If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (38 page)

“Sometimes keeping them trapped inside will do the same thing.”

“So what’s the story with you and Hope?” Ezra asked as they followed the winding trail into the woods.

Law smacked at a bug. “There isn’t a story with me and Hope. She’s a friend. She needed a job. And I had a
job that needed to be done. It would’ve worked really well, if some psychotic hadn’t gone and dumped the body in my workshop.”

“Known each other long?”

“You sure as hell are nosy,” Law muttered. “Yeah. We’ve known each other pretty much our whole lives. My dad and I lived next door to her folks when we were kids. Lived in a small town, went to the same schools, graduated together.”

Ezra was quiet for a minute—the better to enjoy Law’s grumbling as they cut through the underbrush. “She looks like she’s been put through hell.”

“She has been through hell. Fuck, she’s pretty much lived in hell ever since we got out of high school.” His voice had a bite to it, heavy, hard with self-disgust.

Pausing, Ezra looked back at the other man. He had stopped on the trail, staring off into the distance.

But Ezra suspected he wasn’t seeing the trees, or much of anything. “You okay?”

Law slanted him a look. “You ever suspected in your gut that somebody you loved was in trouble?”

Ezra thought of Mac. Yeah, he had loved her. She had been in trouble, all right, but he hadn’t suspected. Not once.

But Law didn’t seem to need an answer. “Big trouble. So you ask, but you’re told everything is fine. Just fine. And because she’s never lied to you before, you believe her. Couple years go by, and it turns out she
was
in trouble. And now it’s worse—a lot worse. It’s the kind of trouble that you may not be able to help her with. And if you had just pushed, before, back when you first suspected things were wrong, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“And if you had pushed, maybe you would’ve made things worse.” Off to the side of the trail, there was a fallen tree, covered with moss. Ezra made his way over to it and sat down, stretching his leg out in front of him.
“I’m not going to ask you for any information. I don’t need to. I’ve already got a rough idea of some of the shit she had to deal with. She was married. And he beat her.” He cocked a brow at Law and waited.

“That’s the short and sweet version. It gets worse—a lot worse.”

“Was he a cop?”

Scowling, Law demanded, “How the hell did you know that?”

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out if you know what to look for. I knew she’d been married—I can still see where she wore a ring, even though it’s been awhile since she’s worn it. Plus, you can tell just by the way she acts that she’s been mistreated more than once in her life. That girl’s never been in any kind of trouble, so it’s not that. Only thing that makes sense is that she was knocked around by a cop. So I just put two and two together.” Even the thought of that was enough to have Ezra seeing red. “Did she try to get help?”

“Yeah. And a lot of good it did her. His dad was the chief of police. His mom? She was one of the two doctors in our town. He had been the football captain, was on the student council. Our town’s golden boy. He never got in trouble, one of those kids who could do no wrong. He and Hope started dating when we were sophomores. They got married the summer he graduated from college, although I think the mental abuse started well before that. Everybody thought they had one of those sweet little fairy-tale romances.” Law turned away and started to pace, scuffing his booted feet through dead, dry leaves. “Hope told me everything was fine for the first couple years—but I don’t think it was. Maybe she just needed to believe that.”

“She got away from him. You’re kicking yourself and I probably would be, too, if I was in your shoes. But she got away from him. That’s something you need to remember.”

“Yeah.” Coming to a halt, Law shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. In a flat, emotionless voice, he asked, “You ever fantasize about killing somebody?”

The wash of blood … the scent of it, the feel of it. Ezra could remember that, even when he could find no other memory of that night. He’d rather remember nothing than to have the one clear memory be that of Mac’s blood covering him.

“You really want to know what it’s like to kill somebody, do you, Law?” Ezra asked, forcing the words out of his tight throat. “You want to walk around with that weight on you?”

“That’s not what I asked.” Law turned and met his eyes. Head cocked, hazel eyes shrewd. “Different thing—killing somebody and fantasizing about it. And it’s a different story, probably, thinking about killing somebody who really does need to die, and being the one who had to pull the trigger for … whatever your reasons were.”

With a fist gripping his throat, Ezra looked away. Whatever his reasons were.

His reasons? He hadn’t been worrying about reasons. He had seconds—less—to decide. Did he pull the trigger or did he risk dying himself?

“What was his name? The bastard who whaled on Hope?”

Law’s mouth twisted in a bitter snarl. “Joe. Joey. There was a time when I’d called him a friend, too. And that’s a punch in the stomach, I’ll tell you.”

“I reckon it would be.” Ezra shoved off the trunk and studied the woods. It was darker here under the canopy of leaves and relatively cooler—relatively. But it was hot as a bitch outside and relatively cooler wasn’t really that much cooler. His shirt clung to him and sweat trickled down his neck and back. “So this guy, Joe. He was a cop. And it sounds like he’s a bastard and a half, beating
on his wife. He’s got half the town where you lived eating out of his hand. He still got his badge?”

The look on Law’s face was enough of an answer.

Ezra’s gut clenched, turned hot inside him and twisted. Dirty cop—dirty cop. Maybe not on the level that Mac had been dirty. But a cop who could beat his wife, and get away with it … what else could he call it? That was about as dirty as they came, really.

That hot, greasy knot in his gut started to claw and climb up his throat. Blood roared in his ears.

Put it away. Put it away
, he told himself.

