Perfect Family (46 page)

What else did he know?

Bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep it down, to maintain her composure, to do what had to be done, to accomplish what her father had wanted.

She turned away from him, freezing him with the icy shock she herself felt. She took the letter from him and passed it to Sol. She had no secrets from him, and he was involved now since the store had been burglarized.

When he finished, his eyes flickered from her to Ross and back again. His lips thinned and she knew he'd picked up on her feelings. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked gently.

She shook her head and took back the letter. She stared at it blindly, fighting to keep tears at bay.

She turned to Ames, who was watching curiously. “Can you make a copy of this?”

He nodded. He took the fragile sheet of paper and disappeared, returning shortly with the original and copy.

She put the original in the book and handed it to him. “The bank is closed. Will you keep the book for me for a few days?”

“Of course,” he said. “I'll put it in my vault.”

She reached out her hand, hoping it wasn't trembling. “Thank you. You've been extraordinarily kind.”

“It's been a pleasure. But in return, I ask that you tell me the ending of this story.”

“I will,” she promised. Then she gave Sol a hug. He clasped her tight, and she knew he sensed her tumultuous feelings. The grief for her father. For his regret. His lost years. Then the anger. The sense of betrayal. Betrayal from all of them. All of her so-called family who'd kept so much from her. Even Ross. She'd given him all her trust. He'd given her none.

She carefully folded up the letter. She would reread it. Again and again.

She didn't look at Ross. She wanted to be alone, to grieve by herself for a man she'd never really known.

But she couldn't do that. She couldn't leave him in the middle of a city he didn't know. Instead, she put the folded paper into the pockets of her slacks. She wanted it on her. Then she nodded to the men and walked toward the door. Ross fell in next to her, matching stride for stride. But she didn't want to look at him. She didn't want him to see how wounded she was.

“Would you like me to drive?” he asked at the car.

“No,” she said shortly.

She did look at him then. His dark eyes were steady. His mouth was grim. A muscle flexed in his cheek. That was always the only sign that he felt anything. But he didn't say anything more. No excuse. No explanation. Did he even know what he had given away by his silence?

She didn't know. She only knew there was one more person she could no longer trust.

twenty-seven

Ross didn't say anything on the way back to her house. He knew what he'd just lost in those few seconds. He knew he'd lost the trust, the closeness that had developed between them. He'd seen comprehension dawn in her eyes when he'd stopped reading the letter.

And he had no defense. He couldn't say why he'd withheld information she'd wanted so badly, because then he would be betraying someone else. He'd thought his heart immune to wreckage. It wasn't. He consoled himself with the fact that he hadn't been tossed out on the street. At least, she realized he wouldn't harm her in any physical way.

He turned slightly and watched her. He also occasionally glanced backward. No dark sedan. They'd definitely thrown whoever had been following them.
If
they had been followed.

He looked at her, at her set face, the chin jutting forward in that determined way of hers. She wouldn't look at him, and when she did her eyes were like ice. He'd not seen that side of her before. It was formidable. It said, “Don't touch, don't approach.”

He had no idea how to do either. He accepted that she wanted him to leave her alone, just as he accepted that he could not. She was probably in more danger than ever. If whoever wanted those bonds knew she had the information leading to them, she would be a prime target. Damn it all to hell.

They arrived at her cottage at close to seven. Atlanta traffic had consumed nearly an hour and a half. He didn't know how she tolerated it, the traffic and the smog that hovered over the city. He already longed for the clean skies of northern Arizona.

They got out of the car. The air was muggy and hot. Great bulbous clouds filled the sky, and he smelled the coming rain. The denseness of the air seemed to heighten the aroma of the garden, spreading the sweet scent of magnolia and lilies and other flowers he didn't recognize.

The garden was visible evidence of her affection for the house, for this place she'd made her own. He hated the way she hesitated at the door, as if her one haven had been irretrievably spoiled. He saw her glance apprehensively up and down the street.

Nothing. No suspicious cars. No suspicious people.

Ross took the house key from her and motioned for her to let him go in first. He checked all the rooms. Nothing seemed disturbed. He appreciated the fact that she didn't ask if such precautions were necessary. She'd simply accepted that they were. Nor did she quarrel with his self-appointed role of protector. She didn't seem to notice him at all, in fact. She had tuned him out as completely as he'd done to others.

When he'd satisfied himself that everything was as they had left it, he joined her in the living room. “What do you plan to do now?”

She looked at him with cool eyes. That hurt more than angry ones would. “What do
you
think I should do?”

He stilled. There was a coldness about the question. Even an accusation.

He knew what he
wanted
her to do. Burn the goddamn book and the letter. The Clementses didn't need an opening of an investigation of a murder—murders—fifty years earlier. There was no statute of limitations on murder.

“Whatever you think should be done,” he finally said. “It's your call.”

“It's my father's call. He wanted the money returned.”

“All right. How do you want to start? Go to the police?”

She looked up at him. “You don't want that, do you?” Her eyes had narrowed.

“It's the safest way to handle it.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“No,” he said flatly.

“No, you didn't answer my question, or no, you don't want me to go to the police?”

He shrugged. “No, I'm not going to answer that question.”

“Because of Sarah?”

He turned away.

She persisted. “She was involved in some way, wasn't she?”

“Only in making sure the family … wasn't hurt,” he finally said.
Part of the truth
.

“What do you mean?”

“She used her … the family's influence to convince the authorities that autopsies weren't necessary. She'd known what had happened when she found Heath's note and Harding disappeared. She suspected they would find murder if they looked. Her favorite brother would be hunted like an animal.”

“That was all?”

