Three Weddings and a Murder (37 page)

She paced to the window and peered through the curtains and breathed out a relieved sigh. She saw no one creeping around the cabin and no suspicious headlights coming up the road—only Charlie’s Camaro parked in the drive, showing off its custom wax job under the spotlight of a full moon. “I hope the police are having better luck than we are.”

“We’ll find her soon,” Charlie said. Even in summer, the nights grew cool in the hilly areas surrounding Tangleheart, and Charlie had built a small fire in the hearth. He generally accomplished everything he set his mind to, and that was presently manifesting itself in the way he kept poking one particular log. He didn’t give up until it flamed to life and filled the cabin with the smell of cedar and homespun memories.

Uncle Joe’s cabin was one of the few places she’d felt happy as a child. In the first few months after her mother went to prison, Grandma and Uncle Joe brought her here nearly every weekend to escape the taunts of the neighborhood bullies. Of course, not every neighbor was a bully. There was gentle Simone.

And there was Charlie.

After Charlie took her under his wing, no one dared to treat her unkindly. Maybe it was a good thing he left town when he did or she might never have learned to fight her own battles. She fisted her hands, and her nails bit into her palms. No matter how many times she told herself he had every right, every reason, to go, it still felt like a kick in the gut—the same kick in the gut she felt the day her mother officially signed her over to Grandma
for her own good
.

Even as she willed them to relax, the muscles in her abdomen tensed. She placed her hand over her belly and exhaled. Her whole body felt restless. She needed to go for a run to clear her head, needed to run until she was spent, needed to run until she’d replaced all her anxieties with total body exhaustion.

Her eyes fell on Uncle Joe’s .45 Colt she’d retrieved from the safe and placed on the kitchen counter.

There would be no run for her tonight.

“Anna?” Charlie called to her from the bedroom.

After grabbing the Colt, she joined him.

He waggled his brows at her. “Put that thing down, will you?”

Carefully, she laid the gun atop a crocheted doily on the nightstand by the bed, wedging it between Grandma’s Bible and a jar of Vicks VapoRub. And then without her realizing he’d crossed the room, he was behind her, pressing his pelvis against her buttocks.

Reaching his arms around her waist, he took her hands in his. “You’re shaking.”

“It’s been a wild night,” she replied, even though she knew that wasn’t the reason she trembled. His body was growing full and hard against her, and he turned her around, worked one knee between her legs.

“Peaches,” he whispered the endearment in her ear, and she could almost believe they were innocent again. She could almost believe that he’d never gone away. Almost believe that he wouldn’t go again just as soon as this nightmare was over.

Almost
.

And although she had been an innocent back then, Charlie had not been. According to rumor, she was the only girl in Tangleheart Charlie
didn’t
fool around with.

“Why did you pull away from me Saturday night?” His voice was hoarse and low and turned her knees to water.

“Maybe you should try again.” Her heart might be fluttering in her chest like hummingbird wings, but her tone sounded calm, nearly aloof.
Good
.

“Anna, I’ll ask you again because I don’t want to hurt you. Why did you put the brakes on that night?”

“I’m a big girl now, Charlie. I can look out for myself, so you don’t need to worry about it.” She gripped his buttocks with her hands and lowered herself onto his thigh.

As he pressed his thigh into her crotch, she could feel his erection clamoring against her belly. He slid to his knees in front of her. She was wearing a pair of loose cotton shorts and a barely-there thong. She opened her legs wide and gave him a good look. If he thought she was still some shy flower in need of protection, she’d show him just how very much he misjudged her.

He pushed her knees open even wider. “You’re so beautiful, Anna,” he said, and then he moved her thong to the side and pushed his thumb inside of her. She made a little noise in her throat because it came naturally, and because she wanted him to know she wanted this. She wanted
him
.

Working his thumb exquisitely, he put his mouth over her shorts and sucked her right through the cloth. She writhed against him, needing much much more.

“Please,” she begged. “Please take them off.”

And then it was his turn to make a noise in his throat.

When he yanked her shorts and thong down, she thought her knees would buckle. Then he carried her to the bed. Somehow, they must’ve gotten the rest of their clothing off because his bare skin was slick against hers, and his male scent was mixing with the fragrance of cedar in the air.

She told herself to slow down. She wanted to savor every moment, note every detail, make every touch, every sigh into a keepsake—but it didn’t happen that way. Her body was too hungry for him. Her need was too great.

Afterward, she recalled him taking her face in his hands and dotting little kisses on her eyes and lips—but when, she didn’t know. And she did remember grasping at his shoulders, and him groaning with delight—but was that before or after she wrapped her legs around him and watched his expression come undone?

She most certainly recalled him driving into her hard and fast and slow and gentle, unrelenting—showing the same determination he’d used to spark the fire in the hearth, and she could not forget the feel of her muscles coiling and uncoiling around him until she was spent. But in the end, the whole experience was a hazy dream of pleasure that her mind rearranged into out-of-sequence bits and pieces.

Such was her keepsake, and she would have to make do.

A
NNA HAD TURNED AWAY
from his kiss when they finished making love. Blinking away the moisture in his eyes, he shut down the emotion that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. Now was not the time.

A quick splash of water to his face, an even quicker glance in the mirror and comb of his fingers through disheveled hair, and Charlie was ready to join Anna in the main room of the cabin and get to work on sorting through those clippings. If nothing else, concentrating on the puzzle of Simone’s mysterious trip to the library would provide temporary respite from all the
what-ifs
running through his head.

What if Boots had somehow tracked them to the cabin?

