eyes trained on me while he lowered his hand to my lips and reverently painted his wetness across them. His chest expanded when I sampled his gift: warmth, sweetness, and fire. That’s how he tasted. Like heaven and hell, darkness and light.

He hadn’t kissed me, yet I knew his touch. Hadn’t swept his tongue inside, yet I knew his taste. Hadn’t done anything except toy with my mouth, but in my imagination he’d done everything and then some. Heat scalded my loins, made me ache so badly I wanted to cry, and like clockwork, the rain came, salving the blaze with a weepy dampness familiar to every woman.

“Please, j-just let me leave,” I begged

He shook his head as if to say, No mercy.

I couldn’t breathe. “Trace…I’m scared.”

“I know.” He slowly cradled my jaw. “Me too.”

As a prelude and promise of what was to come, his breath caressed me even before his mouth did. The moment his lips whispered against mine, I froze, my body rigid with anticipation and fear. Yet, dazed surprise came when he made contact. For such a big man, he had a gentleness about him that made me tremble. I’d expected his kiss to be voracious and demanding, but it was soft, probing, and achingly tender.

Trace became the potter, and I was his clay. He sucked my lips, testing and tasting, until I’d unfolded like a rose beneath the sun’s command.

Even as my body welded with his, some distant part of me still waited for the defenses to come, waited for an inner alarm to steer me away from this all-consuming fire. Guilt should have reared up by now, but it was as absent from my mind as the man whose ring I wore.

Trace made love to my mouth. His passion bled into me in degrees, and soon our tender, exploratory kisses turned feverish and desperate. He kissed my cheeks and my eyes, only to plunder my lips again, and what he gave, I gave back, tongue for tongue, breath for breath.

His arms swept around to enfold me into his hard body. Was he lifting me? Oh, God, he was. He anchored me to the wall as I hooked my heels around his back, and raked my fingers through his hair. Blood boiled between my legs when he pressed himself there. Pipe-hard, he rocked against me with a slow, tortuous rhythm.

Desire overshadowed me in dark waves as he covered my breast with his hand and rasped my nipple to life. He tore his mouth from mine, dipping lower to capture the stiff peak he’d aroused. Sensation burned across my chest and bathed my loins as he nursed on me through my blouse. The damp heat bled into the fabric, and I cried out in a desperate whimper.

“It’s all right,” he soothed.

He brought his lips up to mine for a long, drugging kiss. Next thing I knew, he’d pulled back to peel off his shirt, just ripped the thing over his head. Dizzy with need, I trembled when he snaked his hand beneath my shirt, under my bra, and covered my naked breast. My nipple, still wet from his mouth, puckered against his palm. He trailed his thumb from the edge to the center, circling my areola until he’d worried it into a painful nub.

“These are all I think about anymore,” he rasped, his eyes welded to mine. “I imagine how they’ll taste. Then I torture myself with wondering what color they are.” He bit his bottom lip. “Which is it? Brown? Or pink?”

My breath stopped once his other hand flicked each button until my blouse fell open. One swift tug later, he’d unhooked the front clasp of my bra and pushed the cups aside.

Trace smiled. “Pink. I knew it.” A muscle in his jaw pumped. “God, I could look at these all night.” He leaned his forehead against mine and continued to stare down at them. Embarrassed, I tried to cover myself. “Naw,” he said. “Let me see you.”

Cupping me, he tortured the damp peak with his thumb, then his lips did a slow dance down my neck to my breast. My mind went blank as he suckled my nipple, drawing so hard on it that my sex clenched in pleasure. He plucked every nuance with an expertise that left me breathless, and once he covered my mouth again, his lips were soft, warm, and wet.

“Has he ever made you feel like this?” Trace asked.

I couldn’t lie. Not to him. “No.”

“He ever make you come?”

A flash-fire bled over my face. “What?”

“An orgasm. He ever give you one?”

I slowly shook my head ‘no.’

“Good,” he whispered.

“But we can’t—”

As if from a distance, I felt him raise my skirt, felt him tug my tights halfway down my legs, felt his fingers make a slow descent to stroke me through the thin cotton of my panties. The way his lips worshipped my mouth, the way his hand played me like a fiddle, the way he moved my panties aside and greeted my wet flesh, shoved me to the brink and back. He stroked one spot, that glorious bundle of nerves, over and over with thumb and forefinger, until I stiffened, until I cried his name, until I begged him to put me out of my misery.

