Lie to Me (23 page)

“I think it could be you too, Sam.” She couldn’t totally disregard what she’d seen on his computer. She pushed to see what she could get out of him. She needed more reassurance. “What about the tires?”

Sam cringed, then groaned in agony as he rested his head in his hands. “I dunno, but it’s fuckin’ unreal. Whoever done it—makin’ it look like it’s me. Could be some psycho mill worker—prob’ly is, but dunno for sure. Where was the car parked when the tires were slashed?”

“It doesn’t matter where we were,” she said. He didn’t know about their escapades at the mill. He couldn’t have kept quiet about that, not as drunk as he was. She scrutinized his face and he looked honestly confused. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

He rested his chin on his palm. “Swee’heart, I don’ know shit.” His mouth slashed to an ugly line, then he almost spat out his next words. “Can ya gimme the whiskey? You promised.”

“I didn’t promise.”

“No?” He scratched his chin. “Well, gimme it back, I don’ have anymore—I don’ keep much booze here—”

“Good. You can’t handle it. I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet.”

“Me too.” Sam suddenly smiled drunkenly. “’Member when I got
this
drunk the last time?”

“I’ve
never
seen you
this
drunk!”

“Tha’s right. You weren’t there. Last time—I even got drunker than this—’cuz Alex wouldn’ tell me.”

She felt her brow furrowing. “Alex wouldn’t tell you what?”

“Where Damian was.” He banged a fist on the counter and watched her, his face etched with anger. “When Damian got into the accident—I wan’ed Alex to tell me where he was so I could see him an’ say I was sorry—for being a bastard, and ask if I could help—but Alex wouldn’ tell me. So I got drunk and tried to beat it outta him. Didn’ work.”

Casey caught her breath. This wasn’t something a sober Sam would have admitted to her. She swallowed hard, aware that her mouth had gone dry. Finally she said, “Alex told me you were worried about Damian.” She leveled a hard stare at him. “Forgive my skepticism, but I didn’t believe it since you kept saying that Damian deserved to die.”

“He did deserve to die.” Sam leveled his gaze right back at her, then it fell. “You drive aroun’ drunk, you deserve to die, but I didn’ want him to. Damn good for nothin’ brother, always drunk, jus’ like Mom.” He seemed to realize he’d slipped up. His features froze and he cursed to himself.

Casey sucked in a deep breath, watching Sam with something other than annoyance or outright distain: She liked him, at least tonight. “Sam, your mom was an alcoholic, wasn’t she?”

“I didn’ say that.”

“It’s an illness, addiction is. Doesn’t mean she was a bad person.” Casey didn’t want to upset Sam. Not now. Not after he’d admitted he’d been worried about Damian.

“She was a wunnerful person.” He sounded choked up as he softly rapped his fist on the bar counter. Looking down he said, “So why’d she drink and die? She had three little boys, and she picked the booze over us—jus’ like Damian did with Miles.”

She could hear his anguish and placed her hand over his. He started to pull away from her touch, but she grasped his hand and held it, and he didn’t yank away.

His flat, tired stare rested on her. “What d’you want from me? I already offered to fuck you.”

“I’ll pass on that, darling. All I want is the truth about your involvement in these mishaps.”

“I gave you the truth.”

She felt an annoying lump in her throat. “I wanted to know if you really hated Damian. It bothers him.”

“Does it?” His eyes widened. “Thought he hated me back.”

She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment. “He should, but he can’t.”

“Well, I tole you how I feel about asswipe. More than I meant to tell.”

“I know.” She couldn’t resist offering him a slight smile.

Sam turned his head. “But if he picks booze over Miles again, I’ll kill him.”

“Read up about alcoholism, Sam. Try the Internet. You’ll understand your mom and Damian better if you learn about it.” Seeing the glazed look in his eyes, she mumbled, “You won’t remember any of this tomorrow, but I’ll talk to you about it at a better time. Sam, why does Damian think your mom died of cancer?”

Sam straightened up, staggering a little. He let out a long breath as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Dad thought Damian would get dish-discouraged and think he’d end up like Mom if he knew. He wan’ed Damian to believe he could get sober. Alex didn’ know about her either until he overheard me ’n Dad talkin’. The twins were so young when she died. They didn’ remember Mom and the drinkin’ and the car accident that killed her.”

