The Man She Once Knew (9 page)

There was a hitch in the hum of conversation when she walked through the doorway. For nearly the space of a breath, she could hear an old Johnny Cash song as if she was standing right by the jukebox.

Her heart slid up into her throat and started choking her.

Or maybe that was the haze of cigarette smoke.

The bartender was staring at her. So were many other sets of eyes.

She knew, deep in her bones, that she’d made a mistake coming here. Why did she forget the way news traveled in a small town? There was no anonymity in Oak Hollow. People probably already knew, God help her, that she’d posted David’s bail.

At least he wouldn’t be present tonight, not after losing his job.

In or out? That was the simple choice, stay or go.

She decided to stay, and took the first step inside. Sometimes brazening out the situation was the only possible course. She kept her head high and strode straight to the bar. The bartender, a big man, likely an athlete run to fat, gave one curt nod as if admitting her to the kingdom.

Though maybe only on a provisional basis.

Still, she took it. Slid up on a lone cracked vinyl stool at one end of the bar when she would prefer to hide in a booth.

The bartender took his time, sauntering over eventually. “What’ll you have?”

Her favorite pinot grigio was probably out of the question. Likewise a mojito or anything of its ilk. “A beer,” she answered. “Whatever’s on tap.” The choice didn’t really matter; she was interested in keeping her head, not relaxing.

She surveyed the room through its reflection over the bar. A sparse crowd, but two guys at the pool table in the corner had their heads together, and the glances cast her way weren’t reassuring. She wove her fingers together in her lap, clenching them tightly.

The bartender returned with a mug and a coaster. “Three bucks,” he said. Then his eyes flicked to the space over her left shoulder.

Callie followed the movement, swiveling on her stool.

A rawboned blond man, younger than herself, touched the brim of his gimme cap. “Evenin’, miss. Name’s Rudy Ballard. Could I interest you in a dance?”

A bug on a pin could have felt no more trapped as curious glances came her way. “Uh, I don’t…” His manner seemed mild, but all her nerve endings were on edge. She grasped at a compromise, pointing to the empty stool next to her. “I just got my beer. Would you care to join me?”

His eyes darted at the change of plans. Behind him, she could see his two pool buddies leering.

The faint blush on his cheeks decided her. “Please.” She gestured again. “I’m Callie Hunter.”

“I know.” Uneasily he took a seat.

Her eyebrows rose at that. “Is that right?”

An awkward shrug made her wonder if he was even out of his teens. “Well, I mean, that is, word travels. Not much going on in Oak Hollow.” A toothy smile revealed a dimple in one cheek. “Plus you were at my daddy’s house today.”

Oh, dear. More and more tangles. “Ballard.” She thought for a minute, then recalled the frame house with the half-finished garage under construction. “Oh, yes. I think he said his son was helping him with the new addition. Is that you?”

“Sure is. My daddy has a way with cars, and folks
are always asking him to take a look at theirs. He used to work on Miss Margaret’s vehicle, and she encouraged him to set up a real garage there at the house. Went in with him on it.” A quick grin. “Said she’d be angling for a better deal on repairs when it was done. Shoot, Miss Margaret knew like ever’body else that there’s no better deal to be had, but she liked to tease my daddy ’cause he’s so serious.”

Callie recalled the man now, tall and sober and silent. His wife, a sweet little bird of a woman, had fluttered about and kept the conversation going while her husband loomed in the background.

“Closest garage after Daddy’s is way up to Blue Ridge. Folks need him here, and winter’s hard, working outside, lying on the cold ground under a vehicle.” Rudy perused her features as others had. She should be used to it by now. “You gonna let me and Daddy finish building? He can’t make payments until we get done and he can take more business, but he’s good for it, I swear to you.”

The responsibility was breathtaking. Miss Margaret’s tendrils were wound more deeply into this community than Callie would have ever imagined. “I told your folks I wasn’t out to change anything. Did they not believe me?”