“Time to fly,” he whispered into my mouth.

Two strokes later, I did just that. Trace took me to the cliff, tossed me over the edge, and my body exploded in a burst of flames. He was right there, cradling me through it all. Every convulsion was met with a kiss. Every moan earned another caress, every sigh a word of encouragement, until I wilted against him.

Noises filtered in from the open window. A siren wailed. Two dogs traded barks. A cat meowed. The tinkling of a bottle echoed, replaced by a distant crash. Another sad song spilled from the radio. “My Funny Valentine.”

Trace slipped his hand from my panties, sucked his damp fingers into his mouth, taking his time to savor me before he feathered his lips back over mine and I tasted myself.

“It’s just like I knew it’d be,” he murmured in between kisses. “Honey sweet.” He rubbed his thick length against me, his rhythm slow and steady. “You got any idea how bad I want to be inside you?” he breathed into my neck. “You make me so hard, I could…” He circled his hips, once, twice, then again. “I could come just from doin’ this.” He picked up the pace. “Aw…fuuuck.”

Still trembling from the intense pleasure he’d given me, I swallowed his groan, dug my nails into his back, urging him closer, my hips moving in time with his. But somehow my engagement ring twisted 180 degrees and the gem scratched his bare back. He didn’t notice, but I did. The moment I realized what had happened, reality diffused the sensual fog.

Darien. Guilt hit me like a cold slap. Stop before it’s too late. The same voice had guarded my body for twenty-six years, but God, how I wished that voice would shut up!

With his hips still thrusting, Trace dipped low to capture my nipple. He nursed on it, luring me back into the whirlpool.

Grinding. Licking. Tugging. Sucking.

Wedding. Family. Darien. Shame.

I made a weak attempt to push his shoulders. “Trace….”

“Mmm hmm.”

“St-stop.”

Tug. Tug. Tug. “Hmmgh?”

“Stop—oh, God.” He sucked harder and drew me under again. Blinking to clear my mind, I blurted, “I’ve never done this.”

One by one, the muscles in his body slackened. He pulled back and searched my eyes, his hand cupping my damp breast. His fingers lingered and teased while his breath fanned my face. “You trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”

“Y-yes.”

“At twenty-six?”

I nodded, avoiding his eyes as I struggled for air.

Shock painted his face. He put me down and stepped back, watched me yank up my tights with awkward hands. I was a tangled mess. Hair flying. Lips swollen. Skin burning. I didn’t bother fixing the bra. I just fastened my shirt, not caring if the buttons suited the corresponding eyelets.

They didn’t.

Trace’s hazel eyes were dark with raw hunger and disbelief. His chest rose and fell and the bulge below his belt pressed violently against his zipper as if it might burst through at any moment.

I tried to fuss with my clothes again, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking so I just gave up.

Trace was already on the sofa. “C’mere,” he murmured, adjusting his erection. He held his arm out. “I said, c’mere.”

I hesitated, then wandered over to him. Once I sat, he pulled me close to cradle me in his lap. His penis pressed hard against my thigh.

“I’ve heard of being a good Catholic girl, but this is…hell, I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, I haven’t been to confession in ages,” I admitted.

“Then why’re you still a virgin?”

All my reasons swarmed me, but the most painful eclipsed everything. Finally, at Trace’s prompting, I said, “I didn’t have a boyfriend until freshman year at Sarah Lawrence.”

Trace frowned, clearly baffled. “Why?”

“Because,” I said. “I thought once I got to college, the talk would stop.”

“Talk? What talk?”

“They knew about Mother there too,” I muttered. “You know, somebody remembers reading something, then passes it along. This one tells that one, and suddenly, you’re the main event on campus.”

He was playing with my hair, twirling it absently in his fingers. “What does that have to do with your virginity?

“Everything.” I sighed. “The gossip didn’t stop after the trial. When it was over, I had to deal with a new set of problems.” He didn’t look convinced. “What do you think people would have said if I’d gone out with a boy, and as boys have a tendency to do, he made up stories about me?”

