Traceless (17 page)

"I guess I'll see you Saturday night?" Marv ventured finally.

Violet's party. The invitations had already been issued. Violet was on the ball as usual.

"I'm looking forward to it." Another lie. She'd lost count in the past twenty-four hours.

"Well, I'd better get going." Marv issued a halfhearted laugh. "Gotta get to the bank before closing time."

"Thanks, Marv."

He smiled at her, the expression
almost
genuine. "Remember what I said, Em. Don't let that bastard get to you."

Marvin Cook climbed out of her car, crossed to his big truck with its huge wheels, and drove away.

Emily sat there, wondering how she could suddenly feel this tug at her stomach. A tug that somehow connected the anger and hurt she felt about the past to this new, creeping sensation of doubt and confusion confounding her instincts. All this time she'd been so certain. Was it possible that she had only seen what she needed to see?

4:50 p.m.

Clint didn't hang around to see what Emily and Cook were up to. Maybe he should have, but he'd gotten pissed off watching the guy hug her and had to leave. More proof just how fucked up he was.

It was Friday. He'd gotten an advance on next week's paycheck, and, as his mama would have said, it was burning a hole in his pocket. Felt strange to have money. Felt even stranger to be pulling into the Piggly Wiggly to spend it.

Seemed the whole town had the same idea. The parking lot was jam-packed. About the, only thing he'd ever taken the

time to buy was clothes, the occasional gift for his mama, and beer. This would be his first time going for groceries.

Inside, after grabbing a shopping cart, he took his time moving down the first couple of aisles. He didn't remember there being so many choices. The endless possibilities left him feeling a little bewildered and a whole lot intimidated.

Now there was a hell of a note. He'd stood up to guys twice his size in prison—cold-blooded killers—and here he was flustered by the dozen or so brands of jam and jelly.

He moved on. Studied the various kinds of loaf bread on the shelves. White, wheat, white-wheat, honey-wheat. He gave up and grabbed a loaf of white. Ray had stocked Clint's shelves with canned and dried goods. Mainly all he needed was sandwich makings. Ham, bologna, cheese. And milk. Maybe some eggs and bacon.

Shoppers moved past him; those who recognized him stared briefly, then hurried on by. He didn't let on that he noticed, kept his attention focused on sifting through the available cheeses. That was a big enough problem all by itself. He played it safe and went with a block of cheddar and some sliced American.

A mother with two children in her cart moved wide around him, her horrified gaze glued to him until she'd gotten well beyond where he stood.

Now that he couldn't ignore. The idea that the woman thought her kids were in danger in his presence got to him more than it should have. He stared after her for several seconds. He didn't recognize her, but she'd definitely recognized him. But then, what had he expected? The local paper had run something about him every day since he'd gotten back to town. He refused to give Ray credit for warning him about this. He wasn't ashamed. Annoyed maybe, but not ashamed.

He picked up a jug of whole milk and placed it into his cart. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and he hesitated before moving out of the dairy department. Slowly, he turned to find Emily watching him from the end of the canned fruits and vegetables aisle.

Those big brown eyes widened, but she didn't even flinch when he openly stared back at her. For the first time since he'd come back to Pine Bluff he wondered what she was really thinking.

Did she actually believe that following him around like this, watching him, was going to make a difference? He thought of the way she'd come into his house. He'd seen the regret on her face when she had first looked at what some asshole had done to his mother's things. But then Ray had said something that got to her and she'd gone off on a tangent about how she hoped Clint rotted in hell or some such.

He didn't believe her.

Not anymore.

He'd gotten close to her when he'd stormed out to her car that evening, ready to give her a piece of his mind. Yeah, he'd gotten damned close. Close enough to see the way the pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. To smell the softness of her skin. And to hear her breath catch at his nearness.

She could shout to high heaven just how much she hated him, but there was still something between them. Something visceral and totally beyond her or his control.

He turned away from her, picked out a pound of bacon, and headed for the checkout line.

So much for amateur psychology hour.

Bottom line, they were both completely fucked up.

He chose the checkout lane with only two customers and waited his turn. He kept his gaze on the back of the head of the woman who stood in front of him, in hopes of ignoring the whispering the other folks in line on either side had started the moment he walked up. If he even glanced at any of them they would go around telling people how he'd done or said something he hadn't. Might as well avoid any unnecessary scandal. Wouldn't want to upset the good citizens of Pine Bluff. Or provide more fodder for the paper.

Besides, he could take it. When they realized he wasn't giving up and leaving town, they'd get over it and find something else to gossip about.

When his turn to check out came, he placed the goods he'd selected on the counter and waited. Once the casher had finalized the sale with the customer in front of Clint, he expected her to move on to him... but she didn't.

She put out her Closed sign and walked off. Left him standing there.

Surprised, he watched her a moment thinking maybe she just needed to get some more change or something, but that wasn't the case. She didn't come back.

Annoyed but refusing to let it show, he loaded his stuff back into his cart and moved to the next line. His turn came again and he transferred his stuff to the counter and waited for the cashier to do her part.

She didn't even look at him. Just put out her Closed sign and walked away.

What the hell?

Most of the other customers were staring at him at this point. The first cashier had returned to her register and a new line had formed.

Clint exhaled his frustration, loaded his shit back into the cart, and moved on to another checkout lane.