Another stain of color. “I don’t know. I guess so, I mean—they didn’t ask me to talk to you or nothin’, but I just, well…” His eyes shifted back toward the pool table. “Folks are worried, seeing you with David Langley and knowing you’re from the city and all…nobody is sure what you might do.”

He had what trial lawyers called a glass face, his
emotions clear as day. Callie was sure she could get some information from him, but she wouldn’t try now, not when the bartender kept wiping the same yard of counter and the fellow two stools down was leaning enough that he could fall with one little push.

“I think I’m ready to dance, Rudy.” She stood.

Surprise skipped over his features. “Well, ah…sure thing, Miss Hunter.”

“Callie.” She smiled up at him and was rewarded by another blush. She walked to the open floor space and turned, waiting for him to follow. “You can call me Callie.”

He sped up and gripped her waist with one hand, holding out the other to clasp her palm. They shuffled in a slow box step while she waited for him to relax.

Then Callie the interrogator went to work.

“So what is it that worries people about David Langley?” she asked with just the right touch of wide-eyed innocence. This boy, after all, would have been only a child back then.

His brows flew upward. “Well, um, I mean—” He shook his head, then plunged ahead. “Do you not know he’s a murderer? I mean, you come from the city and all, but has no one told you that?”

Her gamble was rewarded. Apparently he was unaware of David and Callie’s earlier connection—at least, for now. Plus he was too fixated on her cleavage.

“Well, yes, of course I do, but hasn’t he served his time and been released?”

“Yeah.” A quick frown as he finally looked at her face
instead of her bosom. “But you’ve got to be aware that he beat the hell out of Mickey Patton, I mean, I hear tell that you put up his bail.”

“I only loaned his mother the money,” she lied blithely. “Miss Margaret was apparently fond of him, and I think she would have wanted me to do that. After all, isn’t everyone innocent until proven guilty?”

“But he—”

She let her eyes go wide. “Were you here that night, is that it? Did you see the fight?”

“No one did—I mean—” His gaze cut to his buddies.

The sheriff’s report said that seven witnesses had sworn David attacked Mickey Patton. There was no way; anyone who’d tried a case knew that seven people would have seven different stories. Witnesses in sync were a suspicious sign, especially when the incident occurred in a bar and at least some of them almost certainly had been drinking. “It’s okay. I’m on vacation here, and I’ve got too much else to worry over.” Sometimes the less you pressed, the more you found out.

“We all saw it, just not—” A lift of one shoulder. “Not the very beginning.”

She surveyed the room. “There’s not much place to hide in here. How come you couldn’t see?”

“They were in the alley out back.”

“Oh, really.” She smiled at him and touched the hair at his nape.

His eyes went a little unfocused. “Um, yeah. I mean, Mickey had had some words with him earlier, but nobody threw a punch in here.”

“What kind of words?” Shamelessly she took a deep breath and watched his gaze drop again.

“Mickey, well, he, uh, he’s not real easy to get along with. Most folks give him a pass, they don’t—”

Hmm. “So Mr. Langley doesn’t give him a pass?”

Rudy cleared his throat. “It’s not—he doesn’t say much. He mostly doesn’t come in until near closing, but sometimes when Carl needs extra help, he’s here earlier and then he has to be out front. That’s when stuff happens sometimes.”

“Like fights, you mean?”

“No. Matter of fact, I’m surprised nothing boiled over before. Mickey, he can be downright mean. He’s said some things no man would stand for, and me and the boys have wondered how Langley didn’t just haul off and pop him.”

“Why don’t they like each other?”

“Well, see, Mickey, he admired Ned Compton something fierce. My daddy says he always wanted to be a big shot, Mickey did, but in high school, there was David, and nobody could hold a match to him. The whole town was plumb goofy over him like he was the Second Coming or something. But Mr. Compton, when he came to town with his plans to build a resort and provide lots of jobs, he was the real deal, Mickey told me. Folks felt like he could make Oak Hollow someplace special. David didn’t like him, though—probably just jealous of Mr. Compton stealing his thunder, least that’s what Mickey says. And when Mr. Compton took to courting David’s mama, well, David couldn’t stand it.”

