Dead Giveaway (4 page)

Obviously, he was changing tactics. The best defense was a good offense and all that. But she refused to let him rattle her. "I'm convinced you've seen much more than I have to offer," she said. "I'm hardly centerfold material."

"Maybe I like my women small."

She conjured up a prudish expression. "If you don't mind, I'm in a bit of a hurry."

He glanced in the direction of her cruiser, and she knew he'd probably find it demeaning to be examined in front of his accuser.

Damn Hendricks.

"We could go inside, if you prefer," she said politely.

"Shouldn't you get rid of her first? In case you decide to stay?" His suggestive smile indicated that he was still trying to make her as uncomfortable as possible.

"She's fine where she is. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to control myself."

Chuckling, he sauntered into the house as if he didn't care, but she knew he did. The way he sobered the moment they were safe from Beth Ann's prying eyes told her that much.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked softly and there was a hint of desperation in his voice.

After all the police interest he'd endured, Allie had little doubt he wanted to be left alone.

But, for some reason, getting visual proof of his innocence was important to her. Word of what had 16

Brenda Novak

happened tonight could provoke some strong reactions, and she'd always been a sucker when it came to the underdog.

Why she thought of Clay as the underdog she had no idea. Except that public opinion was already stacked against him, and he never tried to change it. He was his own worst enemy.

"If I specify in my report that your hands and body show no signs of an altercation, the district attorney will be much less likely to take action."

"There wasn't an altercation! All I did was end the relationship."

It was the past that made the situation volatile. But Allie didn't want to tell Clay that Beth Ann had claimed he'd confessed to Reverend Barker's murder. If he wasn't angry enough already that could do the trick. Why provoke a confrontation between them while they were in such proximity? She'd simply add Beth Ann's statement to the file, where it'd join the plethora of other unsubstantiated claims Allie planned to investigate--slowly and methodically. "It's for your own protection, Mr. Montgomery."

She wasn't sure he really believed her but, with a nod that seemed incongruously boyish for such a strong man, he pulled off his shirt.

Allie had never seen a more beautiful example of the male body. A gold medallion hung around his neck, fitting nicely in the groove between his pectoral muscles. It appeared to be a tribute to a Catholic saint, which surprised her. She didn't think of him as particularly religious.

Their eyes met and, for a moment, she was afraid he could read her grudging appreciation of his looks.

"For a cop, you don't seem very comfortable with some of the stuff you have to do," he murmured, and this time all the bullshit was gone from his voice. The "I don't give a damn what you do to me" and the "I'm too tough to care." He'd ditched the whole "screw the world" routine.

"My forte is dead bodies, not live ones," she said.

"Surely live ones are more fun."

He was flirting again, but she could tell he didn't mean anything by it. He was probably searching for a way to keep his mind off the indignity of being inspected like an animal.

"Maybe," she said. "But they're also a lot more threatening."

His good humor slipped away. "I didn't hurt her."

"I'm not talking about that kind of threat." She touched his arm to get him to turn around, but he wouldn't budge.

"If I was beating a woman, and she was fending me off, the marks would be on my face, neck and chest," he said.

She saw no evidence of a struggle. But his reluctance to show her his back made her curious to know the reason. "There are a few exceptions." She gave his arm another tug.

"I've shown you enough," he argued. But she insisted he turn around and when he complied, she saw what he hadn't wanted her to see: several scratches, all of them fresh.

"I take it you got these tonight?" she asked.

He shot her a sullen glance over his shoulder. "Not from fighting."

Right. Judging by the direction and angle of the scratches, Allie could easily guess what he and Beth Ann had been doing at the time. He'd already painted her a very vivid picture.

Relieved to be finished, she stepped away from him. "Thank you. If you'd like to meet me down at the station after I'm done with Beth Ann, I can take a few photographs, to show that you're in great shape." She blushed when she realized how her words could be interpreted, and hurried to clarify. "I mean, free from any injury that would show you've been in a fight."

