Текст книги "Within Temptation"

Автор книги: Tanya Holmes

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Pain must have stabbed him because he winced again, then yelled a litany of four, five, and six-letter-words. The cabby barked a choice word in answer, then flipped him the bird and roared off. Obviously, the man recognized him and decided he posed a danger.

I watched Trace’s shoulders fall, like all the fight had been sucked out of him, and compassion welled in my heart. As if in a trance, I stepped through the automatic doors, closing the distance between us. Tall as a god, he towered over me. His shadow blocked what little sunlight squeezed past the clouds.

Snowflakes drifted while we studied each other, but this time, his gaze bore an intensity and wonder that rippled through every cell in my body. For a moment, I’d have sworn I’d seen a flicker of the boy who’d taught me to dance.

He tilted his head to the sky and snow melted on his bruised face. “What’re you doin’, Shannon?”

Good question.

I hugged myself, sifting through a labyrinth of emotions. Yes, I had big doubts about him, but if he’d wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have tried to save me. As for the gossipers, since I’d been seen with him twice, the damage was already done. Besides, I needed to talk to him. Desperately. So I decided to shove my doubts aside.

For now.

“I was about to call for a car,” I said. “Do you need a ride?”

TRACE

____________________________

If someone had told me I’d be riding in anything owned by a Bradford, I would’ve thought they were nuts, but the day had been full of surprises.

As the sun fell below the horizon, a black stretch limo pulled into Temptation Memorial. Steam hugged every inch and a dewy row of tinted windows lined either side.

I watched a thirty-something driver with curly blonde hair exit the dark beast. Decked out in a topcoat, leather boots, and a cap, he looked familiar to me.

“Good evening, Miss,” the man beamed. His zeal was as cheesy as the smile he wore.

Shannon looked annoyed. “Gerard, I only asked for a car.”

“Your aunt said the limo would be roomier—for your leg.”

That seemed to piss her off even more. She gave a put-upon sigh, squared her shoulders, and after whispering something to the driver, she disappeared inside.

No doubt about it. I’d entered an alternate universe.

I glanced at the lobby. Half a dozen sets of hate-filled eyes were lasered on me. Eddie and his two inbred cousins, Dumb and Stupid, were among them.

What a steaming pile of dung I’d fallen into. Truth be told, I was bone-tired, my body felt like a giant knot of pain, and I was freezing my ass off. Forget the mindless sex. All I needed was a bed. Oh, and the bottle of Herradura. Yeah, I still wanted that.

Goldilocks cleared his throat. “Sir?”

His hands were clasped behind him while he tipped back and forth on the balls of his feet. Wait a minute. Now I remembered him. The little snot used to work for Lilith. Probably fucked her for all I knew.

“Will you be riding with Miss Bradford?” he asked me.

I raked my gaze at the sky. So these were my choices: I could stay out here and freeze. Be the main attraction at the sideshow in the lobby. Or take my chances with Shannon.

Unfriggenbelievable.

With a weary sigh, I slipped inside the limo and settled across from Shannon. Fear nudged my heart when Goldilocks closed the door, but a feeling of safety soon rivaled it. Strange how close quarters gave me a bizarre mixture of security and panic.

I took a calming breath and sized up my surroundings. The thick burgundy carpet beneath my feet didn’t feel half as good as the warm, marshmallow-soft leather that cradled my body.

I relaxed, sank into it—quite a change from Icky’s hunk of junk. The VW’s dirty interior had been bone-bare, except for the hive of wires jutting out from a hole where a radio should’ve been.

I watched Shannon through hooded lids while we taxied toward the main road. She’d draped her coat across her lap. Her torn jeans revealed a bloody bandage on her knee, and her left cheek was bruised.

She stared out of her window, doing her damndest not to look at me. It played out on her face, the war that raged inside her, a war I’d probably incited. She seemed frustrated and confused, like a woman trying to force a rope through the eye of a needle.

I could relate.

She broke the silence. “I left my cell phone at Briar, so—”

“That’s where you live? With your aunt and uncle?” The question leapt out before I could yank it back.