“So he’s still got his badge.” Ezra blew out a breath. “So here’s the problem for you … aside from the fact that he shouldn’t still have his badge. The fact is, he does. And if you keep thinking about doing things, sooner or later, you might decide to act … you ever thought about taking it beyond the fantasy?”

“My problem is that I know it would cause hell for Hope if I tried,” Law said bitterly.

“And she’s been through enough hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So maybe you should stop fantasizing … and put her ex out of your mind. Besides,” Ezra said, studying the trees, “we’ve got enough to deal with around here now, just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

“And exactly how are we supposed to do that?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Ezra muttered. “But for now? We keep prowling around these woods until we see something, find something. Or somebody.”

“Shit. You know we could be here for a while.” Glum, Law stared into the trees.

“Nah. We won’t be here any more than another hour or so.” Ezra shot a glance at his watch. “Lena and Hope will be heading back by then and we’re not leaving them alone.”

Jolene.

She rubbed her eyes.

Why would a sheriff in Ash, Kentucky, be e-mailing her over Joely? The words tripped around, ran together in her mind, not making much sense. It was getting late, she’d had a long day, she was tired—but not that tired.

Go to sleep … call in the morning. After you’ve rested
, she told herself. She swallowed, wanting to do just that.

She stared at the contact numbers he’d left. One matched the number included in the little signature line at the bottom. The other he’d told her was his cell. He’d included all the necessary information for her to make the international call as well—thoughtful of him.

Why …?

Tears were blurring her eyes. Somehow … she knew.

Nia surged to her feet and started to pace the small, tight confines of her hotel room. No. A sob built up in her chest.

Joely …

Pressing one shaking hand to her lips, she tried to hold back the scream, tried to keep from sobbing.

This wasn’t real.

Taking a deep breath, Nia grabbed her phone. She’d call them. They’d be wrong. Yes. Wrong.

As she waited to connect, she sat at her computer and pulled up a map of Kentucky.

Just where in the hell was Ash, anyway?

Nielson glanced at his computer, checked the e-mail.

Checked his cell phone. Although he hadn’t expected an immediate response, part of him still wanted one. He needed to speak with Nia Hollister. Get this over with.

The silence in his office was interrupted by a brisk knock and he looked up, saw his administrative assistant standing there, her bright green eyes locked on his face.

Something in those eyes warned him. He tensed.

“Yes?”

“There’s a Ms. Hollister on the phone,” she said. The stern mask she wore cracked and for a moment, he saw the pity there as she shifted her gaze past him to stare at his murder board. “It’s the victim’s next of kin.”

“Shit.”

He’d seen them enter the trees.

The two men. Law and King.

Law. Fucking Law Reilly—bastard. Fury all but turned his vision red, choked him.

After all this time, why were things going wrong now?

What were they doing in his woods?

Too close.

Even if they were moving off in the wrong direction.

Too close …

None of this had gone as planned. Setting his jaw, he backed away.

None of it.

But then again, it had been awhile since things had gone as planned.

Stupid fucking bunch of flowers, Brody thought, kicking at the dead and dying blooms. The driveway was
empty, the house quiet. He’d come out here to talk to King and see if he couldn’t get his uncle to back down, change his mind on this lame-ass unofficial “community service” bit—Brody sure as hell wouldn’t be bringing his four-wheeler around here again, so it wasn’t like King wouldn’t get what he wanted.

Right?

But the man wasn’t here.

Probably over at Lena’s.

“Dumb-ass flowers,” he mumbled. He kicked at a tumbled bunch of brightly colored golden blooms. Their fragile blossoms trembled and fell and he ground them down under his heel. Flowers.

The first time his dad had really looked at him in weeks, and it was with disappointment in his eyes. Over a bunch of damn flowers.

Swallowing past the knot in his throat, he shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out the battered pack of cigarettes. He’d stolen them—Marlboro Lights, but it was the best he could do right now. He lit one and then crouched down, the match still burning and he held it to one of the petals, watching with narrowed eyes.

It burned down to his fingers and he dropped it.

But staring at the singed petal, even with his fingers burning, he felt a little better.

Thunder rumbled warningly through the air. Hope grimaced and shot the darkening sky a nervous glance. “It’s looking ugly up there,” she said softly, trying not to let the damned fear edge in on her voice.

She was so tired of being afraid. So tired of letting fear dictate everything.

“Why don’t we just head to my place for now?” Lena said as the rain started to come down.

“Law will have my head if I’m not home soon,” Hope murmured, trying to smile. She didn’t want to worry
him any more than she already had. He’d spent too much time worrying over her, for her, about her.

“Then we’ll call him.” Lena pulled a phone out of the backpack she had stashed at her feet. Two minutes later, she tucked the phone away and shot Hope a smile. “That’s lucky. He was with Ezra and they’re heading to my place now as we speak.”

The downpour got harder and the next few minutes passed by slowly, the miles inching along at a crawl. “Man, I’m glad we didn’t hang around Lexington any longer,” Hope muttered.

“Chances are this will be over within five minutes after we get inside.” Lena sighed. “I’d almost lay money on it.”

Hope’s head was pounding by the time she finally found Lena’s driveway. A huge breath whooshed out of her in relief as she parked in the drive, right behind Ezra’s big white pickup. “Ezra’s here, too,” she said.

“Yeah. Maybe he and Law decided to do some sort of male-bonding thing since we went shopping.” Lena smiled a little as she said it. The rain came beating down on the car and she grimly reached for the door handle. “It’s going to stop raining. The second I hit the porch. Bet me on it?”