Dead Giveaway (27 page)

The number on the screen indicated that it was his wife.

Should he answer it or not? He wasn't cheating on her anymore, but he had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.

Maybe because of that disastrous scene with Allie...

123

Brenda Novak

He hit the Talk button. "Hello?"

"Dale?"

"What?"

"It's getting late. Where are you? Why haven't you called?"

"I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Paperwork."

"You usually let me know if you can't make it for dinner."

"I'm sorry. I was...distracted." Since Irene had broken off the relationship, he'd let down his guard, mostly because he felt fatalistic about the whole affair. If he put Clay in jail for Barker's murder, what would stop Irene from telling whoever she wanted? At that point, she'd have nothing to lose and would probably retaliate. Maybe in the past they'd purposely avoided mention of their respective families. But he knew how much Irene loved her son.

"I just called the station," Evelyn said. "They told me you left twenty minutes ago. I thought you'd be home by now."

"I'm out on patrol. I'll be there shortly."

"You said you were doing paperwork."

"I was."

There was a slight pause. "Have you tried calling Allie?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

He rubbed his temples, hoping to relieve the tension headache building behind his eyes. He felt terrible about what had happened. But he was doing Allie a favor. He didn't want to see his daughter hurt, and Clay was too dangerous for her--on many levels. "No."

"Why not?"

"She knows why."

"Dale--"

"I don't want to talk about it." If Allie could walk out on them that easily, for the likes of Clay Montgomery, she didn't deserve the help they'd offered her.

Evelyn hesitated, then backed off. He knew she'd bring it up later. No one could get around him like Evelyn. But he was grateful for the reprieve. "You sound tired," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he told her. But he wasn't fine at all. Besides being angry at Allie, he was disappointed in himself and lovesick for Irene. How had he let his obsession with another woman cloud his judgment so completely?

"Dinner's waiting," Evelyn said. "Hurry home, okay?"

He pictured the handful of peas and the miniature piece of fish he'd find on his plate and missed the candlelight steak dinners he'd once enjoyed, in a town several miles away, with Irene.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Hanging up, he got out of the car and approached the dark farmhouse as if it might spring to life and attack him. The shiny windows acted like mirrors beneath the moonlight. He couldn't see inside, but he imagined Clay looking out at him and shivered. Maybe Irene wasn't capable of intentionally harming anyone. But her son was. In Dale's opinion, Clay was capable of almost anything.

The door swung open before Dale could even reach it, and Irene's son appeared, his large form silhouetted in the light spilling from the hallway. The sound of a television resonated from 124

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some other room.

"Come in," Clay said.

"We'll talk here," Dale muttered. "What do you want?"

As Clay watched him, Dale tried to cover the fact that he was a little spooked. Clay had a way of putting people on edge. Maybe that was why most folks kept their distance. Most folks except the women who frequented his place--which now included Dale's own daughter.

"I want to make a deal," Clay said.

"I don't make deals."

"You'll be interested in this one."

"Why?"

Clay shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so Dale couldn't see his injury. The way he moved didn't suggest he was in pain, but Clay was one tough son of a bitch. Dale could feel the younger man studying him, drawing conclusions Dale couldn't even guess at. "It has to do with Allie," he said at last.

The hair on Dale's arms stood up. He hated the thought of this man, who seemed so dark and mysterious, so dangerous, being intimately involved with his bright, attractive daughter. He hadn't invited Allie back to Stillwater for
that
. "What about her?" he said, his words clipped.

"Hire her back--"

Dale narrowed his eyes. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"--and you'll have my word that I won't pursue the relationship."

Dale let his eyebrows slide up. Why would Clay offer to walk away for so little? He hadn't even mentioned the Barker case. "Anything else?" he asked.

"That's it," Clay replied. "No punishment, no bullshit. Patch up your relationship and move on as if she'd never met me, and you won't have to worry about me touching her again."

"Fine," Dale said immediately.

