If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (2 page)

He couldn’t even make a quiet escape, though. It would be too easily noticed.

So he waited, chatted, and danced.

He danced with the bride, he danced with the bridesmaids, he danced with the flower girl, he danced with the married women whose husbands wouldn’t dance, and he danced with the tittering, blushing girls who were still learning how to flirt.

He danced with so many women … so many.

Tall, short, lean, lush.

Short hair that barely brushed their jawline, long hair that fell to their hips. Hair upswept to leave their shoulders bare. Jewelry sparkled and glowed against toned and tanned flesh.

Over by the bar, he spotted Roslyn Jennings talking with the bride, her curves poured into a dark green dress that clung so lovingly. Gold glinted at her neck, ears, and wrists.

On the dance floor, he saw Hope Carson, dancing with her beau Remy Jennings, wearing a dress just like Roslyn’s, the same deep, deep green. But where Roslyn looked like a witch, Hope looked like some fey woodland nymph. Sweet and innocent and lovely. She wore little jewelry, but there were flowers in her short, shiny hair.

Then there was the bride, her deep red locks glowing against the white of her dress, pearls at her neck, gold on her fingers.

All the women …

Hunger pulsed inside him, driving him mad, making him greedy and desperate.

Desperate—but not too desperate.

Not so desperate he’d get foolish again. Not here. Not now.

At present, he had a girl—just barely out of college—wrapped around him, and it pissed him off. Perhaps it turned him on a little as she pressed her breasts against his arm, smiling up at him and trying to act like she was so much older than she really was. But she was just a child. Besides, he also had a lady nearby who would notice before much longer and although she would understand, he didn’t want her upset.

Especially not by an obnoxious little bitch like this.

As she swayed a little too close, he dipped his head and murmured, “Estella …”

“Star. I’m going by Star now. Estella is so
old
,” she
said, giving her lower lip what she probably thought was a seductive stroke of tongue.

“Estella Price,” he repeated. “I don’t know why you keep rubbing against me like that. I’ve known you since you were in diapers. I’m pretty sure I probably even changed one or two.”

He hadn’t. But it had the desired effect. She turned almost as red as the lipstick she’d slicked on her mouth and jerked away from him. Suppressing a chuckle, he lost himself in the crowd and headed toward the cash bar. He needed a drink, and he wanted to see if he couldn’t work his way out of here yet.

If he didn’t escape soon—

This wasn’t where he wanted to be … wasn’t where he
needed
to be. Except the whole damn town was here.

There were places a guy wanted to be in life—in bed with a long, lean woman wrapped around him? That topped the list, as far as Law Reilly was concerned.

Although he wouldn’t mind a cabin in the mountains, just him and his laptop. He’d be fine with swapping out the laptop for a long, lean woman.

Or even a shack on a beach, just him and his laptop. Again, the swap-out—his laptop for a long, lean woman? That would work. And some beer on hand.

The place he didn’t want to be, though?

A wedding in small-town Kentucky.

Namely, Ash, Kentucky, where he’d been living for the past ten years. Long enough that he could call the place home, long enough that most of the people knew him by face, by name … and by bank account, even if most of them didn’t entirely know where the money came from.

They just knew he wasn’t hurting for cash and at a wedding with a lot of single women, and that was always dangerous. Even if he’d been in his sixties, balding, and carrying a spare tire, it would be dangerous.

But Law was thirty-four, still had a full head of hair, and while he might not see himself as the cover model for any magazine, he didn’t have a spare tire, either.

Yeah, this was a dangerous place to be, and he was in a lousy mood, anyway. His mood got darker and uglier each time one of the single women would come up and flirt, attempt to make some sly remark about his single status.

He could handle this—get through the reception. He just had to have a game plan, and be cautious.

Things had been going fairly well, too, for about the first hour.

At a wedding, a guy didn’t want to make eye contact, didn’t want to stand around looking like he might be anything resembling lonely. None of that stuff, because sometimes, the single women got ideas in their heads.

If he wanted to make it out of there sane, and without making himself look like an ass at his best friend’s wedding, he had to exercise caution.

