Watch Me (23 page)

Tossing the remote aside, he got up from the couch and paced for several minutes. The more he thought about how vulnerable Sheridan was, the more worried he became that it’d been a mistake to let her leave with Skye.

Of course, he hadn’t had any choice in the matter. It wasn’t as if he could restrain her.

When the phone rang, he grabbed it, hoping to hear her voice. She hadn’t called since she left, which bothered him as much as everything else.

“Hello?”

“It’s your fault she’s dead.”

Tiger. His words were slurred. He was drinking again.

“I didn’t ask Amy to come up here, Tiger.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said and hung up.

With a curse, Cain put down the receiver. Emotions were running high in Whiterock. Ned and Tiger were both pointing a finger at him for Amy’s death, but she’d come out to his place on her own, many times according to his neighbor. And the night of the shooting, she hadn’t gone to the house, the way he’d told her to, but in the opposite direction. Not only that, he’d begged her, for years, to forget him. How much more could a man do to get out of a romantic entanglement?

Nothing. He’d never given her false hope or made promises he didn’t keep. Even in high school, when they’d been sexually involved, she’d known his heart wasn’t in it.

He didn’t feel responsible, he felt sad—sad that she’d loved him so much with absolutely no encouragement, sad that he couldn’t return her feelings, even though he’d sometimes thought he should try. Sad that someone could end her life as if it was nothing, and afraid the same thing would happen to Sheridan if he didn’t do something to stop it.

He considered calling her, but her cell phone was still out of operation. And he didn’t have Skye’s number.

Reclaiming his keys from the top of the refrigerator, he decided to drive to town. He doubted Sheridan’s friend would be very happy to see him. Skye seemed particularly distrustful of him. But he didn’t care. He’d never be able to relax if he didn’t achieve some type of assurance that Sheridan was safe.

He’d just reached the front door when the phone rang
again. Expecting more drunken accusations from Tiger, he wasn’t in any hurry to answer. But after two more rings, he walked over to check caller ID.

It wasn’t Tiger. The screen read K. Stevens.

Why would his former English teacher be calling him? He wasn’t any more eager to speak with her than he was with Tiger or Ned. Even less, in fact. But she hadn’t called him since she’d been back. He figured this must be important—in a bad way.

Sitting on the arm of the closest chair, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Cain?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Karen.”

“I know.”

“I—I’m sorry to bother you. Especially so late.”

He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t harbor any hard feelings toward her, but as far as he was concerned, they couldn’t even be friends. There was too much history between them.

“No problem,” he said, but he was waiting for whatever she’d called to impart.

“Your stepfather asked me to marry him today.”

Last he’d heard, they’d had a blow-up in the Roadhouse. Karen had told John not to contact her again, and Cain had been hoping that was the end of their relationship.

But of course it wasn’t. This was the bad news he’d been expecting for a long time.

Remaining silent, Cain tried to imagine what their marriage would mean to her, to him, to his stepfather
and stepbrothers. At the very least, it would complicate relationships that were already complicated enough. What if Marshall dragged him to Thanksgiving dinner come November? He pictured himself sitting across from Karen, seeing the guilt in her eyes, a constant reminder of the terrible secret they were keeping from John. And that was the better of two unattractive possibilities. It was more likely that Karen would eventually break down and tell John. That was what most wives would do, wasn’t it? And then John would finally have irrefutable proof that Cain was the bastard he’d always accused him of being. He’d use it to poison Owen against him. And he’d go to Marshall.

Cain couldn’t help wincing at the thought. “Did you answer him?” he asked, dreading her response.

“Yes.” There was a pause. “I agreed.”

Cain closed his eyes. Just what he needed right now. Why the hell didn’t he simply walk away from the Wyatts? Why did he let them matter?

Because he
couldn’t
walk away. Not as long as Marshall was alive. And he owed Owen some sort of loyalty, too. He and Owen had never had any significant trouble between them.

“When’s the wedding?” he asked, sick at heart.

