Watch Me (25 page)

“I’
ve got something you’ll want to see.”

Sheridan stood at the door, telling herself that she shouldn’t be nearly as excited or relieved to see Cain as she was. But ever since Tiger had left, she’d been keeping an eye on his truck, which was still parked across from the house. “What is it?”

He held up a DVD. “A recording of the street the night you were abducted.”

“Where’d you get it?” She stepped aside to let him in.

“From Robert.”

Sheridan knew Skye would want to be part of this, but her friend had gone to bed, and Sheridan wasn’t about to get her up. It was her fault that Skye didn’t like Cain. She’d done too good a job convincing her friends that the mysterious Cain Granger from her troubled past was a playboy, a mistake. But accepting responsibility for Skye’s feelings didn’t change the fact that, at the moment, Sheridan preferred not to deal with her disapproving glances. She’d told Skye that Cain had changed, but after tumbling out of his house in her underwear, she had no credibility. Skye insisted that Sheridan was seeing what she wanted to see.

And maybe she was right.

Sheridan could smell Cain’s aftershave as he passed and was tempted to reach out and touch his arm. She’d missed him. But she told herself that was her sixteen-year-old self talking and kept a two-foot buffer between them as she closed the door and followed him into the living room. “Robert’s been filming the street?” she asked when he turned to face her.

“He put up some security cameras a few weeks ago. One of them catches a large section of the street.” He gave her a penetrating look, as if he was trying to sense what she was feeling, but she averted her gaze and waved him toward the kitchen, where Skye’s computer was set up.

He means nothing to me. I will never be such a sucker again.
Even if he’d changed as much as Sheridan believed, her life was in Sacramento. And she had to admit the thought of him with Ms. Stevens upset her, even if that was twelve years ago.

She tried to focus strictly on the subject at hand and not the undercurrent of attraction that seemed to flow so powerfully between them. “What does he need a security system for?”

“He says it’s to make sure my father doesn’t get robbed.” He passed her the DVD.

She checked both sides of it. It came with no case—and there were no markings. “Have there been recent burglaries in this neighborhood?”

“Not that I’ve heard of. Robert’s always loved electronics. It’s probably more about playing with a new toy.”

She opened Skye’s CD-ROM and slid in the DVD. “But why didn’t he say something before now?”

“He claims he watched the recording, that there’s nothing interesting on it. And I don’t know any different, so don’t get your hopes up.”

She could feel his closeness as she sat down and he bent over her shoulder, looking at the screen. “He’s watched it?” she repeated to hide the shiver that went through her when his warm breath stirred the tendrils of hair that’d fallen out of her ponytail.

“Quite a few times, apparently. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look at it, too. There might be something here that’ll trigger a memory for you, or be more significant to you than anyone else.”

They fell silent as the image of the street materialized on the computer screen. There was no audio, of course. But a time and date stamp in the bottom left corner showed it to be the evening of the day she’d been dragged into the woods. “The camera’s angled away from my house,” she said.

“It’s supposed to be covering my dad’s drive. But whoever kidnapped you had to have had transportation. I’m hoping it caught his vehicle.”

“He didn’t park in front of the house. I would’ve seen him as I was putting away my groceries.”

“But once he tied you up, he had to have some way of transporting you to the woods.”

“Who’s to say he didn’t drive out of the neighborhood in the other direction, though?”

“No one. We have a 50/50 chance, that’s all.”

They stopped talking as headlights appeared on the screen. Sheridan held her breath when she saw a car roll into view but released it, once she realized it was
only Robert. He pulled into his own drive, then went out of range.

The seconds and minutes crept by as they continued to stare at an empty street. A neighbor walked by with his dog on a leash. Karen came to John’s house, went inside for a brief visit, and left. Ten minutes turned into fifteen, which turned into twenty.

“I think it’s past the time I was attacked,” she said, disappointed.

“When did you get back from the store?”

“Around eight-thirty.”

The tape showed eight forty-five, and the street was still empty.

“Let’s give it another couple of minutes,” Cain said.