Surprise flickered in his eyes.

“I had to protect myself. And while I’ve never been completely intimate with a man—”

“Never?”

I scowled. “No, but—”

“It’s your reason for not doing it that bothers me. If it were just a matter of principle, then yeah, I could accept that. But you did this ‘cause of Lilith. Now to me, that’s sad.”

“Don’t pity me. You don’t know what it’s like.”

He didn’t even blink. “Yeah, I do. I’m the Butcher Boy of Temptation. Murderer and mutilator of poor, helpless women. Your mama was stabbed four times, but ‘legend’ says it was twelve. Bev heard twenty the other day.”

“That’s my point. People embellish things.”

His eyebrows curled up. “Don’t take this wrong, but you made a life-altering decision based on somebody else’s bad rep.”

Pain gripped me like a cold fist. ‘Bad rep’ was an understatement. During the trial, Darien and the defense agreed the killer had acted with an abundance of rage. And testimony from two lovers and five previous employees helped paint her in an unsympathetic light. All five were young and handsome and were let go for one of two reasons; they’d either refused Mother’s advances, or they’d given in and were later fired—with generous severance packages—when she’d tired of them.

Of the five, just one, a gay man, hadn’t bedded Mother. The others weren’t scarred or resentful. In fact, Darien along with Trace’s lawyer, Andrew Gartner, frequently admonished them during the trial for their bawdy comments. The media had a field day too, deeming them, “Bradford’s Boy-toys” and “Lilith’s Harem.”

Because of this, I never stayed out late in high school, or let myself be seen in the wrong places. On the rare occasions I did date, I made sure we were never alone. Group outings, double dates, and third wheels were the norm. I was always careful and watchful, always guarding my reputation.

I stared back at Trace in envy. How freeing it must be to not give a damn about what people think. If only…. “Call it what you like,” I said, “but my reputation meant—means a lot to me. I didn’t even have a boyfriend until my second semester.”

“How long did it last?”

A face I’d banished to my nightmares floated in my mind. “Four months,” I said with bitterness. “His name was Richard. He was from upstate New York.”

“And?”

“I thought I was in love with him,” I said quietly. “He bought me flowers every week. Walked me to and from class. Helped me cram. Escorted me to all the best parties. After a few months, he even put a deposit down on a ring.” I rolled my eyes. “That’s when I decided to sleep with him.”

The ease with which we talked, and how natural it felt, didn’t escape my notice. I could be myself with Trace—a pleasant change from being on guard all the time. This made the retelling of my horrifying experience less painful.

“He was gentle at first, but things grew intense fast. I tried to slow him down, but he…he started tearing at my clothes.” My throat burned as I relived every fearful detail. “I managed to push him off me and escape to the bathroom. Then he started breaking things.” I gestured again when my eyes started stinging. “Lamps. Ashtrays. Anything he could grab.”

“Just ‘cause you got cold feet?”

“He said everyone knew I was like my ‘whoring mother.’” A tear raced down my cheek, but I gave it a vicious swipe. “His frat brothers put him up to it. They wanted to see how long it would take him to get me…to have sex with him.”

Trace wrapped me in his arms, and rested his chin on my crown. “Oh, baby, you’re nothin’ like your mama.”

“He thought I was. So I vowed I’d never be made the….” I sniffed. “The butt of anyone’s joke again.”

Trace was quiet for a long while. “How’d you get out?”

“I just ran,” I said. “And I left everything. Purse. Phone. I had no car. It was raining. I couldn’t call home.”

“Why not?”

I frowned, blindsided.

“Why, Shannon?” When I still didn’t answer, he said, “Did you think you’d disappoint your family?”

Not knowing what to say, I swallowed convulsively.

“A time like that, a girl needs her mama,” he continued. “You should’ve called your aunt. Why didn’t you?”

My chest tightened as a renegade emotion tried to gain control, but I tamped it down, something I’d gotten quite good at. “I didn’t want to worry her.” Even to my own ears I sounded defensive. I cleared my throat and amended, “There was a lot going on at the time. Digger had just come out of the hospital. He’d had triple bypass surgery. Granny Mae was a wreck. So I didn’t want to burden Auntie. She was stressed enough.”

