Tell No Lies (17 page)

Sadie patted her hair lovingly. “We should have told you girls a long time ago,” she lamented. “I wanted to so much, but your mama said no, Augusta. She said she didn’t want to drag you girls through any more drama . . . so we took care of each other and our kids together. Do you understand now why I could never leave?”

Augusta didn’t, but there was no point in saying so. Everyone had to handle their lives their own way, but she wanted to believe that, in their shoes, she would have told everyone to go to hell.

“You okay, child?”

Augusta pulled away suddenly, swallowing hard. “I gotta go,” she said, and grabbed her purse.

“Augusta!” Sadie called after her.

But Augusta was gone.

 

Ian had never intended to set about becoming a one-man army for justice. When he’d first arrived in Charleston, he’d attempted to ask the police for help but ended up with doors shut in his face, both literally and figuratively. And then Caroline Aldridge came into the picture and suddenly he’d found himself dodging accusations like bullets.

So his decision had been easy.

He’d told Jack everything he knew. He’d explained how Jennifer Williams’s initial charges had come to be, his history with her family, and why he felt so driven to find her—especially now that it seemed she might have fallen prey to a killer. The girl’s father was dead, her mother dependent upon an uncle, who happened to be a deacon in the Church. The uncle had molested Jennifer, using her father’s death as a way to get close to her. Her mother knew and pressed her to keep it quiet so Jennifer had turned to the Church. Unfortunately, under penalty of
latae sententiae
—automatic excommunication—a priest could not reveal anything learned during confession, even under the threat of his own death or that of others. Later, when Jennifer came to him outside of confession and came on to him, asking for help the only way she knew how, he turned her away, gently, encouraging her to seek counseling with a professional. Angry and confused, she’d accused him of molesting her—all the while the true perpetrator ran around without repercussions. Because Jennifer’s mother had known the entire story from the start, she’d talked sense into Jennifer and the charges were dropped immediately, but Jennifer had run away.

Ian had agreed to go looking for her because, well, he’d felt responsible for not having handled the situation better in the first place. But that wasn’t his only reason. Without Jennifer, it was his word against her mother and her uncle, and he fully intended to bring her uncle to justice if possible. Now that he was no longer affiliated with the Church, there was nothing holding him back—certainly not the Seal of Confession.

But he was at a dead end. Maybe Jack would have better luck. He handed over every last piece of information he had.

Unfortunately, Jennifer’s telephone was a prepaid, and Shaw had already followed that lead, having seized the number from Ian’s phone after the arrest. Although Ian hadn’t heard from her in months, her picture—the one she’d sent him—was still on his phone. But her phone records had revealed little else except that she had not used the cell since April sixth—less than half her credits used with more than six months left to go on her three-hundred-sixty-five-day recharge. It was as though on April sixth, Jennifer had simply disappeared.

They were searching for her car, which was missing as well. Not much to go on, but far more than Ian had uncovered in all the time he’d spent searching for her.

In return, Jack gave him his first helpful piece of information about Jennifer since arriving in Charleston. Jennifer had, in fact, legally changed her name to Jennifer Lee. The records, held at the local level, were public record if you knew exactly where to look and whom to ask. She had, in fact, gotten into a bit of trouble under that name, but because she was now eighteen, her mother was never notified of her arrest. The terms of her release had been negotiated by pro bono attorney Daniel Greene—the same Daniel Greene who was also the estate attorney for the Aldridges.

On the downside, although he had a more complete picture now, Jack warned him against interfering with the investigation and prohibited him from speaking with Greene. As a man who only twenty-four hours before had been at risk of losing his freedom and his neck to the state, he sure as hell wasn’t about to place himself in jeopardy, but at least he knew something more than he had before.

He wasn’t sure he should tell Augusta about any of it. Jack hadn’t given him any classified information per se, but somehow he knew that telling Augusta about Greene could be detrimental to Jack’s investigation, or he would have already told her himself. Augusta would tell Caroline and Caroline had already proven once that her relationship with Jack wasn’t enough to keep critical information out of the papers. Then again, Greene was their family attorney. Maybe they would feel obligated to protect him—or alert him that his name was being bandied about the investigation—particularly since apparently the longtime housekeeper was romantically involved with the guy. That was something Ian knew simply from poking around. Daniel Greene spent a great deal of time at Sadie Childres’s home.

Pitching old and new facts around in his brain, he made his way home, enjoying the sound of his own car engine. “Yeah, baby,” he said, patting the dash, grateful the Acura was still in one piece. All in all, they had taken pretty good care of the car, and he was suddenly feeling a lot better.

