Unbreak My Heart (7 page)

"He's wrapping up some business for another client today, and he's heading for Macon tomorrow," Beth said. Macon, where her sister died. "Did he get the police report from Kentucky?"

"Sure. You didn't get your copies yet? I mailed them two days ago."

"I'm not in Connecticut," she said. "That's the other thing I wanted to tell Greg. I'm in Kentucky." She rattled off the number at the house and the address, in case the detective needed to reach her.

"Okay, I'll send you another copy of what we found."

"Just the police reports," she said. "I went to the library myself and got the newspaper articles."

"Oh, okay. Allie, if you're there, there's something you should know. The researcher we hired to find the newspaper stories for us... I guess she's a good friend of the librarian, who told her it was the oddest thing. No one had asked about your sister's disappearance in years, and then in one week, the librarian had two different people come in looking for the records."

"Someone else
is
looking? No wonder the librarian looked so surprised when I asked for those issues of the paper."

"Greg said for you to be careful."

Allie felt a chill go all the way through her. She thanked the secretary and went outside, just wanting out of the house for a few moments, then stepped into the sunshine, needing its warmth.

Someone else was looking....

Allie told herself to be calm. It wasn't working. She wasn't leaving, not without all the answers. But now she was afraid of what she'd find out, worried of what might happen to her while she was here.

* * *

Stephen worked like a demon that day, hoping he might grow so tired he could forget that once he got home, Megan Bennett's little sister would be right next door. It didn't seem to be working in the least.

Late that night, after he'd showered and dressed, he poured a shot of whiskey and took it to the back porch so he could smoke a cigarette. His mother didn't want anyone smoking in the house, and he respected his mother's wishes. Including staying here at her request while she and his father were gone. Although, as soon as he heard Megan Bennett's sister was coming back to town, he'd known it had been not his mother's idea for him to be here, but his father's. His father, who wanted someone close by to keep an eye on Allie.

Standing on the porch on the warm night, not a hundred yards from her house, he told himself not to even look in her direction, not to even think about going over there tonight, no matter what he'd told his father.

Already he'd spent countless hours with his thoughts drifting back to the way she looked, all lost and vulnerable and sad, standing in that empty house. Once he'd gotten over how startling it was to look up and see Megan's face, as she might have looked had she ever grown into a woman, he couldn't deny he'd enjoyed sitting there having dinner by candlelight with Allie. He found it painfully satisfying to bring a smile to her pretty face. He'd picked up on her loneliness right away and thought to forge a bond between them over it, by telling her he understood, that he was lonely himself. And damned if it didn't sound like the truth to him once he said the words. He'd told Allie about all those women, the ones who hadn't seen him for what he was, and now it seemed, he hadn't seen himself that clearly, either.

Lonely?
Who would have thought...

He swore yet again, took a long, moderately satisfying drag on his cigarette. He'd told her that deliberately in hopes of provoking a certain reaction in her. Just the one he'd gotten, in fact. She'd been surprised, a little uneasy that he'd seen her own loneliness so clearly, but it had drawn her ever closer to him, as well. That's what he needed. For her to trust him.

Feeling as if they had something in common should help her trust him. He'd reasoned it out in his mind, nothing but cool logic, his goal firmly in place. But Allie was flesh and blood, vulnerable and so very alone, right next door.

He couldn't apologize for what he'd done, couldn't afford the regrets he felt, and somehow he had to find a way to stay away from her now. Before he did something really stupid. Like tell her the truth.

Stephen stood there for a long time, his first clue that she was very, very close the faint creaking of the glider on the back porch of her house. He hadn't heard that sound in years. John Bennett had never sat on the glider. Stephen had seldom seen him at all in the last few years before he died. The man had worked behind a closed door in his office at the bank and hid in his house, barely showing his face in public.