“Who’d you call?”

“Darien.” Relief set in and I could breathe again. “He was attending a law convention in Manhattan. He’d taken me to lunch a few days before.”

“Then what?”

“He grabbed a cab and brought me back to his hotel; I cried myself to sleep in his arms.” When Trace gave me a look, I added, “He just held me, that’s all.”

He lowered his eyes. “Have y’all ever done what we—what I….” He looked at me. “Has he ever touched you like I did?”

“N-no.” At his look of relief, I added, “We’ve touched some, slept in the same bed, but he never pressured me. That’s why I love him. He’s very understanding. Not all men think with their penises.”

“Uh, yeah we do. Either Montgomery’s a eunuch or—”

“I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”

He sighed again. “Fine. Is that when y’all started dating?”

“No,” I said, grateful to be off the hot seat. “I think we began to see each other in a different light then, but nothing happened until after I’d started the business. We have much in common. Similar tastes in art, books, the theater.”

“The age difference didn’t bother your family?”

On the contrary, they encouraged the match. “Darien’s a young forty-eight, and we move in the same circles. No one blinked when we started dating. Uncle went to Harvard with his father, so Darien’s like a son to him. That’s why he left the prosecutor’s office, because Uncle offered him a full partnership.”

Trace stilled. “You know, this thing with him sounds like a pre-packaged fairytale.” His eyes gave me a silent inspection. “Why are you here…with me?”

“I don’t know.”

Lies. I knew why, but I wasn’t ready to admit it.

He cocked a brow. “Well, considering I just had my tongue down your throat—and other places—I deserve a better answer than that.”

I slid from his lap and settled in the corner of the sofa, my legs tucked beneath me as I fixed the mismatched eyelets in my shirt. “We shouldn’t have.”

“Just like we shouldn’t have at the club, and we shouldn’t have at your office, and we shouldn’t have at the garage—and every other time we’ve been together. News flash, this…‘thing’ has been going on since before I even came back to town. So what’re we gonna do about it?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dirty Little Secrets

SHANNON

____________________________

Snow flurries wafted down like dandelion puffs as I stared out from Trace’s front door window. It was after ten and a party down the street was breaking up. Revelers trickled out, disappearing in either direction along the sidewalk. A few stood near the curb to catch a smoke, while others piled into cars that sped off into the shadows.

I sank my forehead against the glass. Trace had asked me to stay because we had unfinished business. Twenty minutes ago, he’d gone upstairs—to take a cold shower, no doubt. Now that I was alone, without him to distract me, dueling thoughts and emotions filled my mind.

There was guilt, of course. Fear made an appearance too. Even more compelling and amazing was a feeling that had no name.

In the span of two hours, the world I’d known had vanished, replaced by something fearsome and incredible. Trace and I had gone farther than I ever had with Darien. Not only that, but I’d cheated and enjoyed it. And it wasn’t my first infidelity. Truth was, I’d been cheating in my heart long before this. Every word, caress, and whisper had been hardwired into my mind, and I’d replayed them, over and over.

What happened at The Slam Dunk should have warned me away, but I’d just come back for more. Even worse, I wanted Trace’s hands on me again.

I’d never been physically unfaithful. Not once. The shame of it was eating me alive.

The steps creaked beneath Trace’s weight as he descended the stairs. When he loomed behind me, keeping his distance, our eyes met in the window. “Come up with any answers?”

“No,” I said miserably, turning to face him.

Clean-shaven, he’d changed into a tan crew neck. His shower-damp hair bore evidence of a finger comb. On the surface, he looked relaxed, but when I peered deeper, I saw a hidden storm raging behind his hazel eyes. Strange, but I drew comfort from it. At least I wasn’t alone in this.

When the staring got too hot, I twisted away. “It’s time for me to go. I can’t think around you.”

“What’s there to think about? I want you. You want me.”

I flopped into a chair and fished a brush from my purse. “It’s not that simple.”

He stood over me, arms folded. “What else is there?”

“Really, Trace.” I raked the brush through my hair. “Why can’t you believe I love Darien?”

He looked away in thought. Minutes passed before he spoke again. “You remember that talent contest? I ditched driver’s ed and caught the bus in the rain so I could see you perform.”

