You Don't Know Me (32 page)

She left his office in a daze. If she told on Denise, the film would be over anyway, wouldn’t it?

She drove directly to Connor’s apartment. She’d spent a lot of hours here. He’d become a fixture in her life; the first man to breach her defenses and earn the label “friend.” Not lover. She couldn’t face that. Nor had he shown any inclination that way. But then to him she was a source, his best way to learn the truth, because Dinah didn’t seem to know it, and Denise, well, she’d either buried it so deep she couldn’t remember, or else her conscience—unlike Hayley’s—allowed her to keep it secret.

Maybe that’s why Denise was so screwed up.

When she got to the apartment, he wasn’t home.

Vaguely, she remembered talk of him taking another trip back to Oregon. Had he already left?

She was still sitting in her car, completely lost as to what to do next, when Connor’s black Jeep turned into the apartment parking lot, pulling into the spot next to hers. He smiled at her and Hayley’s heart felt like breaking.

Sliding down his window, he waited for her to do the same. It was an effort even to push the button.

“Hey,” he said softly, his gray eyes searching hers.

“I was afraid you’d already left.”

“I’m leaving tonight.”

“Oh.”

He flicked a glance at his dashboard clock. “You want to come?”

“To Oregon? I’m—I’m working.”

“I talked to Callahan, Hayley. He said he forced you to take some time off.”

“You were asking about me?” she asked faintly.

“Come with me,” he ordered with more urgency.

“You think I’ll crack, don’t you?” she said, with a resurgence of her old spunk. “Don’t bet on it.”

He was deliberately blunt. “It’s killing you. It’s not a game anymore.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Then come with me and find out.”

He knew she was lying. He’d known forever. Hayley felt herself being sucked deep into some thick muck, which pulled her inexorably downward. Soon she’d suffocate. He was right. It was killing her.

“All right,” she said wearily. “I’ll go . . .”

 

“Start over,” Stone said in his annoyingly shrink way. Denise threw him a look and slouched in the chair. Did he purposely make his office chairs uncomfortable? Did he expect her to blurt out all the little nasties of her past just so she could get the hell out of here?

“We moved to Wagon Wheel when I was sixteen,” she said on a deep sigh. “I don’t remember my real dad. He left before I was six.”

“Where did you live first?”

“Portland . . . Medford . . . Bend. We moved a lot because my mother was always looking for work as a waitress, and we had trouble paying our bills.” Denise gave him a look. “We ditched on the rent a lot.”

“So your mother was having trouble making ends meet, and then . . . ?”

“She met dear old Stepdaddy Tom, and we moved from Bend to Wagon Wheel.”

“What did you think of him?”

Stone didn’t actually steeple his fingers under his chin, but he sure as heck gave the impression. She’d revised her opinion of him. Not only was he fixated on sex, he was fixated on the past. “You’re not one of those weirdos who believes in that delayed memory stuff, are you? I mean, if I start remembering that my stepfather forced me into a satanic cult, and I watched him and his beer-drinking buddies sacrifice a one-month-old baby, I’ll have to give you up as my therapist
and
sue you for False Memory Syndrome.”

“I don’t think either of us has to worry about that,” he said patiently. His patience would drive her crazy if she wasn’t already there.

She lifted a brow in disbelief.

“You’re fighting your memories back. But they’re right there, in your throat, choking you.”

The words hung in the air.
Choking you.
An ominous frisson of fear rippled down her spine. Sometimes he scraped unbearably close.

“Tell me,” he urged softly, watching her.

Denise grasped the wooden arms of the chair, her hands slick with sweat. They’d danced and danced about this. Every shrink she’d ever seen had performed this same two-step.

“What did you think of your stepfather?” he asked again.

Guilt beat inside Denise’s head. Swallowing, she said, “You’re not going to like it.”

“Go ahead.” He was implacable.

“I was attracted to him, okay? I
liked
him.”

Silence. Not the answer he’d expected? No . . . not the answer she’d expected to give. He’d been loathsome and crude and dirty, and she’d hated him. Hated him with such passion it had seemed surreal.

Stone stared at her, gauging the truth of her words, she supposed. “You liked him?” he repeated carefully.

“He was . . .” She couldn’t say it. Just couldn’t say it.

But Stone was waiting. His dark eyes saw everything. For a moment she thought he’d whispered her thoughts. It seemed like he spoke.

“Sexy,” she muttered, turning away, lips quivering.