Standing there in the darkness, Stephen wondered just how much Allie knew about her father. He wondered what she'd done today, who she'd talked to, what sort of answers she'd already found. Would she look at him already with suspicions? Others certainly had after they found out what he'd done fifteen years ago.

She'd be angry with him for keeping his part in it from her. It would come out, if she stayed for any length of time. Stephen frowned, thinking he'd have to chance it, chance the fact that she'd either leave fairly quickly and it wouldn't matter what she thought of him. Or that he could forge some kind of bond between them before she started hearing rumors about him and her sister. Maybe then she would believe him when he told her his version of it. As distasteful as the idea of deceiving her was, he had no choice, if he was going to keep his father happy and some eighteen hundred miles away.

Stephen took one last drag off the cigarette, then flicked it into the big, stone flower pot on the porch that served as an ashtray. He was almost inside when he heard another sound from next door. It was so faint, at first he thought he was imagining it. Then he felt a chill work its way down his spine.

Next door, someone was crying.

Allie
, he told himself.
Not Megan. Not this time.

Megan was in a place where no one could hurt her ever again. He firmly believed that. But Allie...

He swore softly as the sound cut right through him. It haunted him, made him remember another night and a different girl.

He told himself one more time to stay away from Allie, to keep his hands off her. One day, she'd know the truth and hate him all the more for anything that happened between them from this point on. He fought with all he had in him to stay right there, because that was the smart thing to do, and he was normally a very smart man. But in the end, nothing else mattered, except that she was over there all by herself, sad and scared, just like her sister. And just like before, he couldn't leave her all alone with her tears.

* * *

Allie was so caught up in her own misery, she didn't hear the footsteps until they were very close. Turning to the right, she caught a glimpse of someone coming toward her. Her hand came up to her mouth to stifle a scream, and the man shifted slightly to the right, so that the light from inside fell against his face for an instant.

"Stephen?"

He frowned as he looked over her tearstained face and said softly, "Who else shows up at your house this late at night?"

"Oh, God." Allie groaned. "Tell me you didn't hear me. Not all the way over there?"

"Okay," he said gently. "I didn't hear a thing."

She groaned and fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. How could she let him catch her like this?

"I'll be okay," she claimed.

"Will you, Allie?" he said gravely.

"Of course."

She waited for him to leave. He didn't. Foolishly, she kept thinking of the promise she'd made herself. That if he came back, she simply wouldn't invite him in. She'd get him to leave and close the door firmly behind him. But here she was, utterly miserable and falling apart right in front of him, with no door to close between them.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing. I just found some old photographs." She'd started in the kitchen, thinking how hard could it possibly be to clean out a kitchen? Who kept truly personal items in a kitchen? And then she'd found a cabinet with stacks of old photographs. " I uhh... I hadn't seen a picture of Megan in years."

"Your mother didn't have any?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe I just haven't found her stash yet. But she didn't keep any in places where I could see them."

Allie supposed he found that odd. She certainly had. But maybe it was just too painful for her mother to bear. It seemed her father felt the same way. It looked as if he'd gone around the house one day and gathered up all the photographs there were of her and Megan and shoved them into a cabinet, closed the door, and left them there. For years, it seemed, piled haphazardly and gathering dust. That's how she'd found them. It had felt like he might have locked away some of his own pain within those piles of photographs, that it had all come spilling out when Allie opened the cabinet door.

"It just got to me for a minute," she said. "I didn't mean to... disturb you." And she certainly hadn't meant for him to hear her crying.

"It's all right. I was wondering what you'd done today, and... I worry about you, Allie."

"Why?"

"I don't like to think of you being all alone over here in this old house."

"I've been alone for a long time, Stephen. Even when my mother was alive..." She broke off, hating the bitter tone of her voice and all it revealed.

"You weren't happy at all?"

"I don't know," she said miserably. "How happy is anyone, really? Are you happy?"

"I'm... busy," he decided. "I like my work. It interests me. I like making money, especially on projects people say will never fly. I like this town. I like Lexington. I have a few good friends, so I'm not lonely. I have a comfortable lifestyle. Is that being happy?"