“December.”

He kneaded his temples. “Are you in love with him?” He silently pleaded with her to hedge or say anything that might indicate she wasn’t genuinely committed. Maybe she was lonely and needed the companionship. Maybe she thought he was the best she’d be able to get. Anything short of what it would take to make a mar
riage like this work… Then he could oppose it, feel vindicated in disparaging the idea. But her sincerity disarmed him.

“Yes. I have been for a while, although it was a gradual thing for me, much more gradual than it was for him.”

Damn it!
“So why are you calling me?”

He could tell that his brusque response made it difficult for her to go on.

“For several reasons,” she said at length. “First—” her voice dropped to an agonized whisper “—I owe you an apology.”

“Don’t.” He could sense her shame—because he shared it. He didn’t want to hear that she was sorry; he just wanted to forget. He’d been trying to distance himself from his past for a long time. Why allow it to catch up with him now?

“Please, let me talk about this. It’s been bottled up inside me for twelve years.”

Did he have to?

When he said nothing, she haltingly continued. “What happened was my fault, Cain, not yours. I—I was your teacher, for God’s sake. I should’ve been protecting you, guiding you, not lusting after you.”

He opened his mouth to interrupt but forced himself not to speak.
Let her finish, let her get it off her chest
. Maybe it would help
one
of them.

“It’s just that…well, you’ve got to be aware that you’re a very charismatic person. And you seemed so old for your age, so streetwise. Despite the age difference between us…and all the things that should’ve stopped me, I had this…this silly crush on you.” She laughed in
a self-deprecating way. “I guess I can understand how Amy felt. You were all I could think about and I—”

Unable to listen to anymore, he finally interrupted. “Karen.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She’d broken down in tears. The sound of her weeping was even worse than the apology.

“I knew what I was doing,” he said. Maybe he was the one who owed
her
an apology. He’d never felt any attraction to her. He’d done what he had so he could take what his stepfather wanted instead of his mother. He’d used Karen to strike out at John. He couldn’t place all the blame on her doorstep.

“Then we both made a mistake,” she muttered.

“Apparently.”

She sniffed. “People make mistakes sometimes, don’t they?”

Was he ever familiar with
that
concept! He’d made more than his share. And considering the fact that everyone in town seemed ready to suspect him of murder, he was still paying for the past. “So…are you going to tell John?” That had to be where this conversation was going. He could tell that their actions weighed heavily on Karen’s conscience and guessed she wanted to unburden herself. So her answer surprised him.

“No. I’d never do that to you.”

Her conviction caused him to sit up straighter, but she continued before he could respond.

“But I’m afraid someone else will.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I’m calling to ask you.”

She thought
he
might break his silence? If he was going to do that, he would’ve done it at the police station when, once again, he’d been tempted to use his transgression with Karen to hurt John. “I won’t say anything. He’d never be able to touch you again without thinking of me.” Without knowing she’d wanted him first. That was the real revenge. But it was a revenge he’d never used and never would.

“Then who have you told?” she asked.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“No one? Not a single soul?”

“No,” he said, wondering why she seemed so unwilling to believe him.

“That can’t be true.”

Cain had assumed she’d merely been trying to reassure herself that it was safe to proceed with the engagement, that he wouldn’t sabotage her. He hadn’t expected this. “Excuse me?”

“There’s someone else, someone who knows.”

“What makes you think so?”

Another long silence ensued. Then he heard her sigh. “Can you meet me at the corner of Rollingwood and Old Schoolhouse Road?”

“What for?”

“I have something to show you.”

C
ain waited at the appointed place for nearly an hour, but Karen didn’t show up. Frustrated, he finally got in his truck and drove to her house to see what was going on. And then he knew. John’s car was parked out front. His stepfather had probably surprised Karen; with John there she couldn’t even call. Cain didn’t have a cell phone, anyway.

