The Second Lie (16 page)

She was acting like a fifteen-year-old virgin, not a thirty-three-year-old woman.

It had been different when Kyle got married. She'd been over him by then. Or thought she was.

She'd been starting her career--so certain that when he'd forced her to choose between her life's calling and being his wife, she'd made the right decision.

"I just need to know one more thing," she said.

"What?"

"Did Sherry Mahon have a baby, Kyle? Your baby?"

"No." He was staring at the tips of his socks. One had a hole in it.

"You're sure about that."

"Of course."

Kyle was ashamed.

Good. He should be.

So it was true. One night after they'd broken up, Kyle had bedded another woman. And then slept with Sam again the next night.

He could have given her a sexually transmitted disease.

Her mind reeled as he silently cleared away the dog's food. He turned off the overhead light in the kitchen, leaving only the small fixture above the kitchen sink. A light he left on all night.

Was he just going to go to bed and leave her standing there?

They were both upset. He'd probably had very little sleep. His beloved friend was lying there fighting for her life and he could do little to help her. He had financial pressures.

And a possible arrest on the horizon?

"I'm sorry." He stood in the center of the room, arms folded across his chest.

Because he'd slept with the woman? Or because he hadn't told her.

He'd changed from the jeans and flannel shirt she'd seen him in the day before into fresh jeans and a corduroy shirt. His stocking feet might make him look more defenseless, but Sam couldn't let her heart rule her.

Couldn't get overly emotional.

That's how cops made mistakes.

Put others in danger.

Like her dad had.

That's why she wasn't married. Why she lived alone.

That's why she was always a cop. Only a cop.

She had to remember the choice she'd made years ago. The choice to be a cop--rather than a wife.

"There's no evidence of a lab or former lab anywhere on the premises."

His arms dropped. And he actually looked at her. Fully.

She wondered if he heard the
but
that was coming.

"There is, however, a significant amount of chemical missing."

She'd gone over his records. The subpoena had given her the right. He'd told her where to find them.

"Forty-five gallons of methanol," she said when he remained silent. He didn't give an explanation. Or show undue surprise, either.

Sam's heart sank.

"And a large percentage of anhydrous ammonia, too."

His gaze sharpened as if he hadn't known about that.

"Traces of both were found in the fire."

"Do I need a lawyer?"

Sam was shaking. Her hands. Her knees. Her lips. "I don't know, Kyle. Do you think you need one?"

"Am I being charged with something?"

"As far as I know, it's not against the law to purchase legal chemicals and have quantities unaccounted for."

"So what's the big deal?"

They were in a standoff. All that was lacking were holsters with guns that they could pull simultaneously and see whose trigger finger was fastest.

"There's circumstantial evidence, Kyle. You purchased five times as much ammonia as usual. And you've never bought methanol before. Large quantities of both are missing, though all storage tanks appeared secure. And you have a toxic fire on your property with evidence that could point to the making of methamphetamine."

"Do I need a lawyer?" If his words were bullets, he'd just hit her hard.

She was tired, too. Tired and scared. And she didn't know him. Which scared her most of all. "You tell me! Talk to me, Kyle. Give me something. Anything."

She didn't want to believe her best friend was making illegal drugs. Didn't want to believe anything bad about him. Didn't want to know that he'd slept with Sherry Mahon.

"Why should I give you anything? You already believe I've done something wrong. I'm not going to change your mind."

"I love you, dammit!" Shit. The words weren't supposed to have escaped.

With narrowed eyes, he turned away from her. "And we've known for a long time, Sam, that, for us, love isn't enough."

14

"I
wish you'd just go." Kyle's bones ached. His entire body ached. He wanted to sink down into his chair, tilt his head back and go to sleep.

If he could.

"Do you mean that?"

Did he? Sure. He wanted her to get the hell out of his house. Out of his life.

And he wanted her to stay, too.

He was scared to death. Couldn't fathom a single day in jail--let alone a string of them.

He had an ailing grandfather to take care of. Kyle's arrest would kill the old man.

He'd lose his home. The farm. Zodiac. Lillie and Rad.

His whole life would be gone.

He'd never survive being locked inside.

Intending to stand strong until Samantha Jones was out of his sight, out of his home, Kyle dropped down to the rocker his grandfather had made for his grandmother when Kyle's dad was born. His father had been rocked in that chair. Kyle had been rocked in that chair. The upholstered pads had been changed a couple of times over the years, but the chair, the rockers, the steady rhythm of its movement, the sound of wood against wood floor, remained exactly the same.

He heard Sam move, expected to hear the door close behind her. He'd earned her desertion.

He should have told her about that night.

But when she'd come back to him, begging him to take her back, to love her for the rest of his life, he'd been so afraid of losing her again.

Because losing her had almost killed him.

And there was more. Thank God she didn't have access to his bank records. Those would require a subpoena. And even if she got one, she'd have to go back a ways to find anything. She couldn't know about the payoff. She'd have him in jail for sure....

He opened his mouth, not sure how to start, and felt her arms on his thighs as she lowered herself to the floor beside him. "Talk to me, Kyle. Help me."

"I don't know where the chemical is or what happened to it."

"But you knew it was missing."

As soon as he admitted that, she'd have more reason not to trust him. And that was his own fault.

But Sam was obsessed with this meth-lab business. And she couldn't see it. How could he hope she'd understand why he'd kept silent?

And yet, if he didn't gain her understanding, she had the power to take his life away from him.

"The hose cap on the holding tank had been chewed. I thought the gas had evaporated."

"Forty-five gallons' worth?"

That was a stretch. But he'd hoped...

"Don't lie to me, Kyle."

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd think exactly what you're thinking now," he finally said, too tired to fight her.

