True Vision (6 page)

“I promised Nana I would keep up her garden, and I haven’t.”

“So naturally now is the time to start. What’s going on with you?”

Charlie pushed to her feet. Mac was wrong, she thought. He had to be. He was overreacting. That auto dealer story couldn’t possibly sink the entire newspaper.

Alex folded her arms under her breasts. “I think it’s time you tell me what the hot detective said that’s got you so bothered.”

“I’m not bothered.” Which wasn’t true. She was bothered on so many levels, not to mention by what she’d learned from Mac. Noah’s suggestion that her mother had a sister she’d never acknowledged didn’t surprise Charlie. She’d known for quite some time that her mother had a secret, would never forget the day she’d stumbled onto the evidence by accident.

And there was the fact that Laurette Atkins had called her Charlotte. Only her mother called her that. Until Charlie knew more, though, she didn’t plan to involve Alex. She knew from experience that poking around where their mother was sensitive didn’t lead to hugs and kisses.

“Okay, not bothered, but what about hot?” Alex pressed. “Because I would be if that guy had been looking at me as intensely as he was looking at you. In fact, you were giving it right back to him. It was an interesting thing to watch.”

Charlie forced herself to focus on her sister. “How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to soak up the vibe.”

“We were talking about a woman’s death. Of course it was intense.”

“I don’t know, but there was something about the way you were looking at each other. Something . . . I don’t know. Sweaty.”

“That sounds . . . ick.”

“I don’t mean gross sweaty. I mean sexy sweaty. Rip-his-clothes-off sweaty.”

Charlie had to laugh. She couldn’t argue with that, actually. Her head had definitely taken a side-trip down that road about the time he’d started staring at her mouth like she was a tall glass of lemonade and he was a dehydrated man. Her heart stumbled a bit at the memory.

“Ah, so you thought about it.”

Charlie glanced at her sister, having lost the thread of their conversation amid images of Noah slipping big, warm hands under her shirt and sliding them up. “What?”

“Sex and Noah Lassiter. You thought about it. You’re thinking about it right now.”

Yep, she was, but she also had bigger things to think about. Much bigger things. She tried to smile to reassure Alex. She’d spent a lifetime working on that smile, but it didn’t come as easily this time. “I have to go talk to Dad.”

Surprise arched Alex’s brows. “Now? But the pancakes are ready.”

“You and Logan can eat them.” Charlie reached out on impulse and hugged her sister. In the next instant, she was holding on to the counter in Alex’s kitchen, rubbing the top of her head while white dots danced before her eyes. Damn, that
hurt
.

“Charlie?”

She blinked, surprised to see they were in her backyard, not next to the open dishwasher in Alex’s kitchen. Yet, the fresh, bleachy scent of Cascade still teased her nose, and she swore she could still feel the heat of steam rising off of freshly washed dishes. Her head throbbed from where it had smacked into the cupboard door.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked.

Charlie nodded. Another damn . . . what to call it? Flash? Vision? It happened every time she made skin-on-skin contact with someone. Damn it, she had to stop touching people.

“Charlie, come on. You’re really freaking me out here.”

“I’m fine. Honest.”

But Alex wasn’t the only one feeling freaked out. Somehow, Charlie was going to have to get a handle on what was happening to her. But, first, she had to see her father.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

N
oah Lassiter pulled off the side street and fell into place a few car lengths behind Charlie Trudeau’s royal blue Escape. He had no idea if following her would lead anywhere, but he needed to know what she was hiding about Laurette’s hit-and-run. Maybe nothing significant, but he sensed something was off, had seen Charlie hesitate when he’d asked her if Laurette had said anything before she died. That split second had told him that Laurette
had
said something. Something that could lead to her killer. And that’s why Noah was here—to find a killer.

He’d already questioned as many guests as possible at the Royal Palm Inn. Before coming to see Charlie, he’d hit the continental breakfast, the workout room and the lobby. When he’d spotted the police officers making the rounds with their own questions, he’d had no choice but to abandon his quest. Not that he’d learned anything. The encounters Laurette had had with other guests had been the “hello, it’s a nice day” kind in the hall or elevator. The only hint he’d gotten that all had not been normal with Laurette was from Charlie Trudeau. Whatever Laurette said to her before she died was the key.

And, he had to admit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. She was so much like Laurette at first glance, yet so much not like her. When he looked at Charlie, he didn’t see a woman he wanted to be friends with. He saw a woman he wanted to seduce.

Seduction. Hmm. Something he hadn’t thought about in years. Sex, of course. He thought about sex all the time, had had plenty of the meaningless kind to relieve tension, to forget his troubles for a while and just feel. He had certain female friends who seemed more than happy to respond to his booty calls. Sure, they dropped the usual hints about commitment, but he’d made an art out of acting clueless. Truth be told, he’d never thought he’d look into a woman’s eyes and feel the desire to touch her in a way that wasn’t intended to lead to getting them both off. But when he looked at Charlie Trudeau, he imagined trailing fingertips over skin and glorying in the silken friction. He pictured framing her face with gentle hands and letting no more than their breathing connect.

Sappy stuff, really. For him, anyway. The king of no-strings, don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you hookups. Yet, thinking about it, thinking about resting his forehead against hers and doing no more than nuzzling her cheek with his nose, had him growing heavy and hard.

Okay, he thought. Get a grip, buddy. You’re working here.

Focus.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

C
harlie rang her parents’ doorbell and waited until her mother, wearing a simple, white cotton dress that contrasted with her dark hair and eyes, silently gestured her inside, her expression flat. Her father wasn’t the only one pissed off.

Charlie swallowed hard. No fear. “Hello, Mother.”

“Your father is in his office.”