Wondering what Karen needed to show him, and why she was so adamant that, after twelve years, someone knew about their afternoon together, he headed over to Sheridan’s. It was too late to knock at the door, but at least he could make sure no one was lurking about.

He parked across the street, in plain sight in case Sheridan or Skye came to the window. He wasn’t trying to frighten them or get himself shot. He only wanted to check on their safety. But as soon as he left his truck, a voice issued out of the darkness.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.”

Tiger was in the side yard, leaning against the fence. So this was where he’d decided to get drunk. “Last I knew you didn’t live in this area.”

“Neither do you.”

“I’m here to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Did Sheridan ask you to do that?”

“No.”

“Are you two seeing each other?”

Cain couldn’t decide what to make of his and Sheridan’s relationship. He definitely wanted her back in his house, back in his bed. But he couldn’t say how much of that was due to what had occurred in the past and the fact that they’d already been intimate, and how much to the unusual circumstances that had put her in his care.

Was it even worth deciding? About the time he figured it out, she’d be leaving town.

“We’re friends.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter to the women you know. They want you, anyway.”

“I’m sorry about Amy, Tiger.”

Tiger stared at him, then his face crumpled. “Damn. Why can’t you give me a target?”

“I’m too busy providing a target for everyone else at the moment.”

Tiger’s smile revealed the chipped tooth he’d had for so long Cain couldn’t remember what he’d hit, or what had hit him. “Yeah, you’ve been catching more than your fair share of hell lately, haven’t you?” He gulped down some of his beer. “I guess it’s easier to pile on than to accept the truth.”

The acknowledgement was enough for Cain. He knew what Tiger was going through. “You speaking at the funeral?” he asked.

“I’m saying a few words, yeah. Her mother wants me to give a ‘life portrait.’” He eyed his bottle in the light
coming from the porch, obviously measuring the amount he had left, annoyed that it wasn’t more. “Will you be there?”

Cain was well aware that Ned, Amy’s parents and probably even Tiger, would rather he stayed away. But considering what Amy had wanted from him, and the little he’d been able to offer, he felt he owed it to her to pay his final respects. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“That should make it fun,” Tiger said dryly. “You’re a glutton for punishment, you know that?”

“I have as much right to say goodbye to Amy as anyone.”

“I guess you do.”

The door opened, and Skye stuck her head out. “You two going to stand in the yard all night? Or are you coming in?”

Cain smiled at the invitation and raised questioning eyebrows at Tiger.

“I’ll go in,” Tiger said, pushing away from the fence. “Why not? I’ve made my peace with you. Now maybe I can finally bury the hatchet with the other girl you stole from me.”

Cain decided to let him do that, even though he was dying for a glimpse of Sheridan himself. “I think I’ll go say hello to Robert.”

Tiger toasted Cain with his bottle. “You’re not threatened by leaving me with your girl?”

Cain didn’t bother to contest the “your girl” part. Tiger was just provoking him, trying to get a reaction. “No. Keep her safe while you’re there, though,” he said. Then he waved at Skye and walked away.

Robert wasn’t home. Neither was John. Cain was just cutting across the lawn to the street when he succumbed to the inner voice that told him he was squandering a fabulous opportunity. Robert claimed he hadn’t taken that digital picture of Sheridan, yet he had a digital camera, a computer and a color printer, and because he lived down the street from her, he also had access. He claimed he hadn’t known the rifle he took from Marshall’s shed was the one that had killed Jason. Yet he’d never mentioned finding it
or
losing it.

Cain didn’t believe his youngest stepbrother was capable of life-threatening violence, especially against Jason, but something about Robert wasn’t right.

On the other hand, he’d never seemed completely right. His behavior could easily be the result of alcoholism or the mood swings he’d exhibited for years. It didn’t necessarily mean any more. But Cain knew he’d feel better if he checked Robert’s recent picture downloads. Just in case.

Problem was, he had no idea when his stepbrother might return. Robert could be out for a late night of drinking or merely running a quick errand.

