Traceless (28 page)

"Here, let me take that." She slipped the glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table. Moving closer... close enough for him to smell the fragrance she'd selected, his favorite, she murmured, "Is there anything else I can do for you, Gran?"

Those pale, watery eyes lifted to meet hers. "You're the only one who ever really understood what I needed."

"Of course I understand." She smoothed her hand over his stubbled jaw. He hadn't even shaved today. So unlike the Granville she knew. "You don't worry about a thing. I'll take real good care of you." She drifted down to her knees and smiled lovingly up at him.

His broad chest rose and fell rapidly as the excitement of seeing her in that submissive position coursed through his veins. Yes, she knew what he wanted, what he needed. That was her one true gift; she could please a man like no other woman could hope to. Her entire adult life she'd been blessed with the ability to induce a full erection with just a look... a near climax with a mere touch. Time for all that skill to pay off.

The metal-on-metal scrape of his zipper lowering, inch by inch, echoed in the deathly quiet room. His strangled gasp encouraged her, made her all the more determined to ensure he never forgot who had taken care of him this tragic night.

By the time her fingers closed around him, he was more than ready. That she could so easily bring a man of his age to this state of arousal made her better than the little blue pill and far less dangerous to his health.

She cupped his weight, let the feel of her fingers drive him nearer to the edge. He groaned as she moved closer, close enough for him to feel her warm breath on that tender, intimate flesh that quivered and pulsed helplessly in her hands.

Justine had always tried to make the best out of every situation, good, bad, or indifferent. Always saw the glass as half-full.

Well, her glass had just filled to overflowing.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Valley Inn

10:15 p.m.

Emily's parents had called to check on her. They'd asked her to come home, but Emily wasn't ready for that yet. They had talked at length about her plans, which were actually their plans about how she should get on with her life and finally put this awful tragedy behind her now that their horrible secret was out. Surely Chief Hale would follow through.

But he wouldn't. He wanted this to go away, just like everyone else in town.

Since leaving Ray's office Emily had cried for Keith, for Violet and their boys. Emily had cried for Heather and her family, especially Troy. And Clint Austin. Finally Emily had reached that numb zone and the tears had stopped. A long hot bath had relaxed her and soothed her aching muscles. She shivered even now at the memory of how she'd gotten all those tender places.

No matter what Ray or her parents thought, Emily couldn't move on with her life until she'd found the truth for Clint's sake and for her own.

Heather's killer was out there... somewhere.

Could Keith's murder be connected to Heather's somehow?

Restless, Emily moved around the room. Was Ray investigating that angle?

As desperately as she wanted the truth revealed, someone else wanted it covered up. The fire was an attempt on Clint's life; there was no denying that. Was Keith's murder about shutting down this digging into the past? Had Keith known something about what really happened that night? Emily couldn't bring herself to believe that Keith would have done anything to harm Heather. But that didn't mean that he might not have known certain things. Heather had promised to tell her something important... had it been about Keith?

The idea that someone could be watching her right now, the same someone perhaps who had murdered Keith, had her peeking past the drapes to see if there were any new cars in the parking lot. So far there were only two other guests. Both their cars were still parked out front along with hers.

Clint had said she could be in danger. But she didn't actually know anything. She had theories, but those were irrelevant without evidence, as Ray had kindly pointed out.

As she started to draw away from the window a vehicle across the street snagged her attention. She looked again. An old green truck. Single-passenger. Goose bumps shivered across her skin. She recognized that truck from some place, but where?

Then she remembered.

Fragments of moments shared in that barn flickered, making her too warm. What was he doing here? Sure, it was possible he'd chosen that particular convenience store to patronize, even though the Sack&Go was closer for him. But the way he was parked, at the edge of the lot as far away from the store as possible—nowhere near the gas pumps or the entrance or exit to the parking lot—didn't point to a mere shopping stop.

He was watching the inn... watching her.

Before good sense could kick in, she'd unlocked the door and opened it. She stood there, on the sidewalk outside her door, moths fluttering around the exterior light, and stared directly at the truck.

The engine started and the headlights came on. She put her hand up in front of her face to block the glaring lights.

What was he doing now?

What if she'd been wrong? What if it wasn't him?

Her heart fluttered as the truck backed up, moved to the exit, and pulled straight across the street. Instinct shouted at her to go inside and lock the door.

She didn't.

It was him. She sensed it even before the streetlight provided the necessary illumination to verify her conclusion.

He parked the truck several doors down from where she stood. He got out, his gaze immediately colliding with hers, and started toward her. Sounds and sensations from the day before kept getting in the way of her ability to think rationally. Some part of her wanted to back away... but the woman that yearned for more of him refused.

"Get back in your room."

The sharply issued order shattered the distracting memories.

"What're you doing here?" she demanded, just as sharply.

"We'll talk inside."

He stopped right in front of her then, forcing the issue with his big body. She trembled. The white bathrobe suddenly felt too thin... too fragile a shield around her nakedness.

For three beats she argued with herself as to whether going into her room with him would be a good idea, but then an old saying of her grandmother's came to mind:
Too late to close the barn door after the cows were out
. It wasn't like he could do anything to Emily that he hadn't already. Or vice versa.

