Sweeter Than Sin (8 page)

“I can’t.” She laughed and the sound was unamused. “You know how you always told me that sooner or later, I’d bite off more than I could chew? Later has happened; now I have to deal with it. Don’t tell anybody, Adam, not if we’re friends. If anybody can lie about this, it’s you. Hardly anybody even knows we’re friends anymore except your folks.… I’m counting on you.”

*   *   *

If anybody can lie—

He stumbled to a halt at the very edge of the sidewalk and bent over, his lungs burning, the muscles in his thighs quivering, and his heart felt like somebody had ripped it out and torn it to shreds.

Just how did a man live with the knowledge of that kind of secret inside him? For twenty years?

I’m in trouble.…

You’re probably going to hear some things, see some things. Nothing you hear is going to be true.…

Not a whole hell of a lot had ever been
said
about Lana.

People speculated that she ran off.

People speculated she’d done something stupid, although
stupid
wasn’t exactly Lana’s style. Determined, full of bravado … sometimes misplaced. She’d been out to change the world.

Instead, she’d just disappeared and he’d quietly died a little inside, bit by bit, day by day, as he waited for her to come back.

She’d said she didn’t know
when
. He’d took that to mean it would take a while.

He’d never expected that he wouldn’t see her again. That she was gone … forever. She’d said she might not come back, but he hadn’t really expected her to mean it.

Over the years, though, he’d realized that just might be the case and he had forced himself to live with it.

Realized that maybe, just maybe, she’d run off with David Sutter, thinking about how he’d seen the two of them that one time.

Lana and David … nah, it had never clicked.

But maybe Adam had read it wrong. Read
her
wrong, because he’d been so stupid-crazy over her. After all, if she was the woman he’d thought, she’d never have stayed away from Jim like she had.

And it was easier, really, to think about her out there somewhere with David. Or anybody else. Alone, even, than to think of her
gone
. For real gone. So Adam told himself that what was had happened, that she’d left with David, even though part of him knew better.

The discovery of the body under the Frampton house had just about torn him apart, and he had to keep that quiet misery buried inside.

But somebody had died. Somebody had
killed
.

She’d said she’d done something … that she had to leave.

Had
she
killed somebody? That alone was what kept Adam quiet. If she’d done something, hurt somebody, she’d done it for a reason, and he wasn’t going to be the one to drive a nail in her coffin.

But fuck, this was killing him.

Who was it?

David’s mother? Diane had never been worth shit, and if she was the one Lana had been trying to get David away
from
 … she probably needed to die. There were worse scenarios, one that dug deep, ugly slashes into Adam’s soul and made him want to destroy something, hurt something.

“Son of a bitch!” he snarled, spinning away from the river and driving the heels of his hands against his eyes. Images of blood danced across the back of his eyes like a stain.

He’d discounted
all
of it. Every damn thing, because Lana had asked him.

And now there was a body. A body … and worse. His gut told him there was more going on than just that body. Blue, Caleb. All of it connected to that house. That knowledge had festered inside Adam ever since he’d learned about Caleb and his connection to the Frampton place.

What if she
wasn’t
out there somewhere? What if she hadn’t been out there, trying to help David?

Could it be her?

What if somebody had forced her to lie to Adam on the phone, to mislead him, and he’d just let his one chance to help her slide by him?

Memories of that smile haunted him, that taunting, unintentionally seductive smile—even back then, she’d been like that. She’d just been a kid and maybe only three years had separated them, but it felt like a lifetime. He’d wanted to put his hands on her then, his mouth … but he’d waited. Because she was so much younger, and then he’d waited too long.

Now she was gone.

What if, instead of being off someplace doing God knows what for the past twenty years, she’d actually been
dead
?

A sob tried to rip its way out of Adam and he fought it down.

But that smile—

Memories of it teased him. Taunted him … that crazy-sexy smile, with its top-heavy upper lip and the way her eyes had that wicked glint.

He could call her smile from the back of his memory with practiced ease and all he had to do was just
think
of her.

And he did just that.

But when he closed his eyes and pulled her face to mind, he saw another one.

Dark hair, framing a thinner, narrower face. A pair of dark, sleek glasses perched on an upturned nose and grey eyes that he’d hadn’t seen without eye shadow and mascara … at least not since she’d figured out how to put it on.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staggering a few steps while his mind whirled and stumbled, merging to the images.

A huge, towering oak was there, and if he hadn’t flung out a hand, he just might have fallen, face-first, down the short embankment, straight into the water.

*   *   *

She saw him running.

Lana didn’t know if she should stay where she was or just grab her stuff and hope for the best, sneak away once he was out of sight.

If he’d just gone on the other way, she wouldn’t have worried about it, but then he came to a stop at the river and stood there, first bent over like he had to catch his breath.

Then, slowly straightened and she’d thought he’d leave.

She couldn’t see him from this far away, but she had a bad feeling she knew who it was.

He’d sent her too many measuring looks while she’d been in the bar and now—

Abruptly everything about him changed and she caught her breath as he took off running, yet again.

But this time, he was running right toward
her
.

Oh, fuck.

He couldn’t see her, could he?

She didn’t have a fire.

She’d found a strange sort of shelter, a pretty little gazebo that had tugged at something deep inside, and the flowers planted around it had pulled at her heart. Knockout roses, baby’s breath and daisies bloomed in a chaotic rush of color, making her think of the flowers she’d planted around her dad’s house. She hadn’t had a lot of money to do it, but those flowers had been cheap and easy to maintain, so that was what she’d gone with.

Now, hidden by the panels of the gazebo, breathing in the air perfumed by the roses, she stared at the sleek form as he pounded the pavement. Barely daring to breathe, she waited.

He’d go by.

Right?

