Emily’s parents had called to check on her. They’d asked her to come home, but she had decided she 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.
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 and Heather, 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 her SUV.
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 suggest 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.”