He hesitated on the front lawn, eyeing the metal dinosaur his stepfather had made not long ago, trying to decide. Then he turned back and walked around the house to the trailer.

“So…are you planning to attend Amy’s funeral?” Tiger asked.

Sheridan sat with Skye on the sofa, facing Tiger, who’d chosen the recliner.

“I am. I didn’t know her that well, but I feel terrible about what happened.” She also wanted to see who else showed up and how each mourner behaved. The fact that the person who’d shot Amy had taken the time to write “I love you” in the dirt, suggested it was someone she’d known well. Someone who’d probably be missed if he didn’t come to her funeral.

“Who do you think killed her?” he asked.

“Not Cain.”

He finished the beer he’d carried in and set it aside. “He was running around the forest alone.”

“Not really. Someone else was out there.”

“According to him. We have no other witnesses.”

“Someone else
had
to be there. They drugged the dogs. Those hounds went silent before Cain ever left the cabin.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t noticed when the dogs went silent; Cain had.

“He was never out of your sight?” Tiger pressed. “Couldn’t have drugged them himself while you were in bed or watching television?”

Sheridan remembered how engrossed she’d been in the conversation with her parents, how concerned that Cain might overhear. After he’d walked out of the room, there’d been no noise to indicate his whereabouts for several minutes. Still, she
knew
it wasn’t him. “He’s not the one who beat me up. So why would I believe he’d create such an elaborate scheme to kill Amy?”

“Because it wasn’t elaborate. It was very simple—and you gave him an alibi.”

“Stop it!”

“Ned can’t place anyone else in the area.”

“Cain saved my life, Tiger.”

“Or pretended to.”

Sheridan couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice. “If he wanted to kill me, he could’ve done it while I was recuperating. I was out of it for days.”

Tiger shook his head. “That’d be too obvious.”

“You don’t like Cain, do you,” Skye said, entering the conversation for the first time since the initial introductions.

“Sure, I like him—for the most part,” Tiger responded. “Other times I’m stinkin’ jealous of him. But what else would you expect? The woman I planned to marry couldn’t get over him enough to commit to me. And he’s the reason Sheridan broke up with me in high school, even though she didn’t tell anyone at the time. Isn’t that right?” He turned to her with an expectant expression.

He knew it was, but apparently he wanted to hear it from her own mouth. Sheridan didn’t see the point, but maybe it had to do with some sort of closure. If that was what it was going to take him to forget about their high school involvement and move on, she was more than willing. “Yes.”

“And you’re still holding that against them both?” Skye cut in.

Tiger chuckled at the censure in her voice. “The male ego is a sensitive thing.”

“Apparently
your
ego is,” Sheridan said. “You refused to talk to me for months afterward, wouldn’t even say goodbye.”

“I was determined to punish you, make you sorry
you’d pushed me aside.” Growing philosophical, he pursed his lips. “That plan was doomed from the start, of course. You have to care in order to be sorry.”

“I was too concerned with other problems by then,” Sheridan pointed out. “Maybe you don’t remember this amidst all your own pain, but someone had just tried to kill me—and succeeded in killing Jason.”

He didn’t react to the sarcasm in her voice. “I remember.”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” Skye inserted.

Sheridan hid a smile. Skye had asked the same question of Robert; she’d probably ask everyone she met.

“Nope. Can’t help you there. I really liked Jason.”

“And me?” Sheridan drew his attention to the obvious slight.

He grinned. “Not so much at the time.”

“So you have a sensitive ego and you hold a
very
long grudge,” Skye said.

His voice turned sulky. “No one likes to get dumped on.”

“Getting dumped and getting dumped
on
are two different things.” Skye looked directly at him. “She liked someone else, so she broke up with you. She had the right. Get over it.”

He tilted his head. “I can tell you’re the sentimental type.”

“In my line of work, I’ve seen some
real
suffering.”

Sheridan noticed that Skye didn’t include herself in that category, even though she’d gone through a harrowing ordeal when a man with a knife suddenly appeared in her room in the middle of the night and
tried to rape her. “I don’t have patience for so much self-pity.”