He’d go by and she’d have to make sure she stayed out of his way while she figured out the next step. The pain in her head increased as he barreled past her, not even looking her way.

She couldn’t even explain why she did it.

Rising to her feet, the sleeping bag puddled around her, she crossed her arms over her chest and said his name.

“Hello, Adam.”

He was twenty, thirty feet away and moving—

He stumbled to a stop and swung around, his eyes unerringly seeking her out in the shadows. She couldn’t see his face clearly, not in the velvety darkness, but she could feel that gaze raking over her.

Her heart lunged up into her throat as he came back, not running this time but moving awful damn fast. She tensed, ready to jerk away, as he stopped just a breath away.

His chest was heaving, moving in ragged, uneven bursts, but she had a feeling like it had nothing to do with his run. Her belly clenched, almost painfully, as a rush of need tore through her. Insane. Absolutely insane. Not here. Not with this man. Nothing could happen here—

He lifted a hand.

A gasp locked itself inside her throat, her eyes cutting to his hand.

There was a time when she’d loved to be touched. She’d bounced into her dad’s workshop to wrap her arms around him while he worked, had climbed into his lap even when she was too old to do it. She’d hugged her teachers, hugged her friends, hugged strangers because they said something kind. Adam, how she’d fling herself at him whenever she saw him, happy just to see him, wrap her arms around him until he hugged her back, even if it was just to get her to leave him alone.

And Noah … she’d loved to touch Noah.

But in the past twenty years, she’d learned that a touch wasn’t always a kindness. Sometimes a touch was a cruelty. Sometimes a punishment was as simple as taking a touch
away
. That had been her own self-inflicted punishment … stripping herself away from the comforts she’d once taken for granted.

Twenty years of that changed a person, and she was no longer the girl she’d been, was not the woman she might have become.

But as Adam lifted a hand and pulled her glasses off, she held still.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, his voice flat.

Unwelcoming.

Then he shoved the glasses back at her.

“Welcome home, Lana. Thanks for letting me know you were still alive.”

*   *   *

The confusion on her face pricked at his consciousness.

The sleeping bag on the ground grated at him.

And he wanted to grab her and pull her against him and rub his face against her neck, bury his hands in her hair and do everything he’d never been able to do.

So much for hoping he’d outgrow it.

Relief, need, confusion and anger, they all combined to form a superstorm inside him, and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or scream, cry and rage. One thing he
did
want, and wanted bad, was to grab her and strip her naked. The floor of the gazebo would work. She was slender, her body sleek with slight curves, and he had no business pounding her into the unforgiving wooden floor. That was okay, though. He could be on the bottom and she could take him instead.

His dick was hard as a pike and he wanted nothing more than to do just that. Touch. Take.

Finally.

Not in dreams and not in fantasies.

But for
real
.

Maybe then he’d believe what he saw in front him—he could believe she was real, that she was alive, that he wasn’t hallucinating or dreaming.

It wasn’t exactly the socially acceptable thing, though, and she wasn’t looking at him like she’d welcome that approach, either, so he lashed everything down and got it under control. Or he tried. Putting a few feet between them, he tried to think. Gaze locked on the night-dark river, he let himself actually think it.

Lana was here.

She was
here
.

Alive.

Lana was
alive
.

He sucked in a desperate breath and waited until he knew he could speak in a normal voice. Then he turned to look at her. His foot caught on the sleeping bag, the material rustling.

That just jacked up his anger and some of it spilled out in a snarl. “Why are you sleeping out here?”

“I don’t have much of any place else to sleep,” she said, lifting a brow. She tucked her hands into her back pockets and looked around. “It’s not as bad as some might think. Weather is decent. It’s quiet. I’ll be up before dawn so nobody can complain.”

Fury punched a hot fist through his gut and then twisted. But he managed a somewhat neutral voice himself as he said, “Sounds like you might have done this a time or two.”

“Sounds like.” She angled her head, studying him. She still held the glasses he’d taken from her, not bothering to put them on.

“You need those glasses or you just hiding behind them?”

She smiled, but it was a caustic, bitter thing. “It’s not so much hiding as just … distracting. Makes things a lot easier.”

“A pair of glasses won’t distract anybody for too long.” He looked over his shoulder, staring at the dark, quiet town. The occasional car ambled by on Main Street, some blocks back, but other than the traffic down the main strip, most of the town slept. And waited. “You have no idea what’s been going on around here, sugar. You’d be better off just leaving. Showing up now, with everything that’s going on, is just asking to get caught up in it.”

“Adam.”

Slowly, he turned his head. The words carried a heavy, tired weight and her eyes were somber when she looked at him. “I am caught up in it.… This is why I came back.”

*   *   *

Prick
.

Layla Chalmers leaned against the crumbling brick wall and watched Adam as he hung a left on Main Street with some chick. The woman had a bag slung over one shoulder, dark hair that hung in a fat braid halfway down her back, and the one glimpse Layla had gotten of her face revealed a pair of glasses.

She was pretty.

That smart/sexy kind of pretty that Layla despised. Guys seemed to dig that kind of look. Layla didn’t see why. Uppity bitches like that always thought they were
better
than everybody else. Whatever.

Of course, there was Adam, unable to peel his eyes away from her. He’d probably have his dick buried inside her within thirty minutes. If that. Not like he was particularly discriminating. He’d banged everybody from Rita to that gossipy bitch Meg over at the salon. She was in her fifties for fuck’s sake.

He’d fuck that dried-up hag, but he jerked away from Layla like she had a disease.

Hypocrite.

Adam had years lost in a bottle but thought he could get self-righteous on her just because she liked to get high every now and then. It wasn’t like she’d been doing it on the job. She hadn’t even been using when they were fucking. She just kept it on hand when she was around her sister, because
nobody
could be straight around Sybil.

“Uptight bitch,” Layla muttered.