“He must’ve gone out—”

Another pair of headlights lit up the screen. They belonged to a truck. But not just any truck. Once she’d gotten a good look at it, Sheridan shifted in her chair to see Cain’s face. “That’s Tiger, isn’t it?”

There were lines of concentration on Cain’s forehead. “Back it up.”

She reversed the DVD and played that part again. Sure enough, a vehicle resembling Tiger’s traveled down the street—very slowly.

“Can you freeze it?” Cain asked.

It took several tries to get the playback where they wanted it, but soon they were staring at a fuzzy image of what appeared, based on size alone, to be a man behind the wheel of a black 4x4 with a lift kit. “Does anyone else in town drive a black 4x4?” she asked.

“There might be one or two, but—” he pointed to the lower portion of the screen “—see that dent?”

She could, now that he’d brought it to her attention. “Yeah…”

“The white paint on it is from an accident at the Roadhouse. I was there when it happened. That’s Tiger’s truck, all right.”

A hard knot formed in the pit of Sheridan’s stomach. “What would he be doing in this neighborhood that particular night?”

“I don’t know. It isn’t as if he has friends here.”

Cain would certainly be aware of it if he did. He’d grown up on this street, still visited on occasion.

She pushed the play button. “Let’s see if there’s anything else.”

There was more—more of Tiger. He drove by three times in the next five minutes, going slower with each pass.

Uneasy, Sheridan rubbed her arms. She’d just entertained Tiger in her living room for thirty minutes and thought they’d made peace. As they’d talked, she’d recognized signs of
some
lingering resentment. But, for the most part, she’d gotten the impression that Amy’s death had made him realize how unimportant such petty grudges were.

Or had that been fun and games for him? Was he enjoying the fact that he could attack her one night and sit in her living room like a guest two weeks later?

“You don’t think…” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Although it was years ago, she’d been his girlfriend. Surely, he wasn’t the one who’d tried to kill her, who’d taken Jason’s life.

Cain’s whiskers rasped as he rubbed his chin. “Bitterness is a powerful emotion.”

Tiger had been bitter—but bitter enough to shoot her and Jason for being together at Rocky Point? “Do you know where Tiger was the night Jason and I were shot?”

“I doubt anyone’s thought to ask him. Why would they?”

“I think it’s time we posed the question, don’t you?”

“Damn right.” Cain frowned at the screen. Sheridan had left the DVD running after the third sighting of Tiger’s truck, but nothing else showed up. Robert pulled out of the drive about nine-thirty and didn’t return before the taped segment came to an end. That was all.

“You told me Robert watched this, right?” Sheridan said.

Cain made a sound of acknowledgement.

“Didn’t he find it odd that Tiger would drive by
three
times?”

“I’m sure he can’t imagine Tiger attacking you or killing Jason. He and Jason were good friends.”

“Maybe that’s what enraged him.”

“You two broke up months before the shooting.”

“That doesn’t mean he was over it.” Yes, some feelings faded over time. Her brief infatuation with Tiger had disappeared in a matter of three months. She’d only hung on longer than that because they were comfortable together and she didn’t want to risk losing his friendship. But sometimes things just were what they were, regardless of the passing days, weeks, months. When she’d first returned to Whiterock, the thought of encountering Cain had evoked a response despite twelve years of having no contact.

Remembering how angry Tiger had been when she broke up with him, how sullen and withdrawn he’d acted afterward, she said, “Maybe he’s twisted. Maybe no one knows how twisted.”

Cain reached around her to start the playback over again. “Twisted enough to kill the woman he loves?”

As Sheridan watched Tiger’s truck pass her uncle’s house yet again, she knew Cain was thinking of that note in the dirt. “Maybe he got tired of the fact that Amy wouldn’t let go of you and decided this trip to your cabin would be her last.”

“I suppose it’s possible.”

“That he’d do it on your land is even a little poetic, especially the part where he sets you up to take the blame. Maybe he feels you deserve it because you were the obstacle standing between them.”

“I don’t know how I could’ve tried harder to get out of the way,” Cain said.