Charlie paused in the foyer, breathing in the white linen air freshener. Everything in Elise Trudeau’s house was white and brand-new. Carpet, walls, furniture. Three months ago, the color of choice had been a buttery yellow. A year before that, off-white. Always understated, like her simple diamond jewelry and expensive strappy sandals, and never more than a year old. Redecorating had become Elise Trudeau’s vocation once she’d finished trying her damnedest to raise three proper daughters who, unfortunately for her, had very strong minds of their own.

“He’s waiting.”

Charlie took a fortifying breath and turned. Might as well go for it. “I don’t suppose you have a sister you’ve never mentioned before.”

Elise stepped back, her lips parting in shock and her dark eyes widening. “What on earth—”

“The woman who was hit by the car near the newspaper told a friend that she was coming to Lake Avalon to meet family she didn’t know. Us.”

“That’s . . .” she trailed off, shook her head. “That’s absurd.”

Yet her pale cheeks and slim neck flamed red, tightening the knot in Charlie’s stomach. She knew the signs. She’d been pushing her mother’s buttons for years, damning the consequences. The woman was going to blow, and part of Charlie enjoyed watching it happen. It felt powerful. All it took was another tiny nudge.

“It’s a simple question. Yes or no would suffice.”

Elise lashed out with an open palm.

Charlie came back to herself to find her eyes watering from the sting. She thought she’d been braced, but the slap carried more power than usual. And this time, taunting her mother had paid off in an unexpected way. She had a name now. Rena. Would that be
Aunt
Rena?

At the same time, the flash into her mother’s head had shown her that Elise wasn’t simply unreasonably angry all the time. She was afraid, too. They’ll know once and for all who I really am? What the hell did that mean?

“Don’t ever speak to me of this again, Charlotte,” Elise said, her voice shaking. “Do you understand?”

Putting a hand to the heat on her face, Charlie managed a small, humorless smile. “A simple ‘no’ would have been just as effective.”

Elise stepped forward, and the threat of more violence forced Charlie back automatically. Old habits. Her hip bumped the table near the door, stopping her retreat, and then her mother was nose to nose with her and hissing. “I’ll warn you only once. If you mention this in front of your father, I’ll . . .” She clenched her hands at her sides.

“What?” Charlie prodded. “Hit me again? You might want to use your fist next time. You’ve always hit like a girl.”

Elise’s dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously, but before she could strike out again, Reed Trudeau walked into the foyer behind her.

“Elise.”

Charlie’s mother stiffened at the sound of his voice, and her eyes clashed with Charlie’s, issuing a silent warning, before she moved back.

“Charlie?” her father said.

She edged out from between her mother and the wall, careful to avoid Elise’s glittering glare, and glanced at her father, noting the tightness in his jaw. From the fire back into the frying pan. He gestured in the direction of his office before turning away. As she fell in step behind him, she sensed her mother’s eyes boring into her back and told herself she didn’t care. Yeah, right. That hadn’t worked her whole life.

In his office, her father stood with his back to her, silently staring out the window behind his desk while she closed the door. He’d shed his suit jacket and tie but not his trademark red suspenders. As he turned to look at her, she braced, expecting him to start yelling any second. Instead, he compressed his lips into a thin line and reached into his pocket to pull out a pristine handkerchief.

Charlie stood frozen as he walked around the edge of his desk and approached her. Gently, he grasped her chin, and she slid helplessly into his memory.

She blinked back into the present, slightly dizzy, and looked into her father’s eyes as he dabbed at her cheek with a corner of his hanky. “Looks like she nicked you with a fingernail,” he said softly.

Her throat thickened with the familiar yearning for him to be her hero again, her Atticus Finch in
To Kill a Mocking-bird
, the tall, handsome man who fought the good fight and protected his children from evil. He’d been that man until her mother started lashing out, and her hero let her down.

He sighed, and the scent of liquor that washed over her surprised and worried her. This man didn’t drink while the sun was up.

“Why do you insist on goading her?” he asked.

She tried to smile, to get a grip. “It’s more fun that way.”

He pocketed the hanky while he returned to his leather desk chair and sat down heavily. A sigh that seemed to come from the tips of his toes huffed through his lips.

His calm made Charlie uneasy. She’d never known him to be so composed before tearing into her or anyone else.

He ran a finger over the newspaper spread out on his desk, over the headline that told all of Lake Avalon that a crook operated in their midst.

“It’s a good story,” he said. “Tight, well-sourced. It sticks to the facts, avoids sensationalism. Like something I would have burned to write in my younger days.”

Charlie stared at him. A compliment? “I . . . thank you.”

“How did you do it?”

She took a breath, confused but relieved that he wasn’t screaming at her. “Last night was David Adams’s last shift on the copy desk. He’s leaving the paper to be a lawyer.”

He nodded and pursed his lips. “When I first saw it, I was livid.” He turned the chair so he could look outside at the rippling, sun-glistened surface of the river. “I stomped around, slammed some doors, yelled at a few people, and then I came home and sat down right here, looked outside and saw it all slipping away, everything I’d worked so hard to maintain for nearly forty years. But then I realized that it’s okay that it’s over. I’ve grown tired of the fight.”

His wording alarmed her. It’s over? It couldn’t be over. “It’s only one story.”

He twisted the chair toward her with a squeak of leather. “We’ve been struggling for quite some time. Your mother and I took out a second mortgage on the house last year to shore up the paper’s financials. The loss of even one advertiser would have done us in. Unfortunately, that crook Dick’s is our largest. We’ll be lucky if we’re able to publish on Monday.”

Charlie opened her mouth to respond but found no words as the consequences of what she’d done crashed into her. She’d killed the paper, single-handedly. Killed her father’s legacy. Cost Lew his health insurance when he needed it most. Cost countless co-workers their jobs.