The Best Man to Trust (14 page)

“Can we talk to you and Rachel?” Tom asked.

Scott glanced between the two of them, as though expecting to somehow read on their faces what it was they wanted, before finally pulling the door open all the way. “Sure.”

Tom stepped aside to let Meredith enter first, then followed her in. He heard Scott shut the door behind them.

As soon as Tom saw the inside of the room, he understood why Meredith had put them in it. It was twice as big as his or any of the others he’d seen, comprising a full suite. The bedroom portion opened into a sitting area in front of a large fireplace. Rachel sat in one of the chairs there. She looked at them expectantly, clearly having heard their brief conversation with Scott at the door.

“What is it?” she asked.

Scott moved to stand behind Rachel’s chair, allowing Tom to face the both of them.

“I hate to have to ask this,” Tom said. “We were wondering where each of you was in the past hour or so.”

“I’ve been in here the whole time,” Rachel said.

“I told you I went down to get Rachel a bottle of water,” Scott said.

“How long were you out of the room?”

“I don’t know. Maybe twenty, twenty-five minutes.”

Tom couldn’t help frowning at that, his brow furrowing. That didn’t seem right. Sutton Hall was big, but it didn’t take that long to get to the kitchen from here.

“It took you that long to make it to the kitchen and back?” Meredith asked, her voice heavy with doubt.

“I took my time,” Scott said, a hint of tightness—or defensiveness?—creeping into his voice. “There didn’t seem to be any reason to hurry.”

Tom did his best to hide his skepticism. With a killer on the loose, it didn’t seem likely anyone would want to take their time wandering the halls on their own. Especially since Scott should have been worried about leaving Rachel alone in the room....

Then Tom slowly registered what he hadn’t before. The way Scott and Rachel were both holding themselves a little stiffly. The way neither of them acknowledged each other.

Things were tense between them, the feeling heavy in the air. That was why Scott had taken his time.

If he can be believed,
Tom forced himself to concede.

Tom studied the face of one of his oldest friends in the world, one of the closest—if not
the
closest—friends he’d ever had. Could he really believe Scott was capable of hitting Meredith? Of bashing Greg in the back of the head? Or so much worse?

His automatic response was no. He forced himself to ignore it, to really consider the possibility as he took in Scott’s familiar face.

Every instinct still said no, even if a whisper of doubt lurked at the edges of his mind.

“Is this about what happened to Greg?” Rachel asked. “Do you actually think one of us hit him?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said honestly. “But I have to ask.”

“Maybe you should ask Alex,” Rachel said with a touch of bitterness. “He’s the one who seems to have all the answers.”

“We did,” Tom admitted. He figured he was better off not discussing the details of their conversation with Alex. “He said he was in his room the whole time and didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, that sounds suspicious,” Rachel scoffed.

“Didn’t you say the same thing?” Meredith pointed out. Rachel slammed her mouth shut, an angry flush rising in her cheeks.

“It’s not just what happened to Greg,” Tom said. “Someone knocked Meredith down and tried to take her keys.”

Two pairs of startled eyes flew to Meredith’s face. “Did they get them?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Meredith confirmed.

“And you didn’t see who it was?” Scott asked.

“No. Whoever it was attacked me from behind.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Tom,” Scott said. “I didn’t hit Greg and I certainly didn’t try to take Meredith’s keys from her.”

“Neither did I,” Rachel said firmly, meeting his and Meredith’s eyes in turn.

Scott hadn’t defended her,
Tom realized, a cold trickle sliding down his spine. He’d defended himself, but not Rachel. It was a far cry from his vigorous defense of her last night, when he said he hadn’t even had to consider the question of whether she was involved in the murders. Did it mean anything? Was he starting to doubt her? Or was he simply letting her confirm her own innocence since she’d been alone in the room and he couldn’t honestly say she hadn’t done it?

Tom simply didn’t know, and that disturbed him most of all.

