Blood And Bone (20 page)

Shayne jerked awake, heart racing, body doused in cool sweat. Where was she? She blinked in the shadowy predawn light, panic ballooning in her chest. Her gaze swept the small room, before falling on the chipped dresser, warped mirror and her suitcase tucked neatly into the far corner.

Her bedroom. The cabin. Dark Water.

She let out a breath and rolled onto her back. Tension drained from her body, leaving her limbs soft. She’d been dreaming. Something about crows and blood. The confused images were already fading. Only the dread remained.

She shouldn’t have watched that Hitchcock movie.

Cool morning air studded her bare arms and shoulders with goose bumps. She dragged the thick comforter to her chin, rolled towards Des and frowned. He was gone. She slid her hand to his side of the bed, but the sheets were cool. He’d been gone for a while.

She sat up and glanced at the clock. Just past six. Unease prickled the back of her neck. She pushed back the blankets, pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, then padded into the living room. The cool morning air teased her bare skin, the wood floor cold against her feet. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

Des was lying stretched out on the sofa, wearing only his jeans and reading a battered paperback. The cat sat curled up on his chest as Des absently scratched the ugly thing between its chewed-up ears. Des didn’t look up as she started toward him. He probably couldn’t hear her over Bigwig’s motor-like purring.

“You’re up early,” she said softly.

He turned his head away from the book and winced. “Did I wake you?”

“No, not at all. I was having some crazy dreams.”

His eyes darkened with concern and he set his book on the coffee table, pages open and facedown, giving her a good look at the tattered cover.
Watership Down
.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She turned her attention to Des, who was scooping a meowing Bigwig off his chest. “Me? I’m fine. Where did you find that book?”

“It’s mine. I brought it from home.” He dropped the cat to the floor and shifted to make room for her on the couch next to him, then grasped her hand and tugged her forward. “Come here.”

She lay down beside him, head pillowed on his shoulder, while his arms wrapped tightly and pulled her flush with his body. She wished she didn’t like the feel of him against her, or lying in his arms, so damned much.

“Actually, it’s Julia’s book. Her favorite. She used to read it to me when we were kids and things with Heddi got bad.”

A sharp pang pierced her chest. Life must have been hell for him, living under that woman’s roof. By all accounts she was a cold and vindictive person, and she’d hated Anderson. What would she have been like to the man’s son?

“Did she hurt you?” Shayne asked. Her belly swirled. She almost didn’t want to hear the answer.

He snorted and shot her his usual cocky grin, the one he used to imply nothing got under his skin. The one she recognized as a defense. “She didn’t beat me and lock me in closets if that’s what you mean.”

Maybe not, but there were other ways to hurt people. The strikes more accurate and damaging than anything a blow from a hand could produce. Had there been anyone for him besides a sister too damaged to protect herself, much less her little brother? The skirt-chasing uncle’s image flashed in her head. The brassy aunt, running after the man. Huge, hulking Hudson who carried out the old woman’s every whim whether legal or not.

Shayne’s heart ached for the two lost children falling under the care of such an austere woman with no one to protect them. Anderson hadn’t merely killed their mother and brother, he’d stolen their home, their safety, their childhood.

Gently, Des cupped the side of her face with one hand. “You’re worrying.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You get this line right here.” He traced the skin between her brows with his fingertip. “Whenever you’re thinking too much.”

“I’m worried about you,” she admitted.

Des pulled back, his mouth lifting into a bemused smile. “Me? Why?”

“You had a pretty lousy day yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” He leaned forward, brushed his mouth over hers. “It ended on a high note.”

The mere memory brought a warm flush to her skin. Still, she wouldn’t let him distract her. “Did you sleep at all?”

“For a little while, but the cat woke me up when he tried to lie across my face.”

She reached for the book on the table, the paperback cover creased and worn. “Were you wondering why Robert would name his cat after a character in your sister’s favorite book?”

“It’s a strange coincidence, don’t you think?” Des continued speaking without waiting for a response, the question apparently rhetorical. “She loved this book, must have read it hundreds of times. It makes me sick, the idea of him choosing to name his cat from this book after he tried to kill her…us.”

