She took a moment to reclaim her breath.
Maybe her father had decided to make amends. No, her parents wouldn’t be out at this hour.
Clint Austin? Emily didn’t want to see him again. At least not yet.
She peered out the peephole in the door.
But it wasn’t Clint Austin.
Reeling with shock, she drew back, gathered her courage, and opened the door, anticipation rising.
“Good evening, Miss Wallace. I’d like a moment of your time if you’re not too busy.”
Sidney Fairgate.
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The idea that she should be afraid crossed her mind, but no reason materialized to suspect he had anything to do with Heather’s murder. Still, the truth was, Emily couldn’t be sure.
“I can see my visit has had a profound effect. Perhaps you’ll allow me to step inside so that you might hear what I have to say.”
Somehow she backed up; he came inside the small room and closed the door behind him. No bodyguards. No dogs. Just him. She should be afraid. She knew this. But what she felt was hopeful. Maybe now she would know the truth about her father.
“You’ve changed your mind,” she suggested.Please let that be the case.All she wanted was the truth.
“Actually, yes. I have changed my mind. A previous negotiation failed to live up to my expectations.” He smiled and those black eyes glittered. “I see this pleases you.”
Her attempt to conceal the new rush of anticipation had obviously failed. “Yes.” Her defenses snapped into place, a little behind the curve.“What will this cost me?” The idea that they were in a motel room alone with the bed right behind her wasn’t lost on her.
“This, Miss Wallace, is for free.”
Surprised, she reiterated, “No strings?”
He moved that narrow head from side to side. “None.”
She moistened her lips, summoned a little extra courage. “Okay.”
“Brace yourself, Miss Wallace,” he said with all the pomp and circumstance of a well-rehearsed freak show. “Your father, and mine, allowed an innocent man to go to prison for murder. I won’t bore you with the details. I’m sure you can learn those straight from the horse’s mouth.”
She started to shake. It began with a quaking deep, deep inside her and radiated outward. She wanted to demand an explanation, but she couldn’t seem to summon the necessary cognitive processes.
“Have a nice evening.” He turned to go, then hesitated. “I almost forgot.” Those dark, toxic eyes connected with hers once more. “I heard on the scanner on the way here that there’s trouble at the Austin place. Something to do with Troy Baker and some of his friends.”
30
10:40 p.m.
“I know you’re out there!”
Clint stayed in the perimeter of the woods that bordered the back of his property. From his position he could see Troy Baker and a squad of his friends moving around in the backyard. The moonlight didn’t allow for seeing their faces as well as Clint would like to, but he recognized most of the voices. They’d searched the barn and called out to him repeatedly.
There was a half dozen of them, one armed with a baseball bat. And only one of him. He was no fool. But he did have the tire iron he’d found in the barn.
This could get ugly; someone could get hurt and it wouldn’t be him. But he’d end up with the blame.
No thanks. Been there, done that. He would stay put.
The whole lot had arrived drinking and hadn’t let up. The only one who appeared to be sober was Keith Turner. He’d spent most of the time since they arrived trying to talk the others into going home.
Smart guy.