When the Closed sign came out for the third time he'd had enough.

He abandoned his shopping cart and headed for the exit.

In a pissed-off zone that threatened his feeble hold on control, he didn't even notice Emily standing there staring at him until he'd practically bumped into her.

He should've walked around her, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he went stupid and pinned her with an icy glare. "Did you enjoy that?"

Those big brown eyes, looking uncertain or startled, held his for three seconds, then four, before she looked away.

He walked out.

Left her standing there with every customer within hearing range staring at her.

He jumped into his Firebird and roared out of the parking lot. Drove straight to the Sack&Go and purchased a twelve-pack of cheap beer. He didn't give a damn if it was a violation of his parole. Let her call Ray Hale.

Right now Clint just needed to escape his new prison.

6:00 p.m.

Troy Baker's truck sat at the curb when Emily arrived at her parents' home. He got out, slammed the door, his face dark with fury.

Mentally readying for battle, Emily emerged from her car and met the storm head-on. "Troy? What's going on?" She'd considered as an afterthought that Marv would tell Troy about their conversation; she just hadn't expected it to happen this quickly.

Troy didn't stop until he was directly in her personal space. The instinct to back up was overwhelming, but this was Heather's brother.

"You tell me!" he demanded.

"Tell you what?" Emily said carefully. She wasn't afraid of him, but the look in his eyes told her this was not going to be a pleasant encounter.

"Marv told me about the questions you were asking him," Troy snarled. "I can't believe you would even think that Austin might be innocent, much less say it out loud! Now, you tell me that Marv's wrong!"

The alcohol was heavy on Troy's breath. Another layer of tension coiled inside Emily. "I didn't say he might be innocent. I just repeated a crazy rumor."

Troy shook his head in disgust. "You know what he did. You were there. If you go taking sides with him—"

"What's going on?"

Emily's father walked toward them; her mother stood near the front door, the phone clutched in her hand. God. Emily hated that her parents had to see this. Just something else for them to worry about.

"Remember what I said," Troy warned, shaking a finger at her. "The best thing for you to do is stay away from Austin. I'm gonna take care of that situation personally."

Before she could respond, Troy strode back to his truck and burned rubber peeling away.

She'd hurt him. Her actions had increased the pain he felt. She hadn't meant to do that. Everything was all screwed up. But this was her confusion. Her problem. Hurting anyone else was the last thing she'd wanted to do.

When Troy had disappeared from sight, Emily turned to her father. He hadn't said anything else. Hadn't asked her if she was okay the way he usually did after something like this. Part of her understood that he was waiting for her to make the first move. The dark circles beneath his eyes and the fatigue on his face made her stomach clench with regret. She'd done this, too. But she had to know the truth.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me about you and Fair-gate?" She waited, held her breath. She desperately needed somebody to do the right thing. To just tell her the truth.

Her father shook his head and said the one word that broke her heart: "No."

Emily got into her car and left.

That battle would have to wait until she'd gotten used to the painful idea that her parents were lying to her.

What was her father hiding? What was with all these rumors about Austin's alibi and his possible innocence? None of it made sense anymore. She'd lost direction... lost her certainty just like Marv said.

Clint Austin couldn't be innocent, could he? She couldn't have been that wrong.

She thought of the way those people had treated him in the Piggly Wiggly and she ached. That she could feel those

tender emotions for him was making her crazy. Troy hated her for even suggesting Clint's innocence, which she hadn't actually done. Marv likely thought she was nuts. Her parents had lied to her. Her friends had withheld their true feelings.

Where did she go from here? She couldn't go back, couldn't go forward.

She was trapped.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Saturday, July 20,

1:03 a.m.

A sound woke her.

Emily blinked, rubbed her hands across her eyes, and looked again. The digital clock on her dash still read the same: 1:03.

Damn. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Certainly not parked in front of Austin's house... but she'd had no place else to go. She doubted she was welcome at home right now. And keeping an eye on him was the only thing left she felt committed about.

She reached for the ignition, but something caused her to hesitate. The vaguest sound... a crackle or splintering noise... so soft and indistinct she wasn't sure she heard anything at all.

A frown furrowed its way across her brow. What was that smell? She inhaled deeply, analyzed the odor. Smoke... maybe.

In a kind of slow motion, her hand dropped away from the ignition as she turned her head toward Austin's house. The idea that maybe she was dreaming delayed her initial reaction to what her eyes saw. But then the flames flickered again, dancing beyond the front window.

Fire.

Inside the house.

Was he in there?

She looked around almost expecting to see a fire track or the police or both... but the road was dark and deserted except for her. Her car door was open and she was standing in the middle of the road a second later. Didn't remember making the decision to get out. Austin's car sat in the driveway right where he'd parked after coming home.

"Jesus Christ."

Adrenaline fired through her veins like mercury rising toward the boiling point.

Clint Austin was in that house.

Emily rushed back to her car. Searched for her phone. Where the hell was it? There. Relieved, she snatched it from between the console and the seat.

She ran across the yard, bounded onto the porch. Going in through the front door was impossible.

The flames were devouring the living room like a hungry beast that hadn't been fed in a really long time. The front window had already shattered from the heat. She should have heard the window break ... or maybe that was what had awakened her.