Midnight Secrets (38 page)

She shook her head and grimaced. “Don’t think my stomach can handle more caffeine.”

“Which is exactly why you should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve changed.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Stress used to make you eat more. Remember those first few dates we had? I thought I was going to have to pry you away from the table.”

Her smile self-deprecating, she said, “If my mouth was full, it meant I couldn’t say anything stupid.”

He came and sat across the table from her again. “I don’t remember you ever saying anything stupid.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Then you weren’t listening.”

“I listened to everything, Savannah,” he said quietly.

“I know you did,” she said softly. “You were a great listener.”

“I still am.” He waited a breath and said, “Why didn’t you take my calls when I finally got up the guts to get in touch with you?”

Like an extinguished flame, the light disappeared from her face. She shook her head. “Let’s not go there right now, Zach.”

Would his gut ever stop hurting every time he thought about those days? After finally gathering up the courage to call and apologize and tell her what happened, she had refused to take his calls. He’d been stupid and naïve, believing that was all it would take for her to forgive him. Leaving without an explanation had been the most cowardly thing he’d ever done. And the result had been a broken heart for Savannah and years of remorse and regret for Zach.

“I came to see you in Nashville.”

She jerked, clearly startled at his admission. “When?”

“About a year after I tried calling you. I was about to be deployed to Iraq for the first time. I needed to see you … I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I knew I’d see action … might even die. I couldn’t live with the thought of never seeing you again and trying to apologize one more time.”

“But why … what …?”

“Why didn’t I follow through?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I saw you on campus.”

Shock … and something else flared in her green eyes. “You did?”

His mind went back to that day, remembering it as one of the worst days in his existence. Considering that he’d had some damn bad days, that meant something. She had been sitting on a bench, beneath a tree. Her hair had been pulled away from her face with a barrette, highlighting the incredible purity of her skin. At first he had just stood and looked, thinking she was even more beautiful than she’d been the last time he saw her. Finally, the need to be close to her, to touch her, had moved his feet forward. She was reading a book, completely unaware of her surroundings. He’d been about three yards away from her when he’d heard someone shout her name. Zach had stopped in his tracks. She had looked up and waved at the man who came running toward her. The smile of welcome on her face had stolen his breath, but it was watching her go into the guy’s arms that had almost brought him to his knees. The man had swung her in the air. Then Zach heard her laugh—it was one of joy and intimacy. He had backed away, disappearing quickly and quietly. That was the day he’d given up hope and let her go for good.

“Zach?”

She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He suddenly regretted telling her. What was she supposed to do with that information? He had no right to question whether she was still seeing the guy. He’d given up that right.

Still, he had come this far. “You were sitting under a tree, on a park bench. You wore a blue sundress, tan sandals with a little blue flower on them, and your nails were painted a pale pink color.”

“You were that close?”

He nodded, unable to speak as the pain in his gut traveled up to his chest.

“Why, Zach? Why wouldn’t you tell me you were there?”

Though full disclosure felt like a knife ripping into his belly, she deserved the truth. “I was about to when a guy called out your name. You smiled at him and went into his arms. You both looked so damn happy.” He shrugged. “I knew I was too late.”

Stunned, Savannah sat glued to her chair, barely breathing. Part of her wanted to get up and run, hide from those piercing gray eyes that had always seen through her. Another part wanted to pull him close and hold him next to her heart. He wasn’t bothering to hide his pain, the despair he had felt.

What would she have done if she had spotted him that day? Would she have run to him or away? After working so hard to regain her health and sanity, would seeing him have put her back on the edge again? Or would it have healed her completely? She would never know.

She remembered that day and that moment quite well. How odd that Zach had been there to witness it. “He was a friend, Zach. Nothing more. He was flunking one of his classes … I helped him prepare for his final. That was the day he learned that he’d passed. He came to thank me. That’s all.”

The agony in his eyes was her undoing. She walked around the table to him and, without asking permission, sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around him.

For a moment he was frozen and she wondered if she had done the wrong thing. Then, as if a dam burst, he held her tight against him as he buried his face in her hair. “I am so damn sorry, Savannah. About everything.”

Oh God, this hurt. Tear pricked her eyes and her throat closed with shared grief. “Zach … I need to tell—”

The radio, attached to Zach’s right shoulder, squawked, “Chief Tanner?”

Savannah didn’t know whose sigh was the loudest or more ragged, hers or Zach’s. His arms loosened with reassuring reluctance and she went to her feet.

“I’m here. What’s up?”

“Ethel Mae Hendrix called. Said somebody busted out the windows of her delivery van and wrote something nasty on the side of it. Arthur and Bart are out on calls.”

“Okay. I’ll head over there now.” He stood and said, “I’ve got to go.”

“I know.”

Surprising her, he pulled her back into his arms and just held her. Contentment swept through Savannah. She wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever.

Zach pulled away but held on to her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him.

“Look, I know we’ve done things backwards since you came back, but this is something real, Savannah.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I …”

“Don’t say anything yet. I know we’ve got a lot of other issues facing us, including finding your parents’ killer. When I get back, we’ll go over what little evidence we have together and come up with a plan. Okay?”

She nodded mutely.

“Stay here. I don’t want you out alone until we catch this bastard.”

She nodded again.

His soft kiss felt like a promise and a new beginning. As he stalked out the door, Savannah slumped down into the first available chair. Yes, they did have a killer to catch. With Zach and her sisters working the case, she had no doubt they would be successful. But then what? There were issues he didn’t even know about yet. Things that could bring them together or drive a wedge between them that nothing could heal.

Her eyes caught sight of the inept police report. First things first. There was a killer out there who’d not only taken her parents’ lives, but had almost taken Gibby’s. They had to find him.