Sam paused, swaying behind the bar, and Casey was afraid he’d pass out, but he recovered. “I was eight. I went to the hosh-pital to say good-bye. Promised Dad I wouldn’ tell the twins and never did. Then when Alex found out, he agreed it was best not to tell Damian.” He sounded exhausted. “Please don’t tell him.”

Casey didn’t want to keep anything from Damian, but she said, “I’ll wait for the right time or until somebody else tells him. No reason to just spring it on him. I won’t keep it from him forever.”

“Why not?” Sam shot her a harsh look.

Casey realized he was trying to protect Damian, like he’d done when they’d all been children

“Listen, Sam,” she said, and he seemed to at least attempt to focus. “A predisposition to alcoholism is inherited, and we have a son. For Miles’ sake, Damian has to know that alcoholism runs strong in the family. We’ll need to make it very clear to Miles that, while others will drink, he’s at risk if he does. Since I know how much you love Miles, I know you understand.”

Sam covered his face with his palm as he leaned on the counter.

She felt the odd urge to touch him and comfort him, but held back. He was obviously not feeling as kindly toward her as she was toward him. “Maybe we can talk about it and think of a way to tell Damian so that it won’t sting so much,” she said.

Sam let his hand fall from his face and looked up at her. “Mebbe instead o’ me not tellin’ him, he does need to know, an’ in a blunt way. Mebbe that’s best, after all.” Suddenly, he broke into almost manic laughter. “I never admit this, even to myself—but I love him and worry ’bout him.” His face tensed and he pointed a shaking finger at her. “If you tell him, I’ll deny I said it.” He laughed some more. “I must be beyond shitfaced to have said that.”

“But you meant it.” Her heart fluttered in her chest.

“I mus’ be worse off than I thought.”

Her hardness against Sam dissolved completely, but she didn’t promise not to tell Damian that Sam cared about him. Damian needed to know that, and Sam’s admission touched her. In fact, she could hardly wait to tell him, although she wondered how hard it would be to get him to believe her.

“Is the ground movin’?” Sam asked.

“Sam, let me help you to the sofa,” she said, quietly. “You need to get off your feet before you fall down.” She walked around the bar, grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her neck, taking some of his weight. For once she was happy about her tallness and strength, she couldn’t have held him up if she’d been petite. As they stumbled along, she decided to ask an important question. “Sam, what’s your enemies list?”

“How’d you know ’bout that?” He sounded surprised, but then continued. “Those are all the thorns in my side.”

“And Damian is too?” She caught her breath as he lowered himself to the sofa, and put his head in his hands.

“I remember when I put him on that list.”

“What did he do to you?” Her heart pounded between her ears.

Sam didn’t answer.

She rested her hand on his hunched shoulder. “After talking to you tonight, I know you wouldn’t hurt him, so why is he on that list?”

“He’s my enemy.” He shut his eyes, sank back to the cushion, and then slid down to the arm of the sofa, where he rested his head.

Great.
She averted her gaze again. She hadn’t been finished with him yet and he’d passed out.
Well, maybe not.
She’d check to make sure. Kneeling before his head, she spoke right at him while shaking his shoulder. “Sam? You still with me?”

“Get the bucket,” he mumbled.

Casey shot to her feet. “Where?”

“Linen closet.”

She spotted a linen closet, ran to it, and returned just in time.

Sam spent the next hour vomiting while she emptied the bucket and brought it back, while he moaned and cursed. It reminded her of so many nights with Damian. She knew she’d get nothing more out of him tonight.

When Sam finally fell into an unmoving, snoring unconsciousness, she lifted his heavy legs to the sofa, his bare feet hanging over the arm, even with bent knees. As she watched him, she could see his resemblance to Damian. The realization that he wasn’t the cold-hearted monster that he portrayed made her feel warm sisterly affection toward him.

She placed a hand on Sam’s bare forearm, whispered her thanks to him, and she bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Just as her lips pressed against his skin, the door flung open, shocking her upright. “Oh, my God, Damian!” she managed, her heart racing and her breath coming quickly.

“Surprised?” The one word filled he air with a biting fury. “I guess you weren’t expecting any company.”

Her gaze flew to his frozen eyes.
Damn!
“Damian, how did you get in?” It was the first thing she could think of to say.