“Actually, they live with me. Now, as I was saying—”

“How is that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Father willed Briar to me. It’s been in his family for four generations.” She straightened, started picking invisible lint off her coat. “After Mother’s…death, Auntie and Uncle closed Cheltenham Manor and we went to Briar.”

Mother’s death? Talk about an understatement. Moving right along. “You don’t mind being there with everybody?”

She arched a brow. “It’s a big house.”

Another understatement. Briar Hall was huge.

“Now,” she said with a breathy sigh, “I’m afraid I forgot my cell phone. You can use the one up there, if need be.” She nodded at the tinted window behind me. It separated us from the driver. Then she produced a hanky. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“Your lip. It’s bleeding.”

I leaned forward to claim the dainty fabric. When our fingers brushed, she pulled away like I’d singed her with hellfire. Yep, this would be a very long ride.

The scent on the lacy fabric—Shannon’s scent—was hard to resist, so I took a whiff. It smelled rich and seductive, like smoky grapes or something, and damn if it wasn’t giving me a hard-on. Like the one I got in the lobby when our bodies touched. Speaking of which, I took a generous look at her slight frame. Wasn’t long before my cock started pressing against my zipper. Aw, yeah, she was all grown up now. Then again, after twelve years in the joint, Popeye’s girlfriend could probably get a rise out of me.

I crushed the hanky in my fist as my mind stumbled over the same roadblock. Why’d she help me? Her threat to Eddie had fangs behind it. While the Grays were high up on the totem pole, the Bradfords owned the damn thing.

When Shannon’s Uncle Sears wasn’t playing legal eagle, he moonlighted as head honcho of the Bradford Group, a nonprofit foundation with a gazillion subsidiaries. Shannon’s cousin Mead had served two terms as New Dyer’s mayor, and was a shoe-in for next year’s governor’s race. Even Eddie’s daddy, Sheriff Gray was Shannon’s godfather.

I glanced out of my window at the grime and decay of Temptation, comparing it to Shannon’s golden world, good ole Willow’s Corner. In her pricey neighborhood, red brick colonials stood tall, capped with a thick down of milk-white snow. Chimney smoke made the quiet setting look warm and friendly—like a fucking Hallmark card.

But I knew better.

Behind those fancy doors, with their brass knockers and deceitful doormats that had the nerve to say, ‘Welcome,’ were the same vicious snobs who’d looked down their noses at me earlier.

Shannon, by all appearances, seemed just as mystified by the day’s events as me. Now her eyes had a vacant look, like she’d drifted off into her own universe to escape the complete shitstorm in this one.

Was I grateful for her help? Hell yeah, but nothing had changed. As if it ever could. What she’d done to my family was unforgivable.

CHAPTER THREE
I Scream, You Scream

SHANNON

____________________________

At least five minutes had passed since I’d given him the hanky, yet my fingers still tingled where we’d touched. I’d ridden in this limo a million times, but it never felt this claustrophobic. Blocking him out was impossible. His presence seemed to fill every inch of space.

Although sending a limo in lieu of the more practical town car was a classic example of Auntie’s smothering and pretentiousness, hindsight made me think again.

The more distance between Trace Dawson and me, the better.

“You still owe me an explanation.”

Like a clap of thunder, the low rumble of his voice came out of nowhere.

I gathered my wits while a bus crammed with riders crept by in a cloud of diesel exhaust. “Sorry?”

“Back there.” He jerked his head. “You helped me. Why?”

The answer eluded me, so I chose the coward’s way out. “Do you know why you tried to help me?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I.” A weight lifted when he didn’t press the issue, but then the perfect answer came to me. “Trace?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe things aren’t as enigmatic as they seem. Maybe we both just had a visceral reaction and…and there’s no mystery about it. Maybe it just is.”

He squinted as if I’d just sprouted feathers. “Care to say that in English?”