Clay's half smile turned even more cynical than usual. "I thought we might be able to come to some sort of agreement. Thanks for stopping by," he said and shut the door.

Dale stood on the porch in stunned silence. Clay hadn't said anything about Irene. Did that mean he didn't know?

Of course he didn't know. Or surely a man like Clay would've used that information to improve his own position. He wouldn't have given Dale exactly what he wanted and asked for nothing in return.

Feeling the tension in his shoulders ease, Dale walked to his car and whistled the entire ride home. Maybe he'd survive the next few weeks after all.

Allie didn't feel quite at home in her new house. She hadn't had a chance to unpack much of anything, couldn't get comfortable lying on the hard floor in a sleeping bag, even though she was right next to Whitney. Her mother kept calling, begging her to reconsider and move home again.

When that failed, her brother had phoned her from Arizona to see if he could help her and Dale settle their differences. And, on top of that, every time she heard the slightest sound, she jumped up to stare at Jed Fowler's house.

God, that man gave her the creeps.... His truck had been parked in the driveway for hours, yet his place had been dark since nightfall. What did he do after he came home from work? Eat and go straight to bed? Light candles in the back instead of turning on a few lights?

Forcing herself to think of something else, Allie left Whitney sleeping in her bag and wandered listlessly through the small two-bedroom rental. She was making note of all the cleaning 125

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and organizing yet to be done. Fortunately, her mother was bringing some furniture from the guesthouse in the morning. But she wasn't sure when she'd be able to put her house together. She wanted to revisit the cabin tomorrow. She hadn't been able to go back there today because someone from the sheriff's department was already investigating. He'd called to get a statement from her and indicated that he was going to contact Clay, as well. He also said he'd found the shell casing
and
the slug.

The deputy she'd spoken to seemed competent enough. But for Allie, the incident was far too personal to leave the resolution to someone else.

A thump brought her back to the window. It was probably a cat or a raccoon jumping onto the roof--but her overactive imagination suggested it could be Jed's car door.

Was he up?

She squinted, trying to decide whether she saw movement behind his dark windows. But the sound of an engine caught her attention, and it didn't belong to Jed. Her father's squad car was coming down the street.

"Great," she muttered. She didn't relish another confrontation. But now that she was living across the street from Jed and it was growing so late, she couldn't help feeling slightly relieved to have company, even if it was her father.

She waited until he reached the front step. Then she opened the door so he wouldn't ring the bell and wake Whitney.

"Did Clay already call you?" he asked in apparent surprise.

Clay hadn't called. She'd heard from Madeline, several times, though. Tomorrow Clay's stepsister was bringing a twin bed for Whitney she had in her garage, since Evelyn had only one bed to lend her. But Allie hadn't heard from Clay since her father had brought them to town. She knew they'd both been a little overwhelmed by what had happened before, and after, her father arrived. But she still missed him. "I don't know what you're talking about. Was he supposed to call me?" she said, pretending it didn't bother her that he hadn't.

"Er...no." He brushed some dirt from his pant leg. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"Why aren't
you
asleep?" She folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. Maybe her new neighbor made her uneasy, but she wasn't about to let her father know that her situation was less than perfect. The way he'd spoken to her at the cabin had been unforgivable.
A bitch in heat?

"I've been doing damage control," he said.

He clearly blamed her as the reason, and Allie felt she had to accept some of the responsibility. She shouldn't have gotten so involved with Clay. The fair, unbiased friendship she'd intended to offer had quickly spun out of control. But when he was hurt and bleeding, nothing seemed to matter except the relief of knowing he was still alive.

"What do you want?" she asked briskly. What had happened had happened. There was no going back now. Allie didn't think she'd go back, even if she could. She'd never had another night like that one.

Her father fiddled with his police belt, giving her the impression that what he had to say wasn't easy to get out. She would've guessed he was trying to extend her an apology--except he wasn't the type to apologize. He meant well but struggled when it came to expressing emotion.