He'd go to battle for his grandfather. For his land. For his life. They weren't going to take any of it away from him.

He just needed some sleep so he could figure out a strategy.

"I didn't discover the missing methanol until a week ago Tuesday--after you'd been out here accusing me of buying the stuff to make meth."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. It's what you were thinking. Suspicion was written all over you."

"Because I'd just found out about Sherry. She was arrested last week, Kyle, for possessing large quantities of methamphetamine." He swore.

"What about the ammonia?"

"I didn't know about that until tonight."

"You don't keep tabs?"

"Yes, I do regular checks for leaks, things like that. But I don't worry about it being used without my knowledge. It's in pressurized tanks. It's not like it would be real easy to steal."

"So you're saying it was stolen?"

"Who's asking?"

She frowned and Kyle's uneasiness increased. Sam was never just a woman, just a friend. She didn't know how to be.

But in the end, his answer didn't change.

"I'm saying that I didn't use it."

"Do you know who did?"

"Of course not! God, Sam, what do you think I am?" He wanted to snatch the words back the second they left his mouth. He knew damned well what she thought he was.

And yet, he still craved the feeling of her body leaning on his. Still needed her touch. Her scent.

Masochistic. That's what he was.

And stupid.

"I hope to God you aren't going to be the one to come pick me up," he said aloud. "As a matter of fact, I'm telling you right now. Send someone else."

"No one's going to be picking you up." They were the first words she'd said all night that he wanted to hear. "At least, not yet."

She could have left out the last part.

"Why not? With such pointed circumstantial evidence?"

"Because no one knows about the chemicals."

His entire body stilled. "That they're missing?"

"That you even purchased them."

He stared at her.

"I... The investigation into purchased chemicals was done on my own time. I'm under no obligation to report my findings. Unless I know that something illegal is going on, of course."

Pierce's concern that Sam was working on her own without departmental direction or support to find a methamphetamine superlab came back to bother Kyle.

Yet he was relieved, too. Hugely relieved.

"I made sure I was the one who searched your house and barns this morning, just like I told you I would, for Grandpa's sake," she continued, her hands folded together.

Kyle had to ask. "Why did you do that?"

"Because if you're in trouble I want to help you."

He was just curious. "Help me how?"

"I'm not sure. I can't cover for you. Once I know for certain there's illegal activity involving this farm, I'll have to act upon that knowledge. But for now, it's only a possibility, and if I can help you, if there's anything I can do to make certain that you're protected, I'm going to do it."

The sincerity shining from her eyes was the only thing that kept her in his house.

"You really think I'd make methamphetamine."

"You've got a degree in chemistry. A history of purchasing the chemicals. You're desperate for cash. There was an alleged toxic waste dump on your property."

She had no idea how desperate he was for cash. Or why. Like everyone else, she thought he was strapped because of the divorce. And Grandpa's care.

"You think I'd do that to my land?" He was calmer now. Gathering information rather than panicking. He looked at Zodiac. "You think I'd risk her health by dumping dangerous chemicals where she runs?"

Sam didn't back down. Didn't look away or even blink. "What I know is that you'll do anything to save this farm, Kyle."

Including break up with her.

Thirteen years ago, Kyle had chosen his farm over her. He'd wrestled with the decision for months, grieved for a love he couldn't find a way to have, cursed at fate. He didn't want to be married to a cop. Didn't want to have to worry about what she'd be facing every single time she left the farm to go to work. Didn't want a wife who had to carry a gun on the job. He hadn't wanted the mother of his children to be a woman who knowingly put her life in the line of fire.

He'd grown up without a mother. Sometimes it couldn't be helped. But in Sam's case, the risk of him raising motherless children would have been significantly higher.

He wanted, needed, a wife who stayed on the farm. Who worked side by side with him.

Sam had wanted a husband who'd spend half the week on the farm and half the week in the city.

And in the end, he'd done what he thought he had to do. Honored who he was over a relationship that asked him to be something he was not.

And he'd asked the ultimate of her. Him or her job.

He'd suspected that some day he was going to have to answer to that decision. He'd just never thought it would be with his life.

"You've been crying."

Mac had been thinking about this meeting all day--the couple of minutes when he passed the package from his hand to Maggie's.

"No." She looked down. As though she could hide anything from him. Didn't she know he could see straight into her deep and lonesome soul? Was he the only one in her life who saw how incredibly special she was?

"Tell me what's wrong."

She liked him. He knew it. He saw it in her eyes.

That day at the park--he'd wanted to stay with her. Play with the kids.

And her.

"Nothing's wrong."

Wait. How could she lie to him? She never had before.

Maybe she'd met someone.

The thought depressed him.

She'd made so many changes lately. The hair. The clothes. The makeup. He'd thought the curls, the tight shirts, were for him. He'd been flattered. And a tad amused.

But if there was someone else...

"It hurts that you'd lie to me. I thought we were more to each other than that."

They'd never talked a lot. Never seen each other for more than the brief time stops she made during her paper route.

But every time he looked in her eyes, it was as if they'd talked.

Her glance darted up and, connecting with it, he breathed a little easier.

"I...just... You don't need to hear about my stuff."

"I want to hear it. I care about you." He'd spoken the words aloud. "I care about all of you."

"I'm fine, really." She reached for the bag he held.

He pulled back.

"I can't send you to work upset. You might miss something. Deliver to the wrong house. Accidents happen that way and I won't have you, or anyone else, hurt."

"You'll think it's dumb."

"Hey." He lifted her chin with his finger and let his hand linger. Just for a moment. For a touch of the skin that haunted him. Skin he now had to think of every time he had sex so he could get it up. "When are you going to understand that there is nothing you could do or think that I would find dumb? If something's upsetting you, it's important to me."