Sometimes, caution could serve a man well.

And sometimes, so could throwing caution to the wind.

Law Reilly was tempted to throw caution to the wind and just get the hell out of the Inn, especially after Mackenzie Cartwright came simpering up to him, pressing her breasts against his arm, angling herself so he could see clear down to her belly button if he wanted.

He looked—hell, why not? She put herself there on display.

But she was also in the mood to dance … and maybe leave early … weddings always made her … She’d actually trailed off with a suggestive giggle as she slid her hand down, resting it on his hip.

Shit.

“Part of the wedding party, kid,” he said, tacking the
kid
on just to annoy her. She was twenty-three, definitely
too young for him, although hardly a
kid
. “I think I’m supposed to hang around awhile.”

Then he put some serious floor space between them and wondered how long he needed to hang around. He didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to watch as Lena Riddle snuggled up against Ezra King for what had to be their fiftieth damn kiss. But she wasn’t Lena Riddle now. She was Lena King.

And he wasn’t jealous—exactly. Well, he was.

He was damn jealous, but not because he wanted to be the one she was pressing her pretty mouth against. There had been a time when that was exactly what he wanted.

But he wasn’t the one for Lena.

Lena was happy with the guy, happier than Law had ever seen her. He couldn’t begrudge her that happiness, even if once upon a time he’d imagined himself in Ezra’s place.

There was an ache in his heart, though. Yearning wisps of envy that had him wishing he was anywhere but here. Okay, anywhere but here or anywhere with Mackenzie.

Home, alone, sounded good.

Weddings weren’t exactly his favorite way to pass the time, but this was one of his best friends … and even though once upon a time he’d desperately loved her, seeing her happy was important to him.

With just about anybody else, he could have ignored the invite.

Except he was the one who had given away the bride. Hard to ignore the invite when that was the case. Sighing, he tipped his beer back and counted down the minutes until he could make a polite escape.

For Lena, he could be polite.

“You look about as happy to be here as you’d be at your own funeral,” a soft, quiet voice said.

Glancing down, he made himself smile.

Hope Carson stood barely five foot six, even in the three-inch heels she’d worn with her maid of honor dress. She was slender … and she was the only other person in the entire world with the power to get him into a monkey suit.

Her dress was as green as her eyes and gleamed against her pale skin. She’d always had that delicate beauty, but tonight, he had to admit, she looked amazing.

And every guy who looked at her longer than two seconds probably felt the lingering stare of her boyfriend, the county DA, Remy Jennings.

Well, every guy but Law. Law was nothing more than a brother to Hope, like she was nothing more than a sister to him, a fact that Remy was more than well aware of. So when Hope leaned against him and hugged him, Law wasn’t overly concerned when Remy’s eyes lingered on them. Hell, he enjoyed needling the guy anyway.

That was what had him leaning down and pressing his mouth to Hope’s. Pissing the DA off was a favorite pastime of his. Had been for a while. Passing a hand over Hope’s hair, careful not to dislodge the delicate spray of flowers near her right ear, he said, “You look amazing, sweetheart.”

“Thanks.” She smoothed a hand down one narrow hip and sent a look over her shoulder, smiling in Lena’s direction. “It looks like her day went well, right?”

“Hell, she’s married. That was the goal, right?”

Hope rolled her eyes. “You’re such a guy. Yes, she’s married … and that’s the goal. Sort of. But getting there, how they do it, the memories … it matters.”

“Whatever.” Law took another drink of his beer, shooting Remy another look. He was talking to one of his cousins, Carter Jennings—Roz’s husband.

Hank Jennings was also there with some woman Law couldn’t immediately place. Hank was the mayor, and in
Law’s opinion, a class A asshole. Although he’d gotten a little better over the past few months.

The Jennings clan—the whole damn county was lousy with them. Three cousins served on the town council. The vice principal of the high school was also a Jennings. Several of the county cops were Jennings by blood, a few were Jennings through marriage, and at least one person on the minuscule city police department.

A quarter of the people in Ash were related to the Jennings clan in some way, shape, or form. Hope would be one of them before another year was out, Law had no doubt about it.