She pivoted and went back inside, her respiration growing labored with no other provocation than seeing him... being

near him. He closed and locked the door. When his full attention landed on her once more she trembled yet again. His face was clean shaven. He'd obviously showered and changed somewhere.

"Why are you watching me?"

One corner of that sexy mouth lifted in amusement. "Turnabout is fair play. You sure as hell got in your share of watching me."

She raked her fingers through her hair and immediately felt self-conscious that it was still damp. "What're you really doing here?"
It's late
, she didn't add.
I can't trust myself alone with you
.

"Keith Turner is dead."

Pain arced through her chest. It was still so hard to believe. "I know."

"Until they find out who killed him, I'm not sure you're safe. The fire was one thing, that was about me, but this is different. This is about wiping out the possibilities. Whoever killed him may not be finished yet."

She didn't mention that she'd considered the same thing. Someone intended to end the speculation by getting rid of anyone who might know anything. "Why would you think that?" Might as well have Clint's reasoning.

He stood very still. Different from all those years before, when he'd been so confident and full of charm. She wondered if he'd learned to be very still like that in prison so as not to be noticed. The idea of what he'd endured because of her made her throat ache to say something that would adequately relate the depth of her regret.

"Are you through analyzing me?"

Her gaze snapped to his. Heat rushed up her neck and across her cheeks. "You were going to tell me why you think I might be in danger." No more getting distracted.

"I think maybe Turner knew things he never told. Whatever he knew may have gotten him killed."

"You're speculating," she countered, knowing that her own thoughts had mirrored his and were every bit as speculative.

He nodded. "Yeah. But he was her boyfriend and his alibi was shaky at best."

Emily held up her hands to stop him. "There is no way Keith hurt Heather." She'd gone down that road herself, but hearing anyone say it made it somehow worse.

"You wouldn't believe for a second that he would harm her, yet you were convinced I did."

It wasn't a question.

"I knew Keith," she offered. "I didn't know you."
Except in my dreams
.

He moved a step closer. Reached out, touched her cheek. She trembled. "Did I do that?"

"Yes." It was nothing. A small abrasion. She'd completely forgotten about it. She had other bruises and scrapes from falling out the window during the fire. And from grinding around in the dirt with him... none of which she intended to mention.

"I'm sorry." His hand fell away, regret registered on his face.

"It's no big deal," she argued. "I'm sure I left a few marks on you."

The intensity in his eyes escalated. "Maybe."

She shivered, wished he wouldn't look at her like that. "Why didn't you tell Ray the truth? That I was with you yesterday morning?"

"None of his business." Clint's eyes roamed over her as he spoke, a slow, measuring gaze. Her body heated everywhere his eyes touched.

She licked her lips, her mouth feeling dry and hungry. "I told him I was with you."

His gaze settled back on hers, steady, penetrating. "Why?"

The way he looked at her now made it difficult to breathe. "Because it's the truth." He moved one more step closer. Her difficulty drawing in a breath escalated to impossible. "Because there have been enough secrets and lies in this town."

"I want you to know," he said, his voice surprisingly soft, the sound flooding her with unexpected tenderness, "that I'm clean. Every year for the past four years I've been tested because of... the things that happened. I wouldn't have purposely hurt you for anything."

Honestly, the concept hadn't even crossed her mind. She'd spent so many years not caring if she lived or died, the idea of protecting herself was foreign to her.

"Are you sure about that?" she countered. "The hurting-me part, I mean. I was the key witness who sent you to prison."

His gaze lingered on her mouth a moment or two before lifting back to her eyes. That moment or two was all it took to ignite a slow burn deep in her belly, a yearning that wouldn't be ignored.

"You believed you were right. You were hurting and angry. You were in shock."

"I helped ruin your life." Emotion got stuck in her throat, prodded more of those damned tears to brim against her lashes.

"Yeah." He reached for her, gently cupped her face in his hands, smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. "You did. You needed someone to blame. I won't say it no longer matters, but I'm dealing with it."

"What can I do?"

He dropped his hand back to his side. "You can leave this damned town and put all this behind you."

He couldn't be serious. "And just let it go?"

"If we keep poking at this, somebody else could end up dead," he said on a heavy exhale that spoke volumes about just how weary he was.

Now she understood. He felt responsible for Keith's death. If Clint hadn't come back... "Keith's death wasn't your fault."

"Maybe, maybe not."

She couldn't stand it anymore. Clint stood only inches away. She needed to touch him. Her hand rested against his chest. "You don't—"

"I should go."

She'd made herself a promise—to go after what she wanted from now on.
Don't let him walk away
. She hadn't felt anything real for so long, the memory of how he could make her come alive screamed inside her, begged for more. "You shouldn't be sleeping in that old barn."

"I'll be fine."

Say it!
"I don't want you to go."

Hesitation filtered into his eyes. "You sure about that?"

"I want you to... touch me."

Those lips she yearned to taste quirked. "I touched you." He glanced at the cheek he'd caressed.

She gave her head a little shake. "Not like that."

"Emily..." His gaze rested on her face. "It shouldn't have happened that way. Your first time should have—"

'Touch me," she ordered. She didn't want to hear how it should have been. She'd spent her whole adult life wallowing in regret. "Please."