Sheridan knew he didn’t fully understand Amy’s fixation. How could he? As far as she knew, he’d never fallen so hopelessly in love.

But she could relate, to a point. She had too much pride to allow herself to be an unwanted nuisance, but she’d loved Cain almost as long as Amy.

The humid, stagnant air in the four-foot crawl space beneath Sheridan’s uncle’s house made John sweat. But he wasn’t about to open the heavy plank door to the side yard, which was how he’d gotten in. The neighbor next door might see it if he left it hanging that way. Besides, uncomfortable as he was, he was too preoccupied with
trying to hear what Cain and Sheridan were saying to step away from the hole he’d drilled in the living room floor.

“That seems like a pretty elaborate system just to protect a few thousand dollars,” Sheridan was saying.

“Maybe he has more than a few thousand,” Cain responded.

“Why wouldn’t he stash it somewhere safer?”

“Owen said he doesn’t trust banks anymore. But I don’t know when that happened. He’s never indicated a thing like that to me.”

That surprised Cain? They never even talked anymore. John wished he could cut Julia’s son out of his life permanently.

“You’re telling me he doesn’t know that Robert’s installed security cameras around the house?” Sheridan again.

“According to Robert, he doesn’t. And, if he did, I think I would’ve heard
something
about it, if only a complaint that Robert was spending money he should have put toward utility bills or groceries.”

“But how could John miss the cameras?”

“Robert hid them well. I scanned the eaves on my way out. It was dark and he was watching from his trailer so I didn’t stop, but even knowing they were there, I couldn’t find them.”

That Robert could be so sneaky made John a little uncomfortable. If he hadn’t come across the wrapping materials for that equipment stuffed in the recycle bin outside, he might not have known what Robert was up to.

But it didn’t take him long to figure out that recording everything around the house had its benefits.

“Are you going to confront Tiger?” Sheridan asked.

“Definitely,” Cain said.

“When?”

“After the funeral tomorrow.”

A few minutes ago, John had overheard them say that Tiger had driven down the street a number of times the night Sheridan was attacked. Was it because he’d seen something through the window of Sheridan’s house? And, if Robert knew Tiger was around, why hadn’t he said so? He could’ve claimed to have seen Tiger’s vehicle without giving away the fact that he had a security system in place.

Cain and Sheridan’s voices grew louder.

Holding his breath, John pressed closer to the peephole he’d created, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. They were walking back into the living room, but he couldn’t see them yet. The hole didn’t give him that much range.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Cain said.

“I’m not alone. Skye’s in the other room.”

“Whoever’s doing this could kill you both. You realize that.”

He and Sheridan had finally come into view. Cain was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, obviously in no hurry to leave, although he looked absolutely beat.

God, he was a tough son of a bitch. No one knew that better than John. He’d never forget the time Cain had challenged him over the funeral arrangements for his mother. John had been trying to save a few bucks. Most kids wouldn’t have been paying attention, but
Cain wasn’t like most kids. He always paid attention, and he wasn’t afraid to insist. He’d basically shamed John into providing what he called a “decent” coffin and a “respectable” marker by saying he’d raise the money for those things himself, if he had to. John couldn’t lose the commiseration and support of the whole community. So he’d agreed. But he resented the way Cain had forced his hand, just as he resented most things about Cain.

“It’s late,” Sheridan was saying above him. “You’ve got to get some sleep. You’re nearly dead on your feet.”

Not as dead as John wished. Even when Cain was young, he’d made John’s life miserable, but not for any reason John could clearly name. That was what he found most frustrating. Cain’s effect on him was so…subtle. He made John feel inferior without even trying. The day Julia and her boy moved in, John had brought home some flowers and a box of chocolates he’d actually bought for another woman, who’d refused them because she’d heard he was getting married. There was no way Cain or Julia could’ve known the history of those gifts, and yet the moment John gave them to Julia, Cain’s eyes had connected with his as if he could read the truth—

John jerked himself out of his thoughts. Sheridan and Cain weren’t making small talk anymore. The tone of their voices had changed, grown softer in volume.

“At the restaurant, Karen told him never to contact her again.”