“Ouch,” he said, laughing. “Your friend is brutal.”

Crossing her arms, Sheridan leaned back with a smile. “You should see her when she’s angry.”

“So, are you ever going to forgive her for breaking your boyish heart?” Skye asked.

“I don’t know.” His eyes seemed to focus on the spot below Skye’s left eye where her intruder had cut her five years ago. “Some scars are hard to get rid of.”

Skye smiled back. “Those are the ones you learn to live with.”

The only light in Robert’s trailer came from his computer monitor. It grew bright and then dim, and turned from red to blue, creating shifting patterns on the front window. Robert had such an abundance of computer equipment and spent so much time online that he no longer relegated his equipment to the spare bedroom. What he fondly called his “command center” sprawled across the entire living room. Why walk those extra few steps? Why cram a scanner, a regular printer, a color printer, two old monitors, two working CPUs and three that were torn apart, two modems, a power surge protector, shelves of software manuals, electric cords and chargers into an out-of-the-way corner? Robert didn’t need a sofa or a coffee table because he didn’t entertain, and he didn’t have a TV. He used his computer screen to see pirated movies, chat online, hack into various systems and play interactive video games. The digital world was
his
world.

Cain watched the moving image on the window as
he tried the front door. It was locked, but he knew Robert kept a spare key hidden under a rock beneath the wooden steps leading to the entrance. He’d had to use it before, to get Robert a change of clothes when the police picked him up on a DUI six months ago. Robert hadn’t been able to get hold of John or Owen and had resorted to calling Cain.

It took only a moment to retrieve it. Then Cain let himself in and frowned at the mess. Apparently, his stepbrother had given up cooking and cleaning. Fast food wrappers and takeout boxes from Sicilian Pizza and Susie’s Sandwiches filled garbage cans that overflowed onto the floor, and beer cans cluttered every surface. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the flies that crawled over the half-eaten food drying on the counter and the ketchup-smeared bath towel tossed over a broken lamp. Robert didn’t need to worry about keeping his towels clean; he generally showered at John’s so he wouldn’t have to do any of his own laundry.

“
Nice
, bro,” Cain muttered. For a second, he asked himself why he’d even decided to poke around this cesspit. He knew Robert was weird, lazy and dysfunctional, but if Robert had the dark tendencies of a murderer, he was pretty sure there would’ve been some sign of it before that rifle turned up.

Cain figured he was probably wasting his time—but it didn’t hurt to do a little searching while he was here. Clearing garbage out of the way so he could see what lay beneath, he eventually located a cord that seemed like the type used to download pictures. But it wasn’t attached to anything.

Studying several photographs of strangers that Robert had enhanced in odd ways and taped to his wall, Cain sat in front of the primary computer and jiggled the mouse to dispel the psychedelic screensaver. The geometric shapes flying toward him dissolved, and Pink Floyd’s
Off the Wall
suddenly came on.
Hello…hello…hello…Is there anybody in there?

Cain jumped at the noise. He would’ve chuckled at his own reaction, except the computer was asking him for a username and password, and he didn’t have either.

He was dead in the water before he even got started.

“What would you think is clever?” he muttered aloud. He attempted a few combinations he thought Robert might use, but he knew he wasn’t likely to crack the password. He didn’t spend enough time with his stepbrother these days.

With a sigh, he gave up and twisted around in the seat to survey the room. Wondering if he might stumble across a discarded picture of Sheridan, he checked the garbage but came up with nothing. He was about to leave—he didn’t need to get into an argument with Robert over invading his privacy—when he decided to take a quick peek at Robert’s shoes, just to verify that none of them fit the wear pattern on those footprints on the muddy road and at the creek.

He went to his stepbrother’s bedroom and examined the tread on all the shoes he could locate amid the clothes heaped on the floor, but they didn’t match the prints that’d been found near Amy’s body.