He was probably overanalyzing the moment, but it didn’t matter. Because looking at Scott’s face, Tom had no idea what he was thinking, the face of his old friend suddenly seeming more mysterious than ever before.

Chapter Sixteen

The group that assembled for dinner was understandably subdued. Tom eyed the others, taking in the grim faces and downcast eyes. Scott and Rachel sat next to each other but didn’t so much as glance in each other’s direction. Greg’s head was still bandaged. Alex looked up from his plate every once in a while to shoot glances at the others before dropping his head again.

Meredith and Ellen had just begun placing the meal on the table when Rick walked into the dining room. “Ms. Sutton—” He came to an abrupt stop once he saw the scene in front of him. “I’m sorry. Don’t mean to interrupt...”

“It’s all right, Rick,” Meredith said, straightening to face him. “What is it?”

“Just wanted to let you know I managed to get the plow hooked up to the truck. I tested it and it’s good to go. I can start trying to clear the road in the morning.”

Tom felt a trace of guilt for having left Rick to finish with the plow on his own. But after what had happened to Meredith, he hadn’t wanted to let her out of his sight even for a moment. And he hadn’t.

“Why wait until then?” Rachel asked. “Can’t you get started now so we can get out of here sooner?”

Rick gave his head a tight shake. “Too dangerous trying to navigate that winding mountain road in just the lights from the plow. The snow’s so high I won’t be able to see anything else. I’d rather to wait until daylight when I can see better, especially since it’s my first time trying to do it.”

As Tom listened to the man’s words, he had to frown. He was the one who’d driven a plow before, a remnant of his childhood growing up in Minnesota. The job would go faster if a more experienced driver were operating the plow. Not to mention it probably would be better if there was more than one person doing the job—two pairs of eyes to keep a look out on that treacherous, winding mountain road, another pair of hands if something went wrong. Anything to get them out—and the police in here—faster.

Then he glanced at Meredith, the words dying on his lips.

If he was with Rick working on clearing the road, Meredith would be here in the house alone.

With the killer.

A chill swept over him, every part of him recoiling at the idea. He couldn’t leave her. Not after today. The memory of how she’d looked lying on the floor, the terror that had ripped through him, all came rushing back. No, if there was even a chance of it happening again...

He looked around the table for any other options. “Rick, do you need any help?” he asked, gauging the others’ reactions.

Rick appeared to consider the question. “It couldn’t hurt. Might get the job done faster.”

No one else at the table gave any indication they’d picked up on the hint. But then, with his head injury and likely self-medication, Greg was in no condition to help. Even if things were tense between them, Scott wouldn’t want to leave Rachel for that long, and Tom wouldn’t have felt right asking him to do it. Alex made no move to volunteer. He shot Rick a suspicious look before lowering his eyes.

Considering the wary glance Rick shot across the table, he didn’t particularly want to work with any of them, either. Of course, Tom thought, swallowing a groan. After today, any suspicions he’d had toward Rick were gone, and Rick seemed to trust him, too. But as far as he knew, one of the others was a killer. Any of the others who were innocent might suspect the same of him. None of them would want to work together and be alone for long stretches at a time.

That left Tom.

He looked at Meredith. She stood biting her lip, apparently deep in thought. Most likely she was also considering her options, not feeling right asking one of her guests for their help, especially after all they’d been through.

He needed to do something to get her—get all of them—out of here.

He forced himself to swallow his ambivalence. “I’ll help you,” he told Rick. “We can get started first thing.”

He would just have to make sure Meredith was safe while they worked.

* * *

A
FTER
AN
INCREDIBLY
tense dinner, the guests quickly retreated to their rooms. Rick headed to bed, exhausted from the work he’d done that day and needing to get some rest for the big day ahead of him tomorrow. Ellen finished cleaning up the kitchen, then accepted Meredith’s offer to fill the dishwasher, retreating to her own room.