As he headed over the expressway, the phone rang on the seat beside him. Without looking at the number, he picked it up and answered. “Ian.”

“Hi, it’s Augusta.”

She’d been crying.

“Where are you?”

“On the way to your house.”

“Are you alright?”

“No.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Shocked at how much her revelation affected him, Ian hung up and punched the gas.

Like Charleston’s estuaries, the meandering back roads in James Island’s Secessionville Creek area wound in and out of neighborhoods, seemingly devoid of any organizing principle. There were only two outlets spilling directly onto Folly Beach Road.

As upset as Augusta was, she made a few wrong turns. It was only after making the second that she realized she was being followed, though she didn’t recognize the car. As far as she was concerned, a good description of a car was black or red, new or old. Give her a bicycle and she could probably tell you the model and approximate year, but cars were not her forte.

After Sadie’s bombshell revelations, instinct drove her straight to Ian’s house instead of home. The construction crew was working outside today and Luke had a key besides, so she didn’t have to worry about locking up, and the last thing she wanted to do was to walk into a worksite full of strange men, sobbing like a child—particularly since Savannah wasn’t even home and Caroline would be there any minute. Until she gathered her thoughts, her sister Caroline was the last person she wished to see. She had no clue how to feel about anything right now, but she couldn’t deal with more drama. The only thing that seemed certain was that Ian always managed to make her feel better. He had an easy way about him that helped her forget everything except the moment they were occupying. Somehow, despite his own tribulations, he seemed able to put aside anxiety and anger—like The Dude, she thought. In fact, he looked a little like a young Jeff Bridges, she mused, as she pulled up in front of his house.

The car following her pulled over to the side of the road and parked three doors down, in the tall grass, but the car door never opened. Parked in Ian’s yard, Augusta sat, waiting and watching.

Probably a reporter, she decided. Poor Ian. She didn’t know how he managed. This was the first time she’d come by his house when he didn’t have half a dozen strange cars parked in his yard.

However, this one was clearly tailing her—probably trying to figure out what her connection was to Ian. Nosy hounds. Let them say whatever they wished to say. Unlike other people in her life, Augusta had nothing to hide.

Curious, she sat and watched in her rearview mirror, trying to make out the driver, but it was dusk now and she couldn’t see much inside the car with the last bright streams of sunlight beaming down on the windshield. As Ian’s black Acura came racing around the corner, the car’s headlights flicked on; then it pulled out into the street behind him. She watched as the car drove slowly by, but the windows were all tinted too dark a shade to see inside. She was pretty sure that wasn’t legal anymore. She caught the first three letters on the license plate before the car turned the corner: NZ3. It was an older black Dodge that looked as though it had seen way too many miles on the road—maybe even a rehabilitated police car.

NZ3, she repeated to herself.

Ian was out of his car before she managed to open her door, and she walked toward him, tears suddenly stinging her eyes. He held out his arms, and without warning they began to flow, breaking through her carefully laid barriers.

“Hey, hey,” he said, lifting her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where to start,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

He wiped away her tears, and with his arms around her, turned her toward his house. “Let’s get you inside. I’ve got beer, and pretty much nothing else, but you can tell me everything when you’re good and ready.”

Augusta nodded, allowing someone else to direct for once.

“I’ve got good news,” he offered, squeezing her gently. “Maybe it’ll help to hear that first?”

With watery eyes, Augusta peered up at him, and she knew before he said it. “Oh Ian! They dropped the charges?”

His grin widened, and he nodded, and she felt suddenly more lighthearted—even more so once the door closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.

 

 

Augusta ran her fingers along the fireplace mantle.

It appeared not to have been dusted in a decade. Clean spots, where knickknacks had once resided, stood out against the ivory paint, conspicuous without the usual baubles to hide them. Behind the grate, though the bricks were stained with soot, there wasn’t an ember to be found. It was as clean as a dog’s bone. “So you must be renting?”

Ian returned to the living room with a glass of water, no beer. “What makes you say that?”

Augusta gave him a lopsided grin. “Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe the simple fact that your rooms are all empty and it seems they’ve been that way for quite a while.”

He winked at her. “Not
all
my rooms are empty. In fact . . .” He wiggled a brow at her as he set the water glass down on the mantle beside her and pulled her into his arms. “Maybe later I’ll give you a tour of my postmodern-style boudoir, as well as a demonstration of how the single-purpose minimalistic bed works. You’ll be so impressed,” he assured.