I crammed the brush back into my purse and frowned. Talk about a left field surprise. “Yes, why?”

“Who else came to watch you dance?”

My gaze fell as the memory pierced my heart. Mother had been nursing a hangover; Father was too busy building his corporate empire. No one bothered to show but Trace.

“Harrison never came to any of your recitals,” Trace said.

I stared into my lap as the memory cut into me again. “Father was…a very busy man.”

“Just like Montgomery.”

My head shot up.

“How old did you say he was?” Trace asked.

I gave him a cold stare. “Forty. Eight.”

“And you’re twenty-six.”

“So?”

He inclined both brows.

It took me a second to get his meaning. “You’re insane.” There was absolutely no truth to his vile innuendo. None. Scowling, I shoved the revolting thought away and spat the first thing that came to me. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with my fiancé. You have a girlfriend.”

“Since when?”

“I saw you with her at Home Depot.”

He looked surprised. “She was never my girlfriend. And anyway, it’s over between us.”

I’d be lying if I said I was ‘sorry to hear that,’ so I kept the hackneyed sentiment to myself. “Well, how do you feel about me—about us?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I care. I’ve always cared about you, Shannon. This whole thing just—” When I looked at him, he asked, “What? You want more?”

I didn’t know what I wanted, but the thought of him with another woman made me physically ill. “Are you…do you plan on seeing other people?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Trace frowned at my sour expression. “Hold up,” he said, his tone firm and reproving. “Let’s get somethin’ straight. You’re engaged. You said as much when you went AWOL. That means I can do whatever and whoever I want.”

Bile bubbled in my stomach, inched up my throat. “So you are seeing someone.”

“What do you care? When things get intense, you go off running like a scared rabbit. Bottom line? If this—” He jabbed a finger back and forth between us. “—whatever you want to call it, goes anywhere, it’ll be your doing. I’m not getting married in three months. So don’t even try to put us on equal footing. When you figure out what the hell you want let me know.‘Til then, ‘caring’ is all you’re gonna get.”

The phone blared, shattering the tension, but an emotional nakedness hovered between us. Knowledge of the carnal sort burned in his eyes.

I knew his scent, his touch. How it felt to have his mouth close around me.

And he knew what I tasted like, knew me in ways no man ever had.

RING. RING. RING.

“I gotta answer that,” Trace muttered. He ignored the phone next to me, and instead chose the one in the kitchen.

Seconds after he picked up, I heard, “Okay, calm down.” Pause. “What?” Another pause. “When?” He sighed, and in a softer voice said, “Aw, don’t cry, Bevy. Nothin’ can be that—” Eerie silence. “Oh, he did?” Another abrupt pause. “I’m leaving now. Just—no, I’m not mad.”

Clearly he was.

“Just sit tight ‘til I get there,” he barked. Another beat passed. “Then why’d you call me?” Silence stretched for a good thirty seconds, but his response took less than five. “I don’t give a shit. I’m coming anyway.”

Trace slammed the phone down and stalked into the hallway. His expression was as grim as the reaper’s when he entered the living room, wrenched the closet door open, and threw his motorcycle jacket on. “I gotta go.”

“What happened?”

He snatched his helmet from a chair, grabbed some keys off the fireplace mantle. “Icky’s having a meltdown.”

“You can’t ride that bike, it’s snowing.” I snagged my coat, scarf, and purse. “I’ll drive.”

SHANNON

____________________________

“How did she sound?” I asked.

“Hysterical,” Trace said. “If he hit her again….”

High beams speared into the car from a truck behind us. I changed lanes and made a right on Clark Street. We were within minutes of the O’Dell’s house in Highgrove Meadows.

“Are we close?” he asked.

I nodded and glanced sideways at him. “So is Beverly a battered woman?”

“I hope not.” He worked his jaw. “I think Icky’s usin’.”

“You mean drugs?”

Trace nodded in bitter silence. “He worked as a runner. That’s what got him pinched. Seven years he served, and he was dealing the whole time.” He sank deeper into the seat. “I smelled trouble soon as him and Bev started making googly eyes. She used to come see me once a week. That’s how they met. Then, right before he got paroled, Bev paid him a surprise visit. He was strung out. She called him on it and he slapped her.”