The naked emotion in his quiet words brought a lump to her throat and ignited her anger at the same time. Anderson had dragged Des to hell and back, and he was still managing to do it, even in death. She reached out and smoothed his hair back from his face, the cool strands soft against her fingertips. She wished she had the words to comfort him, to take the shadow from his dark eyes.

But none seemed necessary. He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, sweetly. Her heart stuttered, then swelled.

No. Oh no. She could not have that.

Shayne pulled back, ready to roll off the couch, but he smiled at her. Not his usual teasing smirk, but a genuine grin that pumped the expansion in her chest until she thought her heart might explode.

“I like this. Being here, talking to you like this.”

Get up. Move away. Put some distance between you.
But she didn’t want to. She’d never had this kind of quiet intimacy with Travis, and she craved the closeness.

She traced the dimple in his cheek. He caught her hand and brought her finger to his lips. Tiny flutters erupted low in her belly, warmth flooding her limbs. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing her cheek to his chest. The steady
thud
of his heart beat against her ear. She could stay like this all day.

Mistake. Mistake! MISTA—

She snuggled into him and his arms tightened. He brushed a soft kiss over the top of her head.

“I need to get ready for work, but I don’t want to let you go.” The rumble of Des’s soft voice vibrated against her cheek. She smiled. At least she wasn’t the only one entirely too comfortable.

“Me either, but if I don’t get some coffee in my system, I’ll fall back asleep.” She sighed, and rolled off the sofa. With the connection broken an odd mix of relief and disappointment swirled inside her. Switching to idle conversation helped to distract her from the contradiction. “I have an appointment this morning.”

“Oh, yeah. With who?” Des asked as he reluctantly hauled himself up off the couch.

“A neighbor who had been friendly with your mother.” Shayne climbed the short staircase to the kitchen and started prepping the coffee machine. “Annie Mumner. Do you know her?”

“No. But I haven’t exactly been social since Heddi dragged me back here.” Des stretched and yawned. Those sinewy muscles pulled tightly beneath his skin. Damn, he looked sexy standing barefoot in only his battered jeans. She loved running her fingers over his chest and belly, tracing the hard grooves of his flesh, following the defined line that dipped beneath the waist—

Oh, for the love of God, get your head out of his pants.

When she met his gaze, he was grinning, apparently guessing where her thoughts had wandered.

Heat stung her cheeks, and she returned her attention to scooping coffee grinds into the basket.

“Hey.” She looked over at him, and he nodded at the bathroom, a wicked gleam shone in his eyes. “Want to join me?”

“Yes,” she told him, honestly, “but if I do, I’ll be late.”

“You have a dirty mind,” he said, in feigned shock. “I was just thinking of conserving water.”

Chapter Fifteen

“Alienated from her family and unpopular in the community, Gwen Anderson had no one to confide in.”

—excerpt from
Blood and Bone
by Shayne Reynolds

By the time Des strolled into the realty office, his brain was shaken and twisted as if it had spent the past twenty-four hours in a blender.

Why did Anderson’s death bother him anyway? He should be glad the man was dead. Happy to know he would never have to worry about his father seeking either him or Julia out. Hell, maybe Julia’s self-destructive nature would ease up now that the ever-looming threat of Anderson’s coming for her was gone.

All good things, yet he couldn’t shake this bizarre sense of loss. And he hated himself for it. How could he feel that way after everything the man had done?

Maybe finding Anderson’s body the way he had was feeding his unwanted regret. The image of Anderson’s mutilated corpse was permanently burned into his brain. Who could have hated the man that much…besides himself, of course?

His blood turned cold. Heddi.

No, it couldn’t have been her. She was too frail, too ill to deal with the man herself. And anyone she might have hired wouldn’t have made such a mess. A professional would have killed him, a clean hit. Whoever had bashed Anderson’s head in either hated the man, or relished the kill.

Someone like Tic, maybe?
His stomach churned. A distinct possibility.