Her grandfather’s letters were now her only recourse. She had read through the ones immediately following her parents’ death all the way up to three months after. But had anything happened after that?

When Bri and Sammie arrived, they could read through them all. For now, she would continue reading in hopes she could find something else.

Energized by the thought, Savannah poured herself another glass of iced tea and headed to the guesthouse. If it was the last thing she did, she would find more evidence that would finally bring peace to her and her sisters and justice for her parents.

Warning bells blasted like cannons through Zach’s mind as he glared at the middle-aged, gray-haired woman standing at her front door. “What the hell do you mean you didn’t call in a report?”

Ethel Mae Hendrix backed up warily, staring at him as if he had two heads. “Just what I said, Chief. I haven’t been home all week. In fact, I wasn’t supposed to be home until tomorrow but I got done with my business and came back early.”

Zach had stopped listening. Grabbing his cellphone from his pocket, he punched in Savannah’s number as he ran back to his car. After the fifth ring with no answer, Zach hit the gas and began to pray. He was on the other side of town, which meant it could take up to seven minutes before he reached the Wilde house.

As he continued to call Savannah’s cellphone, he grabbed the radio mic. “Hazel, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here, Chief. What’s up?”

“We got any units close to Wildefire Lane?”

“No … Something going on?”

“That call you took from Ethel Mae. Can you check the number, see where it came from?”

“Sure. Hold on.”

While he waited, he pressed the redial number on his cell and once again it went to voice mail. Where the hell was she? He refused to believe anything had happened to her. Dammit, it was broad daylight and this was Midnight-fucking-Alabama, where everybody and their brother knew what you were doing before you even did it. No way would anyone be stupid enough to try something.

“Chief, can’t trace the number. Looks like it might’ve come from one of those throwaway cellphones.”

“But it was definitely a woman who placed the call?”

“Yes, definitely a woman. Sounded like Ethel Mae to me.”

Or someone who’d disguised her voice to sound like Ethel Mae. Hell, were they looking at this all wrong? Was Maggie and Beckett Wilde’s murderer a woman? How was that possible? It would take an enormous amount of strength to hang an unconscious man. No way would Beckett have been alive and willingly hung himself.

The radio crackled again and Hazel’s voice said urgently, “Chief, there’s a report of a fire over on Wildefire Lane.”

Shit! Pushing ninety on a curvy two-lane road might seem insane, but if anything happened to Savannah, insanity would be the least of his problems.

Savannah lowered the letter she’d been reading and inhaled deeply. Was that smoke? Taking another deep breath confirmed her thoughts. Yes, there was a definite hint of smoke in the air. Someone was probably burning off woods or yard clippings.

She turned back to the letter. This one was dated just months before her grandfather died. His words indicated that the truth continued to haunt him. How she wished he had shared those worries with his family. But even after all that time, he continued to be concerned for his granddaughters’ safety.

She sniffed again. Was the smell getting stronger? And why would anyone be burning off woods or yard clippings? Though it had stopped raining, the ground and woods were drenched.

She stood and headed out the bedroom door. The smell was stronger in the hallway. Her heart kicking up a beat, she rushed toward the living room, then jerked to a halt at the entrance. The entire living room and kitchen area were rapidly filling with smoke. The guesthouse was on fire?

Holding her breath to keep from inhaling, she ran to the front door. The house was small enough that she could be outside in seconds. She turned the doorknob and pulled. Nothing budged. There was only one lock on the door; it wasn’t locked, it was stuck. How?

She told herself not to panic; there were plenty of other ways out of the house. Savannah turned around. Just in the short amount of time she’d been tugging on the door, the smoke had gotten thicker. There was a back door but she’d have to run to the other end of the house, through several smoke-filled rooms, to get to it. Window. She would go out through a window.

In the distance, she heard her cellphone ring. She’d left it lying on the bed. Going back to get it was too dangerous. Her only recourse was to go through a window and then call for help from the main house.

The smoke was so thick, her vision was becoming useless. She dropped to her knees and crawled to the front window. Holding her shirtsleeve in front of her face, she used her fingers to feel around for the lock. Finally she found it and clicked it open, then pushed the window up. Only it wouldn’t move. This was ridiculous. She’d opened this window hundreds of times during the fall and spring. She shoved harder, barely comprehending that wood splintered, cutting the tips of her fingers. A fit of coughing seized her. The smoke was even thicker, obscuring everything. There was another window in the kitchen. She squeezed her eyes tight, appreciating the tears that gave her stinging eyes some relief.

Wait. She could break the window. There was a lamp beside the sofa. She could use it to break the glass and then crawl out. The thought of shredding her legs on the glass was a lot less terrifying than dying of smoke inhalation or burning to death. Unable to see clearly, she stretched her arms out to feel. She knew every square inch of this house; why couldn’t she find the lamp? It should be right in front of her.

Time was running out. She’d have to go to the other window. She dropped to her knees again and scurried as fast as she could to the kitchen. When her head hit something solid—the kitchen table—she sobbed in relief. The window was on the other side of the table. Crawling carefully but quickly, she made her way around the table and then stood, arms out in front of her, feeling blindly. Yes, there it was. She felt around for the lock, unlatched it and pushed. Wouldn’t budge. Refusing to give up, Savannah turned around and grabbed a kitchen chair. With all of her might, she slammed it against the window. The reverberation rattled her entire body and the chair broke in her hand, but the window didn’t crack. Leaded, reinforced glass—a great energy saver but right now she’d give anything if the windows were made of the cheapest material. She could bang on it all day and end up with a bruised or broken hand but no broken glass.