When Bruce Met Cyn (26 page)

At the mention of a weapon, Bruce reached across the table and took Cyn's hand. “Thank God they've got him.”

Cyn shivered, her imagination going wild over the idea of what Palmer would have done with that knife if he'd gotten hold of her. “I hope he rots.”

“He's being held without bail. With any luck, they'll be able to round up enough evidence to pin him with the murder charge, too.”

Cyn couldn't quite take it in. “I guess this means…it's really over.”

“Looks like.” Scott gave her such a gentle look, that Cyn did a double take. “You might need to be questioned, and the trial will take forever, but he won't be able to bother you anymore.”

Bruce gave Cyn a huge smile. “No more worrying. Now we're free.”

But Cyn's mind had already jumped ahead. Bruce wasn't free. He'd married her to protect her, but now that reason didn't exist. She knew Bruce wouldn't leave her—but would he regret his hasty decision?

She decided that she needed to speak with someone unbiased. Someone who knew things she didn't. Someone she trusted.

She needed to see Jamie Creed.

Making plans was easier than executing them, though. The rest of that day, Bruce still stuck to her side. There were a lot of last-minute things to be done before services on Sunday. Cyn wanted everything perfect for Bruce, even though he told her time and again that it didn't matter—not to him, not to God, and not to the townspeople who were drawn together by faith.

It wasn't until the following morning that she decided she'd just use faith to find Jamie. She wanted to see him, and so he'd be there, on the road where she'd first met him.

Bruce was cutting the grass when she strolled out to the yard and oh-so-casually mentioned that she planned to ride to the store. He used a forearm to wipe sweat from his face and nodded. “Give me twenty minutes to finish and I'll go with you.”

“No.”

Bruce lifted a brow. “No?”

“You're busy. I can handle it.”

“I don't mind going. I need a break anyway.”

Cyn hated lying to him, so she drummed up a small piece of truth. “Ever since I was fifteen and a half, I've been looking forward to getting my license and driving on my own. For a long time it seemed like that'd never happen. But now I have my license, and Palmer's out of the picture, so there's no reason I can't go to the store all by myself. We just need a few things.”

He still looked undecided.

For good measure, she laid on guilt. “That is, unless you don't trust me with your car.”

For an answer, Bruce fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. “It's
our
car, which isn't anything to brag about.”

Cyn smiled. “I kind of like it. It's old enough to have character.”

“Whatever else it might be, the car is dispensable. You're not. Be careful, okay?”

Cyn bit her bottom lip, and said a quick prayer.
Please, please, please let Jamie reassure her. She wanted him to swear that Bruce was happy with her, that he wanted to keep her as his wife.
She crossed her heart. “You got it, Lancelot. I'll just go get my purse and be on my way.”

“Cyn?”

She paused.

“Stop and get some gas first thing. It's almost on empty and I don't want you to run out. I meant to fill it up yesterday, but I forgot.”

“Sure thing.”

With a flighty wave, Cyn darted back to the house. She had to get her purse and change clothes. She ran up the steps to their bedroom. The sooner she learned the truth, the sooner she could either relax, or make things right. How she'd make them right, she wasn't sure. No way would she leave Bruce. But she'd tackled bigger problems in her life.

For sure, she could handle one do-gooder preacher.

 

Bruce waited until Cyn was out of sight before strolling to the house and using the kitchen phone. He could hear her upstairs, changing clothes in a rush. He felt uneasy, more so after she'd called him Lancelot. She hadn't used that name since their marriage. That she'd reverted back to it now told him she felt defensive about something, and that made him wonder if a trip to the store wasn't her plan at all.

He'd bought himself a little time by asking that she stop to refuel. But it was still going to be a close thing.

He trusted her in that he knew she wouldn't run off with his car. But would she do something she thought was for his own good? Probably. In her own unique way, Cyn was more protective than he was.

He got his brother on the second ring. “Bryan Kelly.”

“It's Bruce. I need a ride.”

“Okay. I'm on my way.” Tires squealed, and Bryan said, “I was in town anyway. I can be there in five.”