Meredith and Tom were left in the kitchen, working in silence. She’d noticed that he hadn’t said much at dinner, so she didn’t try to get him to talk. They all had a lot on their minds.

There was something comfortable about being with him, doing something as mundane as loading a dishwasher together. She tried not to read too much into it, didn’t want to make more of it than it was. It was nice. No more, no less. And after everything that had happened over the past few days, a nice, quiet moment was more than enough.

When they were finished, they made their way out of the kitchen, shutting off the lights, heading back to the main foyer. It was still early, but Sutton Hall was silent and tranquil.

Unsurprisingly, no one was up for wandering the halls.

“Thank you for volunteering to help Rick,” Meredith said softly as they climbed the staircase to the second floor. “I think everybody is happy to be getting out of here sooner—and to have the police finally arrive.”

“Somebody had to do it,” he said flatly. “I just wish it didn’t have to be me.”

“I know it’s going to be a lot of work, and I would do it if I could, but I wouldn’t feel right leaving Ellen and the rest of the wedding party alone in the house. Not when we don’t know who the killer is. I need to be here for them. I have to do my best to make sure nothing else happens.”

They’d reached the second-floor landing. As expected, the hallway was empty.

He looked over at her in amazement. “I don’t care how much work it’s going to be. I hate the idea of leaving
you
alone in the house. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Irritated, she shot him a glare. “I told you I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And I told you I wasn’t saying you need one. But everybody can use somebody to watch their back, especially with a killer on the loose.”

“I can take care of myself,” she told him firmly. They’d reached his room. Expecting him to stop, she picked up speed, continuing on toward her room.

To her surprise, he fell into step beside her. “I can’t believe I care more about your safety than you do.”

“You don’t.”

“It sure seems that way.”

They arrived in front of her door. With nowhere else to go, she stopped, whirling to face him. “Is this because you feel sorry for me? Because of what happened with Brad? Because I don’t need your pity.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked with a combination of amusement and disbelief. “I don’t want anything to happen to you because I feel
sorry
for you?”

It did sound kind of foolish when he said it like that. “Then what is it? I don’t see you getting this protective with anyone else.”

He looked at her for a long moment, something in that steady gaze setting off a nervous flutter in her belly. “You really don’t know?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer.

He moved closer, forcing her to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. Only a step separated them, maybe less. She didn’t look to see. She couldn’t. She could only stare into his eyes and the unexpected heat she saw simmering in them.

Deep down she felt a whisper of disbelief, the doubt of that girl she’d once been, unable to fathom that she could possibly be seeing what she thought she did in Tom Campbell’s eyes.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore. And he wasn’t that boy. He was a man now, a man standing mere inches away, a man looking at her as no man ever had.

The man who wanted her.

A thrill raced through her, exploding along her nerve endings at the certainty, the absolute firmness of that knowledge inside her, just before he lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was soft, gentle. His lips brushed against hers with the sweetest caress, strong and sure and lingering. Her eyelids automatically drifted shut as the feeling of that achingly sweet contact washed over her. At the same time, her lips instinctively parted. His immediately moved against them again, then again, gradually deepening the kiss. His tongue dived forth into her mouth to claim her, driving a moan from deep in her throat. He cupped the back of her head in his hand, his fingertips stroking against her skin, drawing her mouth closer to him, devouring her further.

Suddenly her back bumped against the door behind her. Something hard dug into her spine.

The doorknob,
she realized, wincing against the pain.

He must have noticed. He immediately broke the kiss. A deep sense of loss crashed over her and it was all she could do not to reach out and catch his face in her hands, to pull him back to her. He leaned away slightly, his face still only inches from hers.

The distance allowed her to see what was behind him. The empty hallway. She suddenly remembered where they were, what lurked in the shadows. She glanced down the hall. “We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered. “Not here.”

“You’re right,” he murmured, releasing her. He scanned the hall, as well.