“Des.” Heather’s urgent voice jerked him from his thoughts.

He lifted his gaze and met her sober eyes.

“Kate’s here. She’s waiting in your office.” Judging by the seriousness in the receptionist’s expression, his cousin was in rare form. Heather lowered her voice, and offered, “I could cover for you, if you want to get out of here.”

Wow, not a good sign. His stomach sank like a stone dropped in a lake. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll deal with her.”

After all, it wasn’t Heather’s fault he was buried chin-deep in shit. If Kate ever caught the girl lying for him, she’d fire her.

He dragged himself down the hall to his office, opened the door and found Kate seated behind his desk, her features drawn in a furious scowl.

A strange sense of
déja vu
washed over him, leaving him hollow inside. God, would he ever get away from these people, or was he destined to play out the same scenes over and over? Heddi couldn’t live forever, but what did it matter with Kate eagerly stepping into his grandmother’s shoes?

“What the hell are you playing at, Des?” Kate’s low voice was an odd mix of recrimination and concern.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of my chair. I have work to do.”

“You went to see him?
Him?!
” She added emphasis as if he wasn’t sure who she meant.

“How the hell could you possibly know already?” Had Avery seen his name and reported back? Hell, it wasn’t even quite nine o’clock.

“You’re a suspect, Des. The police contacted everyone to confirm your alibi. Me, my father, Heddi. What the hell were you doing going to see Anderson?”

Of course the police would. “Heddi wants me to spy on Shayne, that’s what I’m doing. I go where she goes. Are you going to get out of my chair?”

“No.” Her light blue eyes pinned him where he stood. “Heddi wants to know what’s happening with the writer, and after yesterday you’d better have some answers.”

He’d be damned before he told Kate or Heddi anything about Shayne. “I’ve been doing this for what? A day? I need more time to gain her trust.”

Speaking those words turned his stomach. His one constant in the mess of finding his father dead, his horizon line in a turbulent sea, had been Shayne. He couldn’t remember ever having someone to talk to like he had with her earlier, not without having to fear his own words being used to manipulate him later.

“She trusted you enough to take you with her to see Anderson. She trusts you enough to sleep with you.”

Christ, were they peeking through windows at them now? Probably not. More likely, Kate was taking a shot in the dark to see how close she could get to the mark. “I told her I wanted to meet Anderson and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She let me tag along with her.”

“Why was she going to see him in the first place?” Kate asked.

Des shrugged. A part of him would have loved to blurt out the truth. For Heddi to learn Shayne suspected her precious Gwen was having yet another affair. But he stayed quiet. He wouldn’t do that to Shayne. “Interviewing the perpetrator is part of her process.”

“But she’d already interviewed the man. Why did she go back?”

“How did you know that?” When Kate merely shot him a pointed stare, he shook his head and continued. “I don’t know why she needed to speak to him, she wouldn’t tell me.” Kate’s eyes narrowed. She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Clearly, she wasn’t buying his story. He’d have to throw her something. “Shayne doesn’t tell me anything about my parents. I think she’s trying to protect me.”

Kate snorted. “Protect you? You can’t be serious. Why?”

“Because she’s a good person, and good people consider the feelings of others. I know that may be difficult for you to grasp since your own dealings with good people are sadly infrequent, but I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Oh, please,” Kate sneered, tilted her head and smirked. “Is sleeping with the writer part of your plan? First you work your way into her bed, then into her head?” She bared her teeth a little.

“I have to say, Kate, your preoccupation with my sex life is kind of creepy. To help you get past that, I’ll admit I’m staying with Shayne, but only because I haven’t found her somewhere else to live. I don’t trust Tic, and I sure as hell don’t trust Heddi.”

Kate rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “You’ve made no headway with her at all. Heddi will be furious. She’s going to pull out of the deal.”

Oh, shit
. Panic flared inside him. If Heddi cut him out, Tic would be back in. And where would that leave Shayne?

Kate stepped out from behind his desk, smoothed her fitted skirt and jacket. Her lips pulled into a tight line.