Leave it to Bryan to just agree, with no questions asked. “You don't want to know why?”

“I could tell by your tone that it's important. You can tell me all about it when I get there.”

“If you see Cyn, don't tell her I called.”

“Gotcha.” Bryan disconnected the call.

 

A few minutes later, as Cyn pulled the aged station wagon away from the curb, she noticed that Bruce stood at the window, watching her, ripe with speculation. She wrote it off as unimportant. She hadn't called him names in a while and he probably hadn't appreciated her humor. That's all it could be, because if Bruce had known she wanted to see Jamie, he would've argued with her about it—or insisted on coming along.

Luckily, she'd been on enough trips with Bruce that she knew her way around the area. She found the road leading out of Visitation where she'd had her first introduction to Jamie.

She pulled the car off the road and put it in
PARK
beneath the shade of gigantic evergreens. She got out and turned a wide circle, looking everywhere, but Jamie was nowhere around. Undaunted, Cyn cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, “Jamie Creed!”

Her voice echoed again and again. Cyn waited, but heard nothing. Not the rustle of weeds or leaves, not the crack of a branch. Nothing.

She put her hands to her mouth again. She was just about to shout when someone touched her shoulder.

Her shout became a shriek and she jerked around so fast she stumbled and fell on her backside.

Jamie stood there, his enigmatic ebony gaze boring into her.

“Good grief,” she snapped. “You scared me half to death.”

“With good reason. Why are you out alone?”

“I had to talk to you.”

Jamie caught her hand and hauled her upright.

“It isn't safe. Get in your car and go home.”

She resisted his attempts to shove her back to the station wagon. “Just listen, will you? They caught Palmer. It's safe now.”

Very slowly, Jamie let his eyelids sink down. “They never listen.”

“They who?”

“Anyone.” He opened his eyes to stare at her. “I told you not to trust anyone, to only believe it was safe when I told you it was.”

“I know, and I trust you. That's why I'm here. I have to talk to you.”

“You need to go. Right now, before it's too late.”

Frustrated, Cyn shoved off his hands. “You aren't listening. Palmer is caught. He's in jail.”

His gaze locked on hers, Jamie suddenly went on the alert. “I'm sorry. It's too late.”

“What's too late?”

He moved so that she stood behind him, as if he meant to protect her. “It wasn't Palmer.”

“Wasn't…then who?”

A voice she hadn't heard in a very long time said, “It's me, little Cyn. I've got you now.”

Pinpoints of light exploded on her brain before darkness tried to close in. Reverend Thorne. But…that didn't make any sense. Why would he want her?

Jamie said, “Don't move. Bruce is on his way.”

Oh God, that didn't help. She wanted Bruce as far away from danger as she could keep him.

After swallowing her fear, Cyn peered over Jamie's shoulder and there he stood, the man who'd made her mistrust men of strong religion, the man who'd made her doubt her own faith, her own worth.

Until Bruce.

Thorne was thinner than she remembered, and his hair was long and dirty and tangled. Beard stubble covered his face. In five years, his nose had grown and new wrinkles had worked their way into his face.

But his smile, a smile of malicious intent and vile joy, was the same.

Thorne had a gun.

Think, Cyn tried to tell herself, but she remembered that young girl, and she remembered how Thorne had verbally beat at her, calling her a slut and a whore and condemning her to hell for luring good men with her lusty body. She felt sick all over again.

“Thorne.” Her voice was weak, and she corrected that, saying again, stronger this time, “Why, if it isn't the evil Reverend Thorne. What are you doing here?”

“Collecting you, of course.” His words were slick with anticipation, smooth with absurd righteousness. “We never did get to finish our lessons, did we? And there's much you need to learn yet. Much that I, as your advisor, will teach you.”

Jamie took a step back. “You're going to die,” he said, and Cyn knew he wasn't talking to her. Jamie nodded. “It'll be the best form of justice.”

The gun went off, and though Cyn jumped, Jamie never moved. The shot had been fired into the air.

“Get away from her,” Thorne ordered.