He didn't acknowledge her slip. "Do you believe me?" he asked.

17

Brenda Novak

"It doesn't matter what I believe. I'm just going to document the facts. The district attorney will draw his own conclusions. If you're willing to play the odds that my notes will be enough of a defense if Beth Ann doesn't back down from her story, there's no need to come to the station.

Otherwise--"

"Allie."

She blinked. She'd had no idea he knew her first name. "What?"

"I've
never
struck a woman. Do you believe me when I say I didn't hit her?"

She stared up at him, weighing her instincts. She'd been trying not to make any judgments one way or the other, to simply do her job. But it was Beth Ann's words that had rung false, not Clay's. She thought maybe he needed to hear that from someone in uniform.

"I do," she admitted. Then she walked out.

Clay sat at his kitchen table, listening to the clock tick above the stove while telling himself that he didn't need to go down to the police station. BethAnn's charges were completely unfounded. Allie McCormick had said she believed him. But he had little faith that she'd stick by her words if her father or anyone else read the facts differently. Why would she? Clay knew the night's events couldn't have reflected well on him. The hysterical woman calling from his house.

The marks on his back. BethAnn's assertion that she was pregnant and that he'd demanded she get an abortion.

It was humiliating. He was almost positive Beth Ann wasn't pregnant, or she would've told him--to stop him from breaking off the relationship. She was manipulative enough to use that bargaining chip if she possessed it. But this scare convinced him that he wanted no more women in his life. He couldn't even have casual relationships without regretting it.

"Shit," he muttered and stood to collect his keys. He'd go down and let Officer McCormick take her damn photos. Stripping off his shirt and revealing Beth Ann's nail marks couldn't be any more demeaning the second time around. He owed it to his sisters and mother to clean up the mess he'd made.

Anything to deflect interest. Anything to make Beth Ann's accusations fade away so he wouldn't draw any more unwanted attention.

Anything to make up for the past.

Allie hadn't expected Clay to show up, so she was more than a little surprised when he strode into the police station at nearly three o'clock in the morning. Beth Ann had left a few minutes earlier, and Hendricks had finally dragged his lazy butt out on patrol.

Which meant that, once again, she was alone with Clay.

"Mr. Montgomery." She assumed he'd tell her to call him by his first name. They were nearly the same age, had gone to school together. But he didn't.

"Officer McCormick."

She'd been about to pour herself a cup of coffee, but set the pot aside instead. "I'm glad you're here."

"You got your camera ready?" he asked.

"I do," she said and retrieved it from her desk.

"Then let's get this over with."

She snapped photographs of his hands. Then he stripped off his T-shirt and she took several pictures of his face, chest and arms. When she purposely neglected to take pictures of his back, he raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

18

Brenda Novak

"That's it."

"So...is this going to blow over?" he asked hopefully, pulling his T-shirt on over his head.

Even with Beth Ann no longer on-site, Allie felt reluctant to discuss his alleged murder confession with him. Mostly because, regardless of what Beth Ann had said, she wasn't prepared to point a finger at Clay or anyone else. She needed proof, forensic proof, not circumstances and hearsay. And she was good enough to find it. Eventually.

But eventually wasn't now, and it was only a matter of hours before he heard what Beth Ann had told her. Especially since Hendricks knew. The other officer had listened avidly to every word Beth Ann had said. If Allie didn't tell Clay herself, he'd probably feel as if she'd duped him in some way, and she saw no reason to alienate anyone involved in the case. She'd learned long ago that help often came from unexpected places. "I don't think there are grounds for an attempted murder charge, if that's what you mean."

She let him know by the tone of her voice that there was more, and he didn't miss the inflection.

Standing with his legs spread a shoulder width apart, he folded his arms. "Somehow I'm getting the impression I'm not completely off the hook."

Allie sat on the edge of her desk. "Not quite."