There. She’d said it. Admitted her shame. Yes, she’d flirted with him. She’d done it knowingly. Until he responded, and then it had been too late. Much too late.

“Did your mother have any previous boyfriends?”

“Lovers, you mean?” She heard the snarl in her voice but couldn’t prevent it. “None that mattered. Thomas Daniels swept her off her feet, and I wanted him.” She folded her arms around herself. “For God’s sake, Stoner, it’s freezing in here. Can’t you afford to turn up the heat?”

“It’s on an automatic timer. Maybe I could find you a sweater.”

“Forget it.” She got up from the chair and walked to the windows, staring at the well-tended bougainvillea and succulents scattered outside.

“So you found him attractive.”

“Only at first,” she answered quickly. “And yeah, I led him on, but then I really didn’t want to do anything. But he wouldn’t get the message. He kept coming after me. If Dinah hadn’t been there, he would have gotten me.”

“She saved you?”

“She always saved us. Without Dinah, Hayley and I would have been sunk. She nailed him with a bowling trophy and a high heel and some other things. He hit her a time or two, but she was quick. Dinah knows what to do.”

“So Thomas Daniels never forced you into sexual relations.”

“I . . .” She struggled to speak and shook her head. “No.”

“But there were some times when he came close?”

She was taken back once again to the smell of the basement—damp, dirty, musty. The extra room was there, the one with a cot, and Denise was freezing cold, shivering, pressed up against the concrete wall while Thomas unwrapped his belt.

“Deserved what?” Stone leaned forward, tuned in. Apparently, she’d spoken aloud.

Denise stared down at her trembling palms. “I lusted after him. I wanted him. And I deserved to have him.”

That stopped him for a moment.
Surprised, Doc?

He recovered. “You were a kid with a crush on your mother’s husband. It’s normal.”

“Oh, no, no.” She wagged a finger at him. “No fancy mumbo jumbo. I wanted him, and I got him. The cruel bastard! I dreamed about him. Us. In bed together. I wanted him. I let him know in a hundred little ways. A flirtatious smile. A slip of the hand in his. Shit, I just brightened up when he walked in a room.”

“Until?”

“Until I saw what it was doing to my mother,” Denise choked out.

“Until he acted on your flirtatious ways,” Stone corrected gently.

“I think my mother knew.” Her voice was softer and softer, barely audible. She couldn’t hear the words. Couldn’t face them.

“Was he sleeping with your other sisters?”

“NO!”
The shriek that jumped from her throat startled her.

“How do you know?”

“Because they hated him.”

“But you hated him, too.”

“I was the one who wanted him,” she reminded through clenched teeth. “Not Hayley.”

“Why did you say Hayley and not Dinah?” he asked after a long moment.

“Because he couldn’t have Dinah,” she answered rapidly.

“But he could have Hayley?”

“She was
fourteen!
”

The cry reverberated through the room. From a great distance Denise viewed the scene with humor. He’d done it. He’d wrung a confession from her. From a memory she’d fought hard to repress.

“Thomas Daniels forced himself on Hayley when she was fourteen.” Stone said the words, but she could tell he didn’t want to say them either.

She nodded jerkily. “It was always when Dinah wasn’t around. He was shrewd. He was so god awful shrewd. But he couldn’t fight Dinah. Every time he hit her, she hit back. But if she’d known about what he did to us, she would have killed him.”

“So you hid it from her.”

“Oh, yes. Always. And I told Hayley that nothing happened. ‘Remember, Hayley. Nothing happened,’ I told her over and over again. And she believed me.”

Floodgates. Opening slowly with a rush of poison behind them. Denise the sicko was now Denise the Blabbermouth. Bad words. Bad memories. Bad, bad times.

“Now that you know all that you suspected to be true. You should be proud. Give yourself a medal. You’ve done what no man has done before, and I feel brand-new. Hallelujah!”

“I’m sorry you had to protect them,” he answered, his voice sounding faraway and ripply.

“Protect them? I didn’t do a goddamn thing.”

“You kept his attention focused on you. You tried to save Hayley and you tried to save Dinah, too.”

“You’re nuts, Doc. You make no sense,” she said wearily.

She heard him walk around his desk. He was right behind her. His breath on her neck. “I know what you thought. ‘If I keep him occupied, maybe he’ll forget about my little sister. But I’ve got to be careful, because if Dinah finds out, she’ll kill him. She really will.’”