“What does that have to do with Mickey Patton?”

“Mickey took to doing things for Mr. Compton, errands and stuff. Probably just to rile David at first, but he got the notion that Mr. Compton was gonna help him move up in the world, and he wanted that real bad. He said he was gonna be a big man like Mr. Compton and show everybody. So when David killed Mr. Compton, well, Mickey would have led the lynch mob if David hadn’t confessed to the crime and gone off to jail right quick.”

“So now that David’s back, Mickey’s still holding a grudge? Has David ever made a move toward him?”

“Not that I saw—” Rudy’s eyes shifted to the door, and he stiffened.

Callie glanced over to see a beer-bellied, thick-necked man, his posture screaming aggression.

“That’s him, that’s Mickey,” Rudy said, and paled a little.

“I heard he was in the hospital, half-dead. The stories seem to be a little exaggerated.”

“I, uh…”

Just then Patton’s gaze landed on her, and she resisted the urge to shiver. Pig-mean, those eyes, as he approached, limping but still menacing.

Rudy skirted away a couple of steps but drew her with him, seeming torn between protecting and abandoning her.

“Evenin’, Rudy. Who we got here?”

Callie’s spine tingled with the impulse to back away, but she’d learned not to be intimidated, either
by her colleagues or the criminals she faced on a daily basis, so she met his gaze squarely. “My name is Callie Hunter.” She offered a handshake as if the prospect of his skin against hers didn’t make her stomach pitch.

He ignored it as his eyes bored into hers. “I hear you’re siding with that son of a bitch who tried to kill me. You got any idea, girl, the filth you’re climbing into bed with?” Then his lips curved in a nasty smile. “Is that it? The boy got you back in his bed already? I remember you, see, from back then, sugar.”

Never let them see you sweat.
She knew that lesson cold. She’d been the target of many crude threats, even some death threats, but never had her skin crawled quite this way. She wanted away from him, wanted a very long shower to wash off any trace of him.

Silence was its own weapon, though never had it been more difficult to wield. She waited several beats until both Patton and his audience had become restless and Patton’s neck had mottled with red.

Then, in a tone that was pure contempt, she spoke at last. “It’s long been my observation that those most interested in the sex lives of others seldom have one of their own.” She kept her eyes on him as one would an adder within striking distance. “Rudy, thank you for the dance. It’s been lovely,” she said in her snottiest imitation of Main Line superiority.

She could hear the mutters as she grabbed her purse and walked out. She was exceedingly grateful that she was parked near the door.

As she slipped into her car and locked all the doors, Mickey Patton loomed in the doorway.

Shivering, Callie drove back to Miss Margaret’s and locked every door and window once inside.

W
HEN MORNING ARRIVED
after a too-short night’s sleep, she wondered if David would show. Wondered if she dared broach any of what she’d learned last night.

They’d planned another day of inspecting properties, but as she watched the sun rise over the garden, she realized that she craved a day off. Time just to hang around here and…breathe. She was exhausted. It occurred to her that since the moment the ill-fated trial had ended, she’d been on edge, caught in a simmering pot of anxiety—for months before really, ever since the case had come her way.

Callie sank into the old wicker love seat on the back porch, set her coffee cup at her feet and drifted down to rest on her side. Her eyelids descended as she listened to birdsong, felt the brush of morning’s still-cool breeze wafting off the hillside. She didn’t have the strength to get up and return to bed, and on this shady porch, she didn’t really need to move. Each breath came more slowly and deeply than the last, until the world around her faded into an asylum of peace.

D
AVID FOUND HER
asleep when at last he arrived twenty minutes late. He hadn’t intended to come at all, but conscience had warred with instinct, and conscience had won.