I blinked. Two heartbeats later, I said, “Some things are instinctual. Like gut reactions? But then other things are more complicated.” I dipped my head, brushed my bangs away. “Like this conversation.” His granite expression softened. Encouraged, I kept on. “Since I heard you were getting out, I’ve worried about things like where and how to approach you…and what to say…and what you’d think if I—you know, how you might react when we….” I tossed a hand. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Some.”

Some. Amazing how one simple word could lighten a burden. “To be honest, you blindsided me this morning,” I said, picking at the hole in my jeans. “And when you started running, I thought….”

He eased forward. “Yeah?”

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.” I lowered my eyes again. “But then I understood. You would’ve pushed me out of the way had you been closer.”

“That was the plan.”

“Right. So, I started thinking that maybe I should offer an olive branch. You know, considering all we’ve—”

He cocked a brow. “An olive branch, huh?”

“Yes.”

Trace’s eyes flickered with a chilling combination of veiled amusement and…contempt? “Don’t you think it’s a little late for olive branches?”

Whatever relief I felt vanished. Something had just gone horribly wrong.

“Oh, before I forget.” He snagged a magazine from his pillowcase, and tossed it on my lap. His cool gaze slid to the three-carat solitaire winking on my ring finger, then raked up my arm to rest on my face. “Congratulations.” When I eyed the tabloid in distaste, he said, “Turn to page seven.”

I feigned indifference. That is, until I found the article. By the time I’d finished reading it, my stomach was in tatters. With a circulation in the gazillions, the filthy rag went all over the country, and it was as accurate as a mood ring.

“I don’t know where this vulgar woman gets her sordid ideas,” I said, pitching the disgusting paper aside. “But I am not, nor have I ever been a ‘swinger.’ As for the ridiculous sadomasochism garbage—”

“I kinda knew that already. What about the engagement?”

“Uh….” I didn’t have to apologize for my choices, yet for some reason, I needed to explain. “He’s my fiancé, but I’m not throwing an engagement party now or in the future.”

“Isn’t he nearly twice your age?”

My jaw tightened. “That’s none of your business.”

“All right,” he said with ease, but he’d judged me. “So let’s get back to those olive branches.”

My voice quavered. “Do you plan on making Temptation your home?”

“It’s always been my home, Shannon.”

“I know that. All I meant was—” My left brow trembled. Stitches of pain followed. “Why are you making this difficult? I’m just trying to bridge the gap between us.”

He rubbed his ribs. “See, that’s the thing.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “You’re wearing yourself out for nothing. We don’t have to bridge any gaps. Stuff is just fine the way it is.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Look….” His pause was as pregnant as they come. “I’m grateful for what you did back there, but the best thing we can do is get on with our lives and leave each other alone.”

“We’ll never resolve anything that way.”

“Who says we have to? I hate to be blunt, but just being with you brings back a bunch of stuff I’d rather forget.”

“That’s the problem. I’ve forgotten too much.” I sighed. “These are the facts. Mother is dead, I testified, and you went to prison. Let’s deal with it.”

His face sobered in degrees. The body armor went on next.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”

He raked his fingers through his damp hair. “Talking’s not gonna make a bit ‘a difference.”

“Why did you come with me then?”

“Why else?” He rested an ankle on his knee. “You practically begged—” He paused mid-sentence, like an epiphany had struck him. “Aw, hell.” Laughter danced in his eyes. “Why didn’t I see it before? This is nothin’ but a guilt trip.”

“What?”

“Guilt.” The smile he flashed didn’t have a trace of humor in it. “Everything you did back there. The threats to the Grays. This little powwow. It was all part of a plan, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie was in on it.” He nodded to himself as if he were putting puzzle pieces together. “First Icky conveniently shows up to get me, and now here we are. Damn. This scheme y’all cooked up was brilliant.” He glared at me. “So who’s the mastermind? Couldn’t be Eddie. He’s too stupid.”

All pretense of civility vanished. “You’re not serious.”

“As the grave, baby doll.”