“In prison?”

“Visitor’s day is a free-for-all. There’s sex. Drugs. One time a guy punched his wife. Friggen guard saw it all and did nothing. They couldn’t care less.” A lethal gleam flared in his eyes. “But Bev always did mistake violence for love. Just like Mama.” He glared out of the window at the blur of trees whizzing by. “This is my problem. You don’t have to be here.”

I sent him an earnest glance. “I know, but I want to.”

“You sure about that?”

His meaning was clear, and it ran much deeper than the current crisis with his brother-in-law. He was alluding to the town, my family, and my willingness (or unwillingness) to drag our ‘friendship’ from the proverbial closet.

“Now isn’t a good time to get into this,” I said.

“We’ll have to deal with it eventually.”

Yes, eventually, but not now.

“This is about more than us.” I sighed. “There’s Mother’s murder for one. People need to know you’re innocent. Otherwise, it’ll be an albatross forever.”

He swung a frown at me. “A what?”

“A burden, a liability,” I answered, changing lanes.

He propped an elbow on the door, studied me in awkward silence. “What’s the connection between clearing my name and ‘us’?” His voice came out low, but hard-boiled.

“Isn’t it obvious? If we do nothing, it’ll never go away.”

He lifted a brow. “Aren’t we really talking about you?”

“What does that mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, tossing my own words back at me. “I’m not good enough for your bridge club buddies. Clearing my name would remedy that.”

The man was like a broken record. “Don’t be absurd.”

“You just said you’ve been dodging Lilith your whole life. What’s the town gonna say when they see you hanging with me? And trying to prove me innocent at that? This after every Tom, Dick, and Sally believes I’m nothin’ but murdering trash.”

“I can’t deal with that right now.”

One of his brows shot halfway up his forehead. “What? You think a killer’s just gonna fall from the sky? You’re a realtor, not Nancy Drew. And I’m no Sherlock Holmes. I’m an ex-con with a high school education and a couple blue-collar degrees.”

“What are you saying here? That it’s a lost cause?”

His voice softened. “No, hon, I’m not saying that at all.”

The endearment made my heart skip.

He sighed. “Look, I’m willing to dig into this, but what are you gonna do if we come up empty? Where’s that gonna leave our so-called ‘friendship’?” He nodded at my coat. “Will you still be sporting that hood? And what about those venetian blinds at your office? You can’t yank them down forever.”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. What if our efforts proved fruitless? The very idea terrified me. Thankfully, I found a reprieve when we approached the O’Dell’s well-tended neighborhood.

Floodlights accentuated the billboard-sized Highgrove Meadows sign. Written in flowing script, the words were burned into a huge block of polished cherry wood. The manicured shrubs surrounding the marquee were attractively arranged and carpeted with snow-speckled red mulch.

“So this is it,” he said, his face stony.

“You’ve never been here?”

“Naw.” His attention was riveted on the stylish brick-faced homes lining either side of the street. “She told me where it was last week. I just hadn’t gotten around to visiting.” He gave me the address, then asked, “How old is this development?”

“Two years,” I answered, grateful for the change in subject. “They’re opening a new section next spring.”

“About the houses, what kind of space we talking?”

I pointed at a Tudor to our left. A lighted nativity scene graced the lawn. “That’s the Montreal, Highgrove’s smallest model. It’s around 2,400 square feet.” A white-brick colonial pulled his attention away. “Stunning isn’t it?” I said. “I sold it last year. It’s the Houston. One of the largest at 3,100.”

“You remember what each of these models cost?” he asked

“Yes, why?”

“I wanna know how much Icky paid.” Trace slid a pointed look in my direction. “I think he’s back in the life. Drugs.” He rested his head on the seat. “When he picked me up at Gainstown, first thing I noticed was his teeth.”

I frowned. “Okay, now you’ve lost me.”

“If you’d’ve seen him four years ago, you’d understand. His mouth was a war zone. Now his teeth are capped. That kind of work doesn’t come cheap. New choppers. New truck. New house. Saw him at Rascal’s the other day sporting a friggen Rolex. We had drinks together. Looked strung out to me.”