He’d knocked on the front door with no resulting answer, so he’d walked around back, expecting to find her as before, somewhere near the garden. Not that she had the first idea what to do with it.

He’d almost called out to her, but he was glad now that he hadn’t.

He stopped and considered leaving, but he didn’t do that, either. He owed her for his bail, and whatever sins could be posted to his account, reneging on his debts would not be one of them. That was only part of the reason he was here.

This was the first time he’d had a chance to take a good look at her without her knowing, and though it could be considered an invasion of her privacy, he was going to do it anyway.

He needed to understand her. He was driven to figure out how the connection between them—God knows he’d felt the punch of it last night—had survived when nearly everything about them was different.

David inched closer to the porch but remained on the ground, his gaze traveling over her with haste, as a starving animal bolted down food without tasting it for fear it would disappear. Once he’d covered her head to toe, he started again, only slower.

She was beautiful to him, but he thought she might just be beautiful, period. Only a minute examination of her features revealed anything familiar.

But last night she’d seemed, for the first time, like the real Callie, the soft girl pretending to be tough, the one who was strung so tight with misery, who felt that there was nowhere on earth she belonged.

That girl, so tiny and thin, had grown into a stunning woman who gave every appearance of command over her life and her circumstances, instead of being whipped by the winds of fate as had once been the case. The Callie who’d snarled and tried to bite every helping hand but his, he’d thought her completely vanished.

Until the grown Callie’s composure had cracked over a baby’s grave.

It was so hard to keep the Callies straight, to remind himself that just as he was forever changed, so might she be. That the girl who’d blossomed under simple attention, who’d found her laughter again—buried as it had been under black leather and ugly boots—that girl was lost to him, and their bond forever slashed.

This Callie, the grown one, the harder one, he did not know and he could not predict. The call of her, the lure she presented, must be blocked out, could not be trusted.

No one could be trusted, not now. Not with the secret he would carry to his grave.

David realized then that he’d begun to relax his guard, that he had to back away, get out. Now.

But just then, the breeze shifted, and the scent that came to him blasted away all his good intentions.

“W
HY DOES YOUR HAIR
smell like cigarette smoke?”

Callie struggled from her fog and saw David’s eyebrows drawn together, fierce and furious. “Excuse me?”

“Answer me. Where did you go when I left you last night?”

“And why would that be any of your business?”

His eyes narrowed. He cursed, long and low. “Damn it, Callie. There’s only one place in Oak Hollow with that combination of beer and smoke. What the hell were you doing at Carl’s?” He shot to his feet, prowled the back porch, every step echoing anger.

Then he whirled. “Do you not have a lick of sense? Don’t tell me you went there alone.” He cast a look upward as if pleading with the heavens. Just as quickly, his attention snapped back to her. “Of course you did. I told you to butt out, didn’t I?” When she remained silent, he repeated himself. “Answer me—didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?”

“I am trying to help, you rock-headed fool. You’re going to jail if I don’t. Your attorney means well, but he’s way overloaded.”

“You said you wanted my advice.”

“On construction, not on your legal defense. That’s my arena.”

He bent closer, the skin around his mouth strained white. “But you’re not my attorney, now are you?” When she didn’t respond, his eyes widened. “What have you done, Callie?” His voice was low with horror. “No.” He shook his head violently. “No, goddammit. There
has to be one thing about my life that I control. Tell me you haven’t taken action to become my lawyer.”

She swallowed hard. Dodged. “I can’t legally represent you, not alone.”

“Oh, sweet mother of—” He paced again. Wheeled on her. “What were you doing at the bar, asking questions?” He frowned. “Who was there? Was Patton?”

She glanced away. “It was fine.”

He grabbed her elbow, swiveled her to face him. “He was, wasn’t he? Damn it, Callie, that’s not only stupid, it’s dangerous.
He’s
dangerous. You stay away from him.”

“I deal with murderers and rapists and drug dealers all the time. There is nothing in Oak Hollow that can come close to the scum I’ve seen.”