My back hit the seat. The man was insane. “Okay, you’re right. We staged the accident and I used my magic powers to lure you there,” I said, wiggling my fingers. “And the incident with the cab? That was me too. I even paid my godfather’s psychotic son to beat you up, just so I could come to your rescue.”

“Go ahead and poke fun, but Icky already admitted he brought me to the plaza on purpose. He knew you’d be there.”

I rolled my eyes. “I had nothing to do with this nonsense.”

“So I’m just having a bad day.”

“Exactly.”

“And Cholly?” He eased back, folded his arms. “I s’pose you’re in the dark about that too. Folks are talking boycotts. He’s had permit delays for the club he wants to open in New Dyer. And none of the local contractors will touch him. All ‘cause of me. Hell, it’s this whole piss-ass town. I knew when I got out folks would be up in arms, but this…this is unreal.”

That shut me up. Trace was persona non grata everywhere, and unfortunately, by association, his friend Cholly had been made a target. In the past, I’d reached out to Cholly because I’d sold him the commercial building—formerly The Playroom nightclub—but it was obvious he hated me. He’d made the transaction as unpleasant as possible.

“If you’re after a clear conscience,” Trace said, “go elsewhere. Today’s performance didn’t change my mind.”

“You’d be in jail if not for me. Now you have the gall to—”

“Say you were putting on a show?”

I straightened. “It wasn’t a show.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I have nothing to feel guilty about.” But I did feel guilty, real guilty.

“You’re right,” he said with a frosty smile. “Everybody knows you’re as blameless as baby Jesus. I mean, look at that fancy billboard of yours. What’d it say?” He tapped a finger to his swollen lips. “Oh, yeah. ‘Shannon Bradford: a name you can trust.’” He snorted. “What a load a bull.”

“You’re obviously beyond the point of reason.”

“You just figuring that out?” He studied me as if I were a puzzle and his mouth slid into a bitter smile. “Hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s not about guilt, and you’re just clueless.”

“No, you’re the expert in that area.”

Unfazed, he tilted his head and his eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet you’re one of those bleeding hearts. You prob’ly believe in prison reform too.” He laughed. “Think I’ve forsaken my murdering ways? Yeah, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?”

He tooled his gaze around the limo. “Alone in the back of this fancy ride with a certified lady-killer. You’re not worried?”

Of course I was, but I’d be damned before I’d admit it. “If you’re trying to frighten me, it’s not working.”

“You sure?” His sharp eyes held me. “All those years in Gainstown could’ve made the Butcher Boy even crazier. Maybe he’s just been biding his time ‘til he could settle a score.”

He wanted to scare me. Wanted me to believe in the monster the town had created, but it was a ruse. The monster was actually a wizard trying to distract me from the man behind the curtain. And that just made me angrier.

“Your opinion of me is quite clear,” I said, “so why didn’t you just let that Jeep mow me down?”

“Simple. I would’ve done the same for a dog.” Even as my eyes widened in shock, his stayed cold and dead. “Now go tell your bloodsucking family and your troll of a fiancé how I threw your little olive branch back in your face.”

Pain squeezed my heart. “You really hate me, don’t you?”

He studied me, blinking in that lazy way of his. “To be honest, I don’t feel much of anything where you’re concerned.”

I tore away and stared sightlessly out of the window while the limo inched through traffic. He was right. I was naïve. My biggest mistake was in misjudging the depth of his pain. Despite what he’d said, his feelings for me were anything but neutral.

I’d known Trace since I was six. His mother, having cleaned houses for the best families, came to Cheltenham Manor with high recommendations. Ten-year-old Trace used to tag along and was later hired to do odd jobs around the estate.

After he got his license, he was hired as a chauffeur. By then, he and I had forged a bond, one I thought couldn’t be broken. Now his parents were dead, and his brother was in a padded room. If he were innocent, of course he’d feel robbed. If he were guilty, would his bitterness be any less potent? Either way, in his mind, I’d betrayed him. Dare I push him further?

Yes. I had no other choice.