"I've changed my mind," he said with a scowl. "You can work at the station. But only as my personal assistant," he added.

Allie's jaw dropped. "What?"

"You heard me. You want work, those are the terms. And be glad of them. I've never hired anyone else back."

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Brenda Novak

"I don't remember you firing anyone." She thought of Hendricks. "Even officers who deserve it."

"This is Stillwater."

She rubbed her forehead. "How well I remember."

"So?" he said. "Take it or leave it."

"No." She closed the door, then stood amid the boxes filling her new living room, feeling frustrated with herself, her father, the whole situation.

Whitney coughed and stirred in her sleep, trying to kick off the cover of her sleeping bag.

Afraid that her daughter was coming down with bronchitis, like last year, Allie crossed the room and turned up the heat. It was poor timing if Whitney was getting sick, but they'd manage without Dale's job offer. Even in Stillwater.

She was about to lie down again and try to get some sleep. But her father didn't drive off, as she'd expected. He knocked.

Grumbling a curse, Allie went back to the door. "Yes?"

He muttered something she couldn't make out.

"I can't hear you," she said.

"Stop being a stubborn fool."

"Now I'm a stubborn fool? I thought I was a bitch in heat."

He looked slightly ashamed. "I got a little carried away this morning."

"You don't say."

His scowl returned. "You had no business sleeping with Clay. Word about the two of you is spreading all over town. You think that's going to help him, for folks to believe you're partial to him? When everyone expected you to finally come up with the truth?"

She knew it wouldn't help anyone. That was why she felt so bad. "You're right. And I'm sorry for that. But I'm out of the spotlight now. I shouldn't cause you any more trouble."

"Dammit, Allie." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Okay, you win. You can have your regular job back. Just stay away from Clay Montgomery."

She needed to stop seeing Clay, at least until things settled down. Since he hadn't called her, she assumed he'd come to the same conclusion. But that didn't mean she was going back to work for her father. She'd already crossed too many lines; she couldn't be impartial in the investigation the mayor was insisting they launch. "I can't, Dad. I wouldn't be any good to you,"

she said. "I think it's best if I sit this one out."

His thick eyebrows rumpled. "It's a job. What about Whitney? How will you put food on the table?"

"I'll manage."

"She's my granddaughter."

"She'll be fine."

They stood staring at each other. Allie was so caught up in the moment that at first she didn't realize Jed Fowler had poked his head out of the house across the street. Even when she sensed him watching, she couldn't be completely sure she wasn't imagining it. The streetlight was too far away to reveal what he was looking at.

"I've got to get some sleep," she said, wanting to go back inside and lock the door against both men.

"That's it? You won't come back?" her father asked.

"I won't come back."

He drew himself up straight. "Suit yourself," he said and stalked to his cruiser.

127

Brenda Novak

Reverend Portenski tried not to show the depth of his concern as he listened to Evelyn McCormick. He usually enjoyed her visits. They shared books, debated the nature of God, planned various outreach efforts on behalf of the church.

But this was the first time she'd ever come to him in tears.

"I don't know what to do, Reverend," she said. "Dale can be harsh, but he's always been a good father."

"There's no doubt about that," he concurred.

"So I'm not complaining."

"Of course not." Portenski could tell Evelyn didn't want to malign her husband's character--and yet she was angry with him.

"It's just that I'm afraid what he's done will only tempt Allie to get more involved with Clay. I mean, without our influence, what's to stop her?"

Nodding, Portenski conjured up an expression of understanding and commiseration, but his mind had turned to the Polaroid pictures he'd put back in the hole beneath the floorboards.

Those pictures constituted a pretty powerful motive for murder. Allie, as a police officer, would know that instantly. If she ever saw them...

Did she realize who she was flirting with? That she was ruining her relationship with her parents for a man who could soon be dragged off to prison? The Vincellis were pressing hard for just that.