“And you’re in the middle of them, all alone? Bullshit, Callie. Don’t talk down to me. I’ve lived with criminals like that for fifteen years. I’ve been surrounded by them, been in the middle of their depravity, the wars waged only because someone’s skin is white and someone else’s is black.” His eyes were dark then, haunted and hollow.

More than ever, she was forced to face what it would have been like for a tender boy to be thrown into the midst of that sewer. She knew what it was to want to scrub your skin raw to remove the taint. To gulp huge breaths of outside air.

But he’d had no visitor’s pass to let him escape. Her heart hurt for that boy. Whatever his crime, he could not have been prepared for the cesspool that had closed over his head that first day.

Watching her closely, his eyes went to slits. “Don’t you feel sorry for me,” he growled. “I won’t have your pity.”

“I’m not.” But she had. She did. She was all too familiar with the misery, the sheer animal rage that simmered inside those walls. She pictured David in there, and the horror of it was fresh and new. How could that big, open heart of his have survived the massacre of the soul that was prison?

It couldn’t, of course. She felt sick to her stomach at the waste of a bright mind and a sweet, pure soul.

And watching him, she could see the taint of those years, the shame he felt at her new awareness of him.

He looked stricken. Vulnerable as he had been when he’d discovered her coming out of that monk’s cell bedroom in his mother’s home. If she’d stripped him naked and paraded him through the streets, it wouldn’t have been more degrading, she realized. “David—” She reached for him, wanting to comfort, longing to soothe him, to tell him she understood.

He yanked from her grasp with an expression of such loathing she felt dirty. He stepped off the porch and started walking away.

She didn’t know what to say. How to fix this.

But she couldn’t let him leave, not like this. “David—” She scrambled after him, trying to catch up with his long strides. “David, I don’t—” Finally she had to run to close the gap. She grabbed him again.

He turned on her. “Stay away from me.” His voice was low and dark and menacing, and he loomed over her. “Do you hear me?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” But her voice wavered before she could firm it. She had to right this grievous wrong. She cleared her throat, sought out every last bit of composure she could salvage. “I don’t pity you, I swear it. I—I don’t understand what happened back then, but the boy I knew—”

“Is dead. Never forget that.”

She didn’t respond to that. He was talking to her, that was all she’d focus on. “I can’t do anything about what you’ve been through, but I can help you now. Convince me that you started that fight with Mickey Patton, that you intentionally beat him up. Do it, David, and I’ll let you be.” Her chin jutted. “I have a mess of my own to clean up back in Philly and all these loose ends here. I have plenty to do, and I’m no bleeding heart. I’m a prosecutor. I put scumbags away, and I’m good at it. If you’re one of those, I’ll gladly shut the cell door and turn the key, but my instinct says there’s more going on here. You could explain everything to me, and I wouldn’t have to go to places like Carl’s to save your stubborn hide.”

He stared off into the distance, a muscle in his jaw flexing. Then he looked down at her. “What kind of mess?”

“What?”

“In Philly.”

“None of—”

One brow arched. “My business?”

She opened her mouth. Shut it again.

Just then, they both heard Jessie Lee singing, the sound growing louder as she approached the back of the house.

“You asked for my help with these properties,” he
said. “That’s all the business we have together. You don’t pry into my life, and I won’t pry into yours. You want to go back to Philly, then stop screwing around playing lawyer and let’s get this over with.”

“But—”

“Hey! You’re both here,” called out a cheery young voice.

“You’ve already butted into my life too much. I’ll pay off my bail, then we’re done. Take it or leave it,” he said, too low for Jessie Lee to hear.

“Callie? David? Y’all okay?”

She was the first to look away, summoning up a cheer she didn’t feel. “We’re just fine. How are you this bright morning?”

Giving David her back but not her promise, Callie walked over to join the girl.

If his looks had been daggers, she would have been bleeding half to death.