Reaching inside my blouse, I held up a sterling silver chain with a charm. “See this?” It dangled between my fingers. “I found it in an old trunk. I still don’t remember much about the day you gave it to me, only that you said your great-grandfather sent it to you for Christmas. You called him Bisabuelo.”

An emotion I couldn’t identify flashed in his eyes.

“Do you remember the inscription?” I asked. His Adam’s apple bobbed as I flipped the charm over and recited, “‘Una vida vivida con miedo es una vida media duración.’” I dropped the locket back between my breasts. “I’d forgotten the reason you wanted me to have it…until now.”

“Shannon….”

“Listen to me, okay? I used to draw in my diary, but it went missing right before Auntie and Uncle moved me to Briar.” I lowered my eyes, fingered the chain hanging from my neck. “Two months ago, I found this locket with a few torn diary pages. Around the same time, a memory came back. And it…it was something so awful that I began questioning everything I thought I knew.” I looked at him dead on. “But one thing was clear. I lied to you about Mother that day at Miller’s Pond.”

Child abuse.

Until I’d found the diary pages, what few memories I had of Lilith Bradford were surreal. I’d honestly believed my mother never laid a hand on me. Now the only question was why. How could I have forgotten the hell I’d endured? And not just parts. I’d forgotten it all.

Murder in the second degree. Thirteen years—a minimum of ten served. The sentence was a miracle, considering the evidence. Andrew Gartner, Trace’s Harvard-educated attorney, came forward a week after the murder hit the airwaves. Offering his services, pro bono, he was one of the best criminal defense lawyers on the East Coast, but he’d met his match in Darien.

Trace maintained his innocence throughout the trial. As for suspects, his lawyer pointed to the half dozen or so lovers Mother was rumored to have had. The defense argued that the last time Trace saw her alive was when he’d confronted her about my bruises, an incident witnessed by several servants.

The prosecution claimed the abuse was a figment of Trace’s imagination and that the violence he’d suffered at the hands of his own father—Gary Dawson—had caused him to lose touch with reality.

My deposition didn’t contradict this. I was convinced Mother never hit me, but finding the diary pages changed all that. Little had I known what other things those pages would stir up.

“I’m sorry, Trace. I don’t know why I denied the abuse, but at the time, I actually believed what I was saying.”

His face lacked expression, but he seemed to take pity on me when his eyes softened. “I never held that against you.” He looked out of his window. “You couldn’t even admit it to me or yourself, much less to strangers.”

I shrank back. His words had left me temporarily speechless. “Oh, my God. That’s why Gartner didn’t cross-examine me. You wouldn’t let him.”

He fixed his eyes on mine again, saying nothing. Even with his freedom on the line, he’d protected me. The realization had my mind reeling. If he didn’t blame me for testifying, then where was all this hatred coming from?

I shook my head again, even more confused. “Do your promises have expiration dates?”

“What?”

“You once said you could never hate me. And that you’d be there if I needed you. Well, I need you now more than ever.”

He looked away.

“The Miller’s Pond diary entry was the last one I ever wrote. Mother came in my room drunk that night, just as I was finishing. She snatched it from me, read a few paragraphs and started ripping pages out. That’s the last time I saw it. Then after you had that fight by the pool the next night, she made me give her the necklace. She didn’t want me to keep anything of yours. But my diary—the pages…everything disappeared after the murder.”

“And this has what to do with me?”

“That’s what I want to find out.” Emotion welled in my throat. “Something caused me to forget the abuse. Doesn’t that sound strange to you?”

He shrugged. “Kids repress stuff like that all the time.”

From his far-away expression, I could tell he was speaking from experience. “Who else knew what Mother was doing? The servants witnessed the pool fight, right? You said it was the last time you saw her alive—”

He flashed a palm. “Hold up. I don’t like where this conversation is going.”

“Please hear me out. You reported Mother to Sheriff Gray. That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to him. I remember him grilling me before I gave my deposition.” I bowed my head and shook it. “He’s retired now and lives in Roanoke. I call every day, leave messages, but he ignores them.”