“The facts can still destroy the family,” he said, realizing how weak the argument sounded.

“Did she—did you—think I would run to the police with a fifty-year-old crime my father committed?” She was outraged. And hurt that she hadn't been trusted.

“She didn't want you to know, either,” he said. “She was still trying to protect your father. I swore to her years ago I would never say anything.”

“My father said Lori was still alive when he left her.”

He shrugged. “He was frantic, Jess. He may not have realized how badly he'd hurt her.”

“And the fire? Was that just convenient?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Perhaps a spark from a gun. There were fires all over that summer, and authorities assumed one trapped Lori and Heath. A fire crew found the bodies.”

“And Sarah's role in all this?”

“She suspected what had happened, and she diverted the attention of the police. She told them that Harding had left on a business trip. When she reached him by phone and when he heard about his brother and wife, he said he needed to get away.”

“Then my father killed two people,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

He wanted to take her in his arms, but he couldn't. Not now. He wasn't that much of a bastard.

Her eyes seemed to stare through him. She wasn't accepting everything he said. But neither was she rejecting it.

“I want to finish this,” she said. “But I don't want to destroy everyone in doing so. If we just get the bonds and give them to the family, then … all this should stop.”

“But then you'll never know who tried to run you off the road.” Ross was acting the devil's advocate now, arguing first one side, then another. He wanted her to be sure, to have no doubts. Or as few as possible. Damn it, she had a way of turning him into knots.

“Do you think I'll really find that out if I go to the police?”

He doubted it. He shrugged. “It's up to you.”

“
I
don't,” she said, then went to the phone. “I think we should go to Sedona tomorrow and see if the bonds are still there.”

He liked that “we.” He nodded, taking the phone from her hands. God only knew how much she'd already spent in plane fares. This was one time the ranch could pay. She had, after all, saved it. He made the reservations, however, for Las Vegas. “We'll rent a car there,” he said. “If we disappear from here, someone might watch the Phoenix airport.”

She listened as he made all the arrangements, using the ranch credit card, but her face seemed frozen. She looked as if she would break into a thousand pieces if she allowed her emotions off a very tight leash. And yet she had still thought of the Clementses first. He was baffled at that.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked when he hung up the receiver.

He shook his head. “Would you like dinner?”

“No,” she said. “I'm not hungry. I'm going to bed. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything.”

Anything but her
. The words were unsaid but he felt them. She disappeared down the hall, but he knew he would always remember the way her lips trembled. The break in her voice. Everyone in her life had let her down.

Including him. Perhaps especially him.

Jessie had to be alone. She had to reread the letter. She had to think about her father. She had to weigh what Ross had said. It sounded so logical. And yet she didn't believe him. At least she didn't believe everything. Or maybe it would be hard for her to believe anyone at this point. She just wanted it all to be over.

But her father had given her a charge. She now knew only a little of the agony he must have gone through. She wiped a tear from her eye. He'd obviously loved the ranch, loved the other members of the family. Loved his wife. Regret and anguish had been in every word of that letter. No wonder he'd sought solace in drink. No wonder he'd barred his heart.

She wished Ben were here. She wished it with all her heart. She desperately needed to love something at the moment. And needed to receive it. Unconditional, uncomplicated, honest love.

Jessie didn't know how long she stayed in her room, remembering, thinking.

She looked at the clock. It was after one, and their plane left at eight in the morning. They would have to leave the house at six. Yet she knew she couldn't sleep. Perhaps a glass of milk would help.

She put on a robe and went to the kitchen, padding silently on bare feet past Ross's room. She paused for a moment, wanting to knock, then bury herself in his arms, but she couldn't tonight. He was still holding something back. She felt it to the marrow of her bones.

How can you have love without trust?

And yet she trusted him with her life, if not her heart.

The house was dark, and it took several minutes for her eyes to adjust. Before going to the kitchen, though, she looked out the window. A dark sedan was parked down the street. Chills ran through her. Was she really doing the right thing in not going to the police? And yet she still didn't have evidence of a crime in Arizona, except for the one her father committed fifty years earlier.

Then she felt Ross's presence next to her.

“Jess?”

“Someone is out there.”

He looked out. “We don't know it's the same car.”

“I do,” she said.

He moved behind her and put his arms around her, pulling her back to lean into his body. He felt so good. So solid. She knew then she wanted to stay there. Maybe he
had
told her everything. His hands massaged the back of her neck. Gentle hands. Loving hands.

Yet she couldn't trust them. She gently pulled away. “I came out to get a glass of milk.”

“I'll stay up,” he said. His hand caught hers.

She held it for a moment, feeling its warmth, its strength. The now-familiar heated tension stretched between them. His finger traced the contours of her face. But then he dropped it. “Get your milk,” he said gently.

Jessie nodded. It wasn't what she wanted. But she knew he was right. She was emotionally volatile. But she knew she wouldn't sleep now. Instead of milk, she made a pot of coffee, and together they silently watched throughout the night.

The ease between them was gone as she prepared a quick breakfast of toast and jam. Electricity continued to shimmer between them, though, and the emotional distance Jessie tried to establish made that attraction even more compelling—the human foible of wanting what you can't, or shouldn't, have.

The sedan was still there in the morning, but there was no sight of occupants. But after they pulled away and went several blocks, they saw the car again. They had discussed that earlier, though, and she had called Sol. They arranged to meet at a busy restaurant. Sol parked on the other side of the restaurant, and Ross and Jessie went through one of one set of doors to another, got in his car, and drove away.

Jessie knew that it wouldn't take long for someone to discover they'd returned to Sedona, but hopefully it would be too late.