"I think that's just living."

He stood there for a moment, studying her, then seemed to reach a decision. Somewhat reluctantly, he settled in beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the cushion, his body warm and inviting against hers.

She sat there fighting the wordless comfort he offered, fighting and losing. She was so tired, so sad. She hadn't had anyone close to her in so long. Her head fell to his shoulder, and his arm came to her, telling her it was okay. She could lean on him. Just for tonight, she told herself. Just for a few minutes. She would be so much stronger tomorrow.

"Is that what you've been doing all these years with your mother?" he asked. "Just living?"

She winced. Because the truth hurt. And she'd never met anyone who saw inside of her so clearly. Or maybe... maybe she hadn't known any man who'd bothered to look as carefully as he did. Maybe no one had cared enough to try to see all the things going on inside of her. Allie wondered if that was it. If he saw because that was the kind of man he was and because he cared.

"I wondered what happened to the two of you after you left," he said. "I wish things had been different for you."

"Forget it, Stephen. Please." She'd said too much the first night. No matter how drawn to him she was, it was too soon to be pouring out her heart to him like this.

"I don't know how to do that, Allie. I don't know how to stay away. Especially not with you over here like this."

She took a breath, a quick, too-shallow breath, and felt tears threatening once again. He was going to be kind, and she wasn't sure if she could handle that, either.

"I really don't know you," she said, reminding herself, as much as him.

"I know."

"Which means..." That it was ridiculous to be so drawn to him, to need him so much. And yet she did.

"What?" he said, his hand at the nape of her neck, caressing gently and stealing her breath, every bit of her resolve. "What does it mean?"

That she didn't want him to see her this way, didn't want to need him this much, but she didn't want him to let her go, either.

One of his hands fell to her shoulders, and before she knew it, he pulled her into the circle of his arms. Allie couldn't remember the last time anyone but him held her. She remembered wishing someone would after her mother died, something that had seemed to suck every bit of energy and life out of her, too. She'd felt old and used up and so bitterly alone. Vulnerable, she reminded herself. She was way too vulnerable. But this... Oh, this was so nice.

"Stephen?" she protested, because she felt she must.

"Shh."

His hand made soft, slow circles against her back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. With her head tucked against his chest, his heart beating in a strong, steady rhythm beneath her ear, Allie couldn't help relaxing against him a little. He was warm and strong and solid, all things she wished she was.

"Go ahead," he urged. "Let it all out."

"I can't," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because..." He was a virtual stranger, and she'd been raised to keep everyone at a careful distance, to swallow her emotions and put on a pretty face for the world, even when she thought she was dying inside.

She'd lived her life virtually alone, trusting no one, remembering that the people she came to truly care about had a bad habit of disappearing from her life. It taught her to never let anyone close, to always guard her heart, which was a smart way to live. She'd always been so smart about things like this.

"Allie?"

He pulled away an inch, maybe two, and she shivered at the look on his face. So intense. So concerned. She had the feeling that this all meant something to him. That her being here and still being torn up over Megan's disappearance was important to him, too, though she couldn't understand why. Megan had been next to nothing to him.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Why is this so important to you? Why am I?"

"I knew a girl once, who was so sad and absolutely lost. Sometimes I heard her crying at night. I tried to help, but she told me she was okay. I'm not sure I believed her, but I didn't know her that well and I wasn't sure what to do. So I backed off. And that was a huge mistake. Because not long after that, she ran away and died. I feel guilty about that to this day—"

"So do I," she admitted. She felt so guilty.

"I don't ever want to feel that way again—like someone needed me, and I didn't do enough. So I don't think it matters that before last night, I hadn't seen you in fifteen years. I don't think it matters that you and I don't know each other that well. I can't sit over there knowing you're over here and upset and crying, and do nothing about it. I can't."