He started to speak, but must have thought better of it.

“I found Valene Campbell too. Our old cook.” I raised my eyes. “She was your mother’s best friend, right?”

He just looked at me.

“Oh, come on! You can help. I’ve left countless phone messages. I’ve even written a few letters, but her granddaughter Jane intercepts everything. She said Mrs. Campbell was too infirm and senile to speak with me.”

He gestured. “Well, there you go.”

“She’s lying.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m telling you, the old woman knew everything that went on at Cheltenham Manor.”

“So talk to your family,” he said.

“They don’t believe Mother abused me. They say the diary pages are stories I used to make up. That I was a precocious girl with a vivid imagination.”

“What about Montgomery?”

I gestured helplessly. “He says even if she hit me—”

“That I’m still a murdering bastard, right?” He rolled his eyes, his face a mask of hostility. “I can’t help you.”

Debating his guilt or innocence was the last thing I wanted to do—too many minefields there. “Reading through the transcripts was like falling down a rabbit hole. It was information overload. That’s why I thought if I talked with you, or maybe if we went back to Cheltenham Manor—”

“Oh, hell no.”

“It’s been empty for twelve years. I haven’t set foot—”

“Shannon, do you hear yourself? I just got out of the joint today. What makes you think I wanna deal with this shit now?”

I leaned closer. “Are you saying your answer would have been different had I waited a week…a month…a year?”

He rolled his eyes again.

“Please.” I grabbed fistfuls of the coat in my lap. “I’m desperate, okay? I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

For a second it seemed like he’d understood. Like I’d reached him somehow, but then his eyes turned hard, almost as if he’d flipped a channel. After a long silence, he said, “Will helping you erase the hell I lived?” He latched his unblinking gaze to me. “Will it bring my mama back?”

“N-no, but—” I jiggled my head to clear it. “What about the promises you made?”

“The boy who made them is dead.” He cast me aside with a glower. “Amazing. After all you’ve done, you got the nerve to—”

“You just said you didn’t fault me! My God, how can you blame me for something I’m still confused about? I was barely fourteen,” I cried. “Mother was dead—and…and I saw you crouched over her! You had the spade and there was blood all over your hands…and your jeans were soaked with it! If you were me, what conclusion would you have drawn? Given everything that happened that week with…with all the fighting and the rumors about you and—”

“Don’t even go there!” Anger flared in his eyes like a struck match. When I retreated in fear, he registered momentary surprise, but his ire returned a split-second later. “I already said I didn’t hold any of that against you!”

“Then what—”

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to bring it up, but you’re obviously bent on playing dumb. Stop the innocent act!”

“Act?” I snapped. “I have no idea what you’re—”

“Bullshit!”

“Trace, I don’t—”

“Enough!” Veins stood out in his neck. “I’m done with this.” He punched the intercom button. “Put the brakes on, Jeeves. I’ll see myself out.”

The limo came to a violent halt. I went for his arm, but he wrenched it away, glaring back at me as if I’d just spit on him. His hatred was a tangible thing that made his silent message all too clear. Back off, his eyes told me.

“Please, don’t leave like this,” I begged.

Trace was beyond hearing me. He snatched his pillowcase and tore outside. Horns blared. Wind smacked me when he whipped around. His face was a gray blur through my veil of tears.

“Bye, Shannon,” he blurted. The cold sheathed his words.

“No, wait! I swear I don’t understand what’s—”

Another loud chorus of horns exploded when Trace’s pillowcase hit the ground. “You got amnesia about this too?” He shook his head. “Unfuckinbelievable!”

“This? This what?” I screamed back. “Tell me!”

“The letter you wrote the parole board!”

“What letter?”

He snagged the pillowcase. “That’s it. I’m gone.”

“Damn it, what letter!”

He blazed a look at me, then said through clenched teeth, “The one that killed my mother. Ring a bell?”

Eyes wide with mortification, I wagged my head as my mind raced to connect the dots. “But I never—”

He slammed the door so hard the limo rocked.

“…sent a letter.”