The shuttered look returned to his face but not before Allie saw a hint of the underlying weariness she'd occasionally noticed before. "Feel free to explain anytime," he said.

"She says you killed your stepfather."

He seemed unaffected. "A lot of people say that."

"She's claiming you admitted it to her." Allie clasped her hands together, knowing, if he was innocent, how terrible Beth Ann's words must feel. "She just signed a statement to that effect,"

she added gently.

Allie had thought he'd get angry and holler, as he had about the pregnancy that might or might not be real. But he just stared at her--or, more accurately, stared through her.

"I didn't confess anything," he told her at last.

"That doesn't mean you're innocent of the murder," she said, to gauge his reaction.

His chest lifted and fell again. "It doesn't prove the opposite, either."

Allie's question hadn't rattled him into revealing more than he wanted to. She could tell by his response that he already knew Beth Ann's statement wasn't as incriminating as his enemies would like to think. So she played it straight. "What's really going on? Is she out to get you?"

"Of course. And she's not the only one."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" she said. "Fortunately, I intend to discover the truth."

He picked up the picture of Whitney, which she kept on her desk. "What I've heard is true, then?"

"What have you heard?"

"That you're determined to find out what happened to my missing stepfather."

She waited until he looked back at her to answer. "Madeline has requested my help. We've known each other since high school, socialized a bit in the past. I'd like to bring her some closure, if I can."

He returned the photograph to her desk. "Madeline still believes her father is alive."

"What do you believe?" she asked.

"I believe nineteen years is a long time. It won't be easy to find anything."

Was that wishful thinking on his part? Or was he merely stating a fact? "I've solved older cases."

19

Brenda Novak

"I'm guessing those cases had some forensic evidence. There is no evidence here. Plenty of other people have tried to find it and failed, including your father."

"I have tools the police didn't possess back then."

"That's hopeful," he said, but the slight twist to his mouth made Allie wonder if he was being sarcastic.

"If your stepfather's dead, wouldn't you like to see his killer brought to justice?" she asked.

The expression on his face gave nothing away. "I'm all for justice," he said, his voice completely deadpan.

"What are you doing, waking me up so early? It's barely seven!"

Only five foot two--but with a bustline to rival Dolly Parton's--Clay's mother hid behind the door of her little duplex, which she'd recently begun to redecorate. It was becoming so cluttered with new rugs and furniture, paintings and knickknacks, Clay couldn't help worrying that others would soon suspect what he already knew. Irene obviously wasn't buying such expensive items with the money she made working at the dress shop. She told everyone she'd gotten a raise, but even an idiot would guess she couldn't be making that much.

"Considering I get up at four most mornings--" and that he hadn't slept at all last night "--I don't feel too sorry for you," he said. Especially because he knew she wasn't really grumbling about being dragged out of bed. She hated anyone to catch her before she could "get her face on,"

as she put it. Even him. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen his mother without the thick mascara she wore on her lashes and the deep red lipstick she put on her lips. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"Of course." She tightened her bathrobe, then patted her dark hair, which she usually backcombed, before stepping to the side. "What's gotten into you, anyway? What's wrong?"

He barely fit inside the cluttered room. Since he'd last been over a month ago, his mother had acquired a new leather couch, two lamps, a big-screen TV and some sort of fancy tea cart.

"Tell me you quit seeing him," he said the moment she closed the door.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responded, but she wouldn't look him in the eye.

The gardenia scent of her perfume lingered as she headed straight to the kitchen, which had been remodeled so that it opened directly into the living room. "Would you like some coffee? I have the most delicious blend."

Gourmet coffee. Allie's father was sure taking care of her. "Do you realize what you're doing?" he asked in amazement, following her. "Do you know what you're risking?"

"Stop it," she replied. "I'm living, like everyone else."

She was living, all right--in denial. Most of the time, her unwillingness to acknowledge what had happened to Barker was harmless enough. As long as Clay was around to take care of her and his sisters, he figured everything would be okay. He wanted them to be happy...and to forget.