His hand still gripped the doorknob. “This place wasn’t locked. I smell booze. What’s going on here?”

“He’s passed out drunk,” she said. Now that her heart was beginning to slow, the rumblings of anger seeped through her.

“I can see that. Unusual for Samson. So why are you here, if he’s unconscious?” There was anger under the calm. She could feel it.

“Why do you think I’m here? He was awake when I arrived and I tried to get information from him!”

“Did he tell you anything?” He sounded angrier at her more than interested in anything she’d heard.

She shut her eyes. It was late, so much had happened. “Sam told me some shockers.” She tried to explain, through her fatigue.

“Did he confess? That would shock you, not me.” He held himself rigid.

“I don’t think he has anything to confess. But he talked about—other things. It made me feel more kindly toward him so I stayed when he got sick.”

“I thought you hated drunkenness. Are you going to leave with me or do you want to stay with
him
until he’s all better?”

She stared at him. He looked outraged, wounded. She wasn’t up for this. How dare he make assumptions, laughable ones at that? And, even if she’d thrown herself at Sam, what right did he have to tell her not to? He didn’t want her, not in any permanent way.

The stress of the night caught up with her and she couldn’t be her normal, understanding self. She balled her fists as her anger exploded. “Nothing happened! But if it had, what I do is none of your business!” She stared him in the eyes, and, behind the hardness of his gaze, she saw a desperation that touched her.

Damn him!
Why could she never stay angry with him? He certainly deserved it right then. She observed him more closely. He looked pale under his tan and there were lines at the corners of his eyes. He leaned heavily against the doorjamb.

“Are you all right?”

He dropped his gaze, coloring. “I kind of jumped out of bed too abruptly when I read your letter, and my leg buckled.”

“Shit.” Guilt shrouded her. “You know you need to be careful—”

“Screw that. It won’t be the last time that happens, and, before you take the blame, it’s not your fault.” He hadn’t lifted his head.

Her maternal instincts kicked in. “You drove with your leg hurting?”

“It’s only a mile away, not like I’m in agony.” He finally lifted his head. “What hurts is that you came here without me.”

“I knew you’d panic if you woke up and read my note, but—”

“Why didn’t you at least wake me? If you were hell-bent on coming here, you should have brought me with—”

“No!” She spoke so loudly that she glanced over her shoulder to see if she’d woken Sam. He hadn’t moved.

“Yes, check up on him—”

“Will you shut up?” She wanted to slap his face. “I couldn’t bring you here. You wouldn’t have handled him right, and the two of you would have ended up fighting. You never would have gotten him to say anything. Actually, he was nice—”

“I’ll
bet
he was nice!”

Now she wanted to kick him too. “You’re acting like a bigger ass than Sam at his worst!”

Damian cursed to himself and moved forward, flinching each time he stepped on his right leg. She ached for him, but didn’t call him in on his limp. When he reached her, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “How could you come here alone, after seeing his e-mails?”

“I wanted to talk to him.
Especially after seeing his e-mails.
” Pulling away from him, carefully so that she didn’t upset his balance, she tossed, “You really have no right to tell me who to see or what to do. You’re my ex-husband, which gives you zilch rights, not that you’re even close to what actually happened here!”

She heard mutterings, but he didn’t say anything intelligible.

“Look, let’s go back to my place.” She felt a shudder of disgust. She’d seen Sam for Damian’s sake, so that he didn’t have to wonder if his big brother wanted him dead or hurt. She felt confident he didn’t, but was in no mood to share with him now. And Damian wasn’t in the right frame of mind to accept what she’d tell him. “I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Damian fixed his narrowed gaze on her. “Are you hiding anything? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“No!” A slap would be too good for him.

“You’re sure?”

“
Yes, I’m sure! How dare you!
” Shaking, she strode past him, to the doorway, tears in her eyes, hating him as much as she loved him. She could understand how Sam could love and hate him at the same time. It was sad when she could empathize with Sam.

Calming herself a little, she said, without looking at him, “Let me drive us both home. I can bring you back tomorrow to get your car, and you’ll probably feel better.” She suddenly needed to leave—not enough oxygen in the condo—and watched his tightened features. “Are you coming or are you going to be stubborn?”