What if they didn’t find Simone in time to warn her about Boots?

What if he never got another chance to tell Anna what was in his heart?

What if…

Moondrops dribbled in through the bathroom window and pinged off an object on the shelf above the sink. Curiosity jarred him out of his reverie. Right away, his gut told him whatever it might be, it didn’t belong on a dusty old shelf in Uncle Joe’s cabin. He grabbed the shiny object, took one look, and a current of excitement shot through him. True, the gleaming silver charm bracelet in his grasp might belong to Anna, but he didn’t recall seeing it on her wrist.

Accelerated by the hope in his heart, his pulse picked up its pace. This might very well belong to Simone, and if Simone had, in fact, been at the cabin earlier in the day, she might still be hiding somewhere in the vicinity. If the charm bracelet was Simone’s, Anna would recognize it.

Slipping his secret hope into his pocket, he stepped out of the bathroom and found Anna working at a picnic-style table in the cabin’s main room. Well, perhaps she was doing more frowning than actual working. There was a piece of old poster board laid on the tabletop, and Anna had removed the clippings from the file and stacked them atop the folder, but it didn’t look like she’d even begun to sort through them yet.

Instead, her attention was fixed on the
Tangleheart Gazette,
which lay splayed open in front of her. It had to be the paper he’d bought yesterday—before all hell broke loose. He’d been reading an article about that TCU coed they’d seen on the Saturday night news.

Sally McMahon.

That was her name. Somehow knowing her name made her death all the more poignant.

“You reading about Sally?” He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t know why Anna catching him with that particular edition of the paper in his car should make him uncomfortable. He also didn’t know why Anna had brought the paper inside the cabin…unless the eerie similarities between Megan O’Neal and Sally McMahon made Anna uneasy too.

Two beautiful girls who had the world by the tail.

Two beautiful girls who hanged themselves in their rooms with no warning, no cry for help, no note left behind—and hanging was an unusual choice for female suicides. He’d learned most women opted for less violent methods, such as pills.

But the mode of death wasn’t the similarity that made his skin prickle and his palms sweat.

That visceral response had much more to do with the fact that the two women were look-alikes.

They could’ve been sisters, maybe even passed for twins—the resemblance was that pronounced.

Anna seemed as lost in thought as he was. “Are you reading about Sally?” he tried again.

Her shoulders jumped. “I was just waiting for you. I’m in the planning phase, and here’s what I’m thinking.” She pointed to the warped piece of poster board. “I thought we’d make a murder board.”

Uncomprehending, he turned his palms up.

“You know, like the one Beckett uses on
Castle
. I mean I know there hasn’t been an actual
murder,
but it’s good to get organized, and I want to—”

“Get our ducks in a row.” He didn’t have a damn clue what Anna was talking about, but he was in for a penny already. Apparently, he and Anna were going to find Simone and Bobby
and
stop a killer all on their own, using state-of the-art tools like water-logged poster board and Anna’s knowledge of television crime shows.

He hoped like hell Nate had lit a fire under the police, and they were apprehending the bad guy right this minute. He’d been trying to check in with Nate for a while now. Pulling his cell out of his pocket, he glanced at the bars one more time.

No service
. “Sorry. What’d you say?”

“I said I’d like to make a timeline, and then we can see if we can fit any of the pieces of the puzzle together. We’ll add any clippings that stand out to the board, too.” She picked up a handful of clippings and fanned them out on the board. Glancing up, she caught him staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

His chin came up. “I was thinking how pretty you look when you worry your bottom lip between your teeth like that.”

Sweet Jesus, Charlie. Never say anything like that out loud again.

A happy smile stretched across her face.

Maybe just once more
…

But she was all business again. “Let’s begin the timeline with your welcome home party on Saturday night.”

“Yep.” His face was still warm from that
worrying your lip
remark.

“What do you remember happening at the dinner party?”

Anna was serious about this, and he didn’t really have a better idea as to how to proceed. Wanting to do justice to his role in this simulated Castle-Beckett crime-fighting exercise, he conjured an answer by rubbing his forehead. “Nate and Simone were happy as clams. He gave her an emerald necklace, and then that picture of Sally McMahon came on the news. I tossed back a few drinks.”

He looked at her pointedly. He was tired of pretending nothing was going on between them. “And then we went to my place and we kissed. It was a great kiss, Anna. And you still haven’t told me why you called it off that night, or for that matter, why you’re sitting here right now acting like ten minutes ago we weren’t making passionate love to each other.”

“Because right now I’m kind of busy making a murder board.”

“Bullshit. You’re kind of busy avoiding your feelings.”

“We had adrenaline sex, Charlie. That’s all it was.” Her eyes fell away from his and wandered around the room.

His throat was closing up. He’d left her alone too damn long to expect anything from her but exactly what she’d given him.
Adrenaline sex
. They were both glad to be alive, they were alone together, so they fucked each other. Whatever worked for her was fine by him.

He leaned over the table and jabbed his finger on the poster. From now on, he was sticking to the murder board. “I think you should start the timeline earlier. At dinner, Simone said she’d been to see her doctor last week. So I’d put that doctor visit last week as the start of the timeline.”

She tilted her head, considering. “I’m not sure anyone but a physician would start the timeline there, but we’re brainstorming so it won’t hurt to include it. First rule of brainstorming is no censorship. Anything else you want to add to our murder board?”

“Yeah.” Two could play this game. “Put down that Simone called my office on Friday to set up an appointment for Bobby even though she swears she didn’t find any bruises until Saturday night after the party.”