She watched him, wondering what would happen next, what she wanted to happen next.

And she knew. Knew exactly what she wanted to happen, more than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, quickly unlocking the door. Shoving it open, she stepped inside and turned back to face him.

He stood just on the other side of the threshold, watching her, seemingly waiting to see what she wanted to do.

Meredith pushed the door open farther and took another step back.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” People were dying all around them. They didn’t know when they would get out of here, didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know if they could count on seeing tomorrow. All the more reason to live for the moment, for now.

She needed this. She needed him.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He didn’t hesitate further, walking into the room and pushing the door shut behind him.

Then, finally, his mouth was on hers again. She plunged her hands into his hair to hold him close, to draw him near as his lips stroked against hers, as she met him kiss for kiss. Each one only drove the need inside her higher. Each one was better than the last. She needed them. She needed this. She needed more. She needed to touch him, to taste him. Needed the utterly, achingly delicious feeling of his tongue moving against hers, of his mouth capturing, taking, teasing her own.

She felt his hands go around her hips. They reached for the bottom of her sweater, his fingertips brushing the soft skin at the small of her back.

She instinctively tensed.

As soon as she did she wished she hadn’t. Because Tom went still, clearly having felt her reaction. A moment later, he pulled away. She felt a burst of fear that he would let her go entirely.

He didn’t, leaning back just far enough to look into her eyes, an open question in his.

“Everything okay?”

Meredith nodded quickly. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. “Yes. I’m sorry. It’s just...I haven’t...been with anyone since...” She swallowed hard.

She saw from his face that she didn’t need to finish. He knew what she meant.

Since Brad
.

His voice gentled. “We don’t have to do this....”

The warmth, the kindness, the sheer tenderness on that magnificent face broke something inside her. That momentary uncertainty vanished, washed away in a rush of adrenaline that poured through her.

She held on tightly to the front of his sweater, not wanting to let him get even an inch farther away. “Yes,” she said over the lump in her throat. “The past few days have been a nightmare. The past year— Heck, the past seven years were so terrible it’s felt like I would never wake up from them. I’ve had the nightmare. Now I want the dream.”

She watched the words wash over him, saw the shifting emotions as they sank in. Finally his expression softened. A slight smile touched his lips, just before he lowered them to hers once more.

It was just a single kiss. He pressed his lips to hers firmly, catching her mouth in one long, lingering caress before breaking it off. His smile deepening, he eased her fingers from his sweater.

“Why don’t I start?”

Reaching down, he tore off his sweater, revealing a lean, toned torso dusted with blond hair. The breath hitched in her throat as she took in the sight of him. It was the body of an active man, long and lightly muscled. She instinctively reached out, wanting to feel the warmth of his skin, the coiled strength beneath it. And then her hand was there, on his chest. She basked in the sight of it, relished the sensation of it, as an ineffable giddiness swirled through her. His chest hair was soft beneath her fingers. His heat soaked into her palm, sliding up her arm to fill her to the core with his warmth.

It was amazing. It was indescribable.

It wasn’t enough.

She wanted to feel all of him. She wanted to feel every part of him pressed against every part of her.

With some reluctance, she pulled her hand away, dropping it to the bottom of her own sweater. Taking a breath, she pulled it off, letting it tumble from her fingers to the floor.

She watched him as his gaze moved over her, the blueness of his eyes deepening, with desire, with approval. He slowly raised his hand toward her. She tried to quell the tremor of nervousness that quaked through her, even as she couldn’t tell how much of it was nervousness and how much was actually excitement. She expected him to reach for her bra, to unhook it, to release her breasts.

He didn’t. He reached out and placed his hand on her side, just above her hip. The touch was gentle, careful, his skin warm and soft. He kept his hand there, unmoving, and she realized what he was doing. Letting her adjust to the feeling, to his touch. Fresh heat spilled through her at the tenderness of it, at the kindness.