“Fuck you, Stoner!”

“You think Dinah killed him and you’ve been burying everything and keeping it inside and destroying yourself with it.”

“I’m not that deep, shrink.” Now her whole body was shaking, and shock of all shocks, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Wetness in her eyes. Tears. She turned her hands skyward, then dropped hotly onto her palms.

“You’re just not very good at hiding things,” Stone answered. “Especially from yourself.”

Her skin felt seared from his touch. The urge to turn into his arms was overwhelming. She fought it, but he was too close and too important to her. Swallowing, she slowly rotated, wrapping her arms around his neck and silently seeking comfort. At first he resisted. He let her hold him, but he didn’t respond. But then his hands crept tentatively across her back and he returned the embrace.

“I’ve wanted you to hold me,” she admitted, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

She felt him shake his head. “You’ve been sending off sexual signals to keep me from finding out about you.” A beat. “You’re still doing it.”

“This isn’t sexual.”

“Isn’t it?”

She vehemently shook her head, dragging herself back from him in an effort to prove her point. But damn the man. He was right. She was already thinking about sex with him. Already feeling triumphant that she’d breached his first line of defense.

Shocked at herself, her feelings must have shown on her face because Stoner actually cracked a smile. “Denise, you’re too attractive to resort to this. Give yourself a break. People will still like you if you don’t sleep with them.”

“They don’t like me either way,” she said.

“Yes, they do.” He sighed, his breath stirring the blond hair at her crown. “So, what are we going to do about Dinah?”

“What do you mean?”

He held her at arm’s length, staring at her through those eyes that knew her far too well. “You think she killed Thomas Daniels.”

“What?” Denise laughed.

“You think Dinah killed him.”

Her veins were ice. “Wow, do you jump to conclusions. No way.”

“You’re acting again.”

“Oh, sure. Like you know so much about it.”

“Your whole body’s shaking from fear, Denise. I
know
you think she did it. The question is: What are you and I going to do about it?”

Denise blinked, scared. For once in her life she had no answer.

 

 

Connor rented a midsize sedan at the Portland Airport and they began a three-hour drive around Mt. Hood toward central Oregon. He glanced at Hayley, huddled in the seat beside him, and did the unthinkable. He reached over and brushed her hair away from her face in a tender motion.

To his amazement, she didn’t overreact. She just closed her eyes and leaned toward his fingers.

“I’ve talked to Dempsey and the sheriff’s department about a job. I’m definitely moving back,” he said.

“I know.”

“I want you to come with me.”

She half laughed. “There’s really an abundance of good film roles in Nowheresville, Oregon.”

“I’m serious, Hayley.”

She looked at him, then. Understanding crossed her face. A brief flare of pure happiness, then the curtain of guilt and fear.

“You have to tell me everything,” he warned gently. “That’s why we’re here. Before we go back, I want to know the complete, unvarnished truth.”

She didn’t respond and Connor settled in to drive, determined to have all the answers no matter what it took to get them.

 

 

“. . . Three, two, one . . .” The production assistant circled his hand and indicated that she was on camera.

Dinah stared at the single eye of the lens. It was surprisingly easy and impersonal, this verbal reporting stuff, though she certainly got impassioned over some of her subject matter. With practiced ease, she slid into her editorial on the slimy, step-on-your-neighbor’s-grave-for-a-good-story, tabloid tactics of the media. Pure irony, since she was the media, but right now, the message was the important thing.

A minute and a half to say everything she had to say. More time than they liked to allow, but enough to get the point across. She spoke casually, her voice rising as it always did at the end.

“. . . what is the price of fame?” she finished. “And whose life is it, anyway?”

The production assistant signaled the cut-off. Dinah grabbed her papers and hurried from the desk, stepping over snaking cables and aiming for the gray double doors at the back of Studio One.

John Callahan stood there, as expressionless as a sphinx.

“What’s wrong?” Dinah asked anxiously. “Denise?”

Something in his eyes flickered. “No, it’s not Denise.”

“What then?”

“I want to talk to you.”

Dinah drew a breath. Today she wore makeup, for the camera, and she’d actually sold out and put some blond highlights in her hair, once again for the camera. She wanted to hate it but had to admit it looked pretty good.

Except where Callahan was concerned.

“What about?” she asked, leading him from the studio to the inner-carpeted hallway.

“Hayley.”

“Hayley?” Dinah repeated, giving him a once-over.