“Speaking of goals … you thinking you might make a run for that goal with Remy any time soon?”

Hope blushed and hunched her shoulders. “I … I don’t know.”

“You haven’t talked about it?”

Her blush deepened.

Law laughed. “That’s a yes.” And knowing her as well as he did, he suspected she was terrified and excited. Dipping his head, he kissed her again, this time, pressing his lips to her brow. “Go for it, kid. You know you’re not going to find another guy who’ll love you the way he does. And you’re never going to love anybody as much as you love him.”

She sighed. “No. You’re right. I just …”

Something dark and ugly moved through her eyes, memories that would take a lot longer than a few months to fade.

“He’s gone, kid. Dead and gone.”

“I know. It’s just …” She didn’t have to say.

Law knew her as well as she knew herself sometimes. Hope and Law had gone to high school together, back in Clinton, Oklahoma, a small town that was pretty much dominated by one family, kind of like the Jenningses seemed to dominate Ash, Kentucky. At least in size.

But the Carson family wasn’t a kind dictator.

Hope had married the golden boy, Joseph Carson, not too long after they’d graduated. His control over her had been subtle at first.
Dress how I want you to dress. Act how I want you to act. Wear your hair the way I want
.

And when she didn’t, that’s when the real abuse started.

Years passed and it got to the point where Hope felt the only escape was through killing herself. She’d tried … and failed. Her ex-husband had been a cop and he’d abused his badge and his family’s name, managed to get her locked away in a mental institution.

When she got out, the abuse had gotten so much worse.

It wasn’t until Law finally managed to get back in touch with her after a few years of sketchy communication that he realized just how bad things had been. He no longer gave a damn about any so-called power the Carson family might have had, and at that point, he’d been more than capable of causing his own brand of trouble.

He’d gone looking for Hope, and he would never forgive himself for not doing it sooner. Once he realized how bad things were, Law had been ready to kill Joe.

Although Hope had never confirmed it, he suspected that was what had given her the courage to leave. Not fear for herself, but fear for what it would do to Law’s life.

Why in the
hell
hadn’t he gone back sooner? Why hadn’t he known? She’d gone through hell, and if he’d listened to his gut, he could have done … something. Anything.

Like kill the bastard. He could have killed the bastard, and saved Hope all that heartache. Damn the consequences.

A storm of memories burned in the back of his mind, memories he struggled to hold at bay. Fuck that bastard to hell and back—

“Law.”

A soft, cool hand touched his cheek and he looked down, met Hope’s sad eyes.

“It’s not on us, right?”

He just stared at her.

“You keep telling me, I can’t blame myself for what he did. I can’t blame myself for Nielson being dead, and I can’t blame myself for how he killed that girl.”

Nielson—the cop who’d died saving Hope when Carson came after her.

And Joely.

That girl …
the memory of the woman who’d lost her life was imprinted on his mind forever—a wound he’d carry for always.
That girl
. Swallowing, he looked away. His voice was gruff as he said, “Her name was Jolene. Joely Hollister.”

“Joely.” Hope looked away. “I know. I know her name. But you keep telling me I’m not to blame. How can I believe that, though, when I look at you and see just how much you blame yourself?”

Swearing, he shoved a hand through his dark, overlong golden-brown hair, only to have it fall right back into his face. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “It’s not the same, Hope. Damn it, I
knew
something was wrong, and I didn’t listen to my gut. I didn’t
do
anything …”

“Neither did I,” she said flatly. “All the times he left bruises on me, I didn’t just
know
. I had proof, physical proof. I could have left, I could have come to you—even a phone call would have been enough. But I stayed. I can try to move past my guilt, but it’s going to be damn hard to do it, if I see my best friend wallowing in his.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s pretty damn manipulative.”

“Yeah. It is.” She cocked a brow at him. “But if it works …”

Then she shrugged and pushed up onto her toes, pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Stop brooding. Go talk to people. Ethan’s here … that deputy from the sheriff’s office. You two hang out some. Go talk to him. Have fun. You look like you’re facing an IRS audit or something.”