“No, I don't think so.” Jamie took another step back. “Cyn, keep moving.”

“He'll hurt you.”

“Keep moving.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Jamie didn't deny that he'd be hurt. Had he already seen it? Did he even care?

Well,
she
cared, and she wouldn't allow him to be some damn martyr on her behalf. She started to step out around Jamie, but damn him, he knew her every move before she made it. He caught her and though he was a hermit, he was a man, and strong. He kept her held at his back.

Cyn thumped his rock-hard shoulder. “Get out of my head.”

“I'm not in your head.”

“Bull. You knew what I was going to do.”

“Because you're a woman, and you care for others. I didn't need to read your mind to know you'd try to protect me.”

“Oh.”

Thorne stalked closer. “Come to me, Cynthia, or you'll force me to shoot him. Do you want to add a man's death to your other sins?”

“You're a man of God,” she shouted, and it made her sick to utter the lie. There wasn't one iota of similarity between Thorne and Bruce. Her husband had the purest heart, while Thorne had the blackest of souls.

In a voice intoned with virtuous indignation, Thorne said, “You're a wanton, a prurient and deceitful whore. You used men, lured Palmer, and you tried to corrupt me. For years, you've played my weaknesses against me, tempting me, possessing my thoughts.”

“I haven't even seen you in years.”

“Not since you ran away from those who tried to better you.” As he spoke, his rage increased, as did his voice. “God knows you need to be dealt with and no measly heathen will stand in my way.”

He was completely insane. Stark, raving mad. “We…we thought it was Palmer.”

That calmed him. He wanted to share his cunning, to gloat. “Yes. Unfortunately, Palmer grew weak. He didn't understand that we needed to find you. You ruined him with your defiance and the ugly scars you left on his face. I think he actually fears you to some degree. I was justified in using him as a pawn to see that good prevailed.”

“Palmer is in jail.”

He made a laughing, tsking sound. “I know. I'm the one who encouraged him to go to that bar, to drink too much. I knew he'd get into trouble, and once he was arrested, you'd feel safe. I've been watching the road ever since they grabbed him, going without sleep, just waiting for you to venture out on your own. And you did.” He bit his lip, trying to contain his delight. “Lucky for me, there's only one main road. And it's secluded.”

The only thing Cyn could think to do was to keep him talking. Thorne liked to hear himself, he liked to add drama and theatrics to his lectures. “Did you kill my mother?”

“I put the whore out of her misery.” Thorne smiled with the memory. “I had hoped with Palmer on parole, they'd get back together and you'd return to your family so I could continue counseling you.”

Counseling her? Is that what he called the verbal and emotional abuse he'd doled out with such verve?

“But Palmer didn't want her anymore, and you made no signs of embracing a family reunion.” Thorne shrugged. “I rightly assumed that if your mother died—”

“Was murdered.”

Thorne's smile was slow with satisfaction. “Yes. If she were murdered, then the cops would find you for me. I left the pathetic little note from you just to cement my success. The timing was difficult, and the waiting horrendous. But after the cops finished questioning everyone in that putrid little neighborhood, I was able to hide in an abandoned house and just watch.”

“And then you followed us back here?”

“It wasn't difficult. God showed me the way.”

Jamie said, “And people think
I'm
odd.”

Thorne paid no attention to Jamie, but then, Jamie was so still, so…blank of expression or emotion, that he almost seemed nonexistent.

“I almost had you,” Thorne remembered, “at that blasted smelly barn. I found the books and knew it was where you lived.” His lip curled in disdain. “With animals.”

“Now that's the pot calling the kettle black.”

Again, he ignored Jamie's quips. “But when you started back, I saw that you weren't alone. Then you went and tricked a man into marrying you. Patience is a virtue, but my oh my, you did try my patience.”

His face darkened, and he licked his lips. “Especially since I knew you were fucking him, using him up. You were, weren't you?” The gun wavered in the air in front of him, and Thorne's voice grew hoarse. “What did you do to him, Cynthia? Come clean. Confess your sins.”