Augusta laughed, but a thrill raced down her spine at the thought of being naked with him again. Her body responded to his touch. “Single purpose?”

He nodded slowly, grinning. “Sleep is overrated,” he said, his lips curving a little mischievously. “Of course, all this happens only after we’ve had a chance to talk.”

Augusta’s heart beat faster. “Taking is overrated,” she said, and her nipples pebbled against her blouse, drawing his gaze.

“Damn,” he whispered, and she knew the instant he put the joking aside. His gaze became hooded, moving from her breasts to her mouth.

The mood shifted suddenly and his voice grew sober now. “This time I don’t want alcohol on my breath or sand up my ass. I just want you in my nice, clean, soft bed and I want to show you exactly how I feel about you, Augusta.”

Augusta slid her arms around his waist, leaning back to gauge his expression. “Yeah? How is that?” He had never really seemed like the priestly type, but gone was the ex-priest entirely and in his place stood a bad boy she had never met before this moment. His eyes glittered with the intensity of blue flames.

He reached between them, lifting her chin, and seemed to need to ask. “Why don’t you tell me what upset you first?”

Suddenly, nothing seemed as important as hearing how he felt about her. She slid her arms up along his back, reveling in the sinewy strength along his lats. “Later,” she promised. “Right now we’re celebrating.”

He lifted a brow. “Are you celebrating with me?”

Augusta nodded slowly and held her breath. There was no music to move their hips to, no smoky lights to hide behind, no champagne in her veins . . . but the moment was as sexy as any Augusta had ever experienced. She moved against him, shifting her weight with a lover’s instinct, melting into his embrace, daring to tease him.

“Augusta,” he said, his voice gruff. It sounded every bit like a warning.

He caught her hand about his neck, but instead of pulling it away he leaned to kiss her gently on the lips. Augusta responded by deepening the kiss, offering her tongue. He kissed her deeply, his body tense and trembling and after a moment, he tore himself away, leaning his forehead against hers, staring down into her face.

“Turns out I’m not enough of a gentleman to resist a beautiful woman alone in my bed.” He moved to kiss her neck.

“I’m not in your bed yet,” she pointed out.

“
Yet
being the operative word.” His fingers curved around her throat, holding her still for his exploration.

His body hardened against her and he pressed his arousal into her, letting her feel him through his jeans. She held her breath, her skin tingling with anticipation.

His fingers moved to her blouse, popping the top button, looking her in the eye. Augusta’s breath left her in a rush at the gentleness with which he unbuttoned her buttons, one by one, exposing her, the look on his face hungry and purposeful as he worked his way down her blouse.

Unblinking, Ian watched her expression, afraid to miss a flicker of emotion.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He was only halfway joking about the bed, though he’d be lying if he told himself he hadn’t purposely set the beers back in the fridge, not wanting anything to numb his senses . . . or hers. Just in case. But he’d meant to give her a chance to breathe . . . to lean on him if she needed to, and even then, if she hadn’t wished to make love tonight, he would have simply held her and told her he loved her.

Because he did.

He knew that now.

The feel of her in his arms was like manna for his soul. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten through his armored shell, but she had. Slowly, reveling in the satiny feel of her skin, he turned her so that the lamplight illuminated her fully for his eyes. The last time he’d held her in his arms, and the time before that, it had been on a dark beach. He wanted to make love to her in the light, so he could see every lovely inch of her body . . . every goose bump . . . every blush.

He pressed his erection more firmly against her, wanting her to feel it, wanting her to know the dangers of tempting the lusty beast inside him.

She was the first woman he’d wanted this badly in more than six years . . . the first woman who’d made him forget his past . . . the first who made him yearn to spend every day for the rest of his life lolling in a bed.

Desire thrummed through his veins.

“Say the word and we’ll stop,” he suggested, and sent a little prayer heavenward that she wouldn’t ask him to. Prayers generally failed him, but today he hoped the man upstairs was firmly on his side. He didn’t want to have to relieve himself in the shower, with just the memory of her taste lingering in his mouth. His body ached for release. But he wanted her willing and on the same page.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and Ian groaned deep in the back of his throat, taking her by the hand. He led her into his room, flipping on the light, and pulling her gently toward the bed.

Augusta swallowed, unable to speak a word. She let him guide her into the room and resisted the urge to ask him to turn off the light.

She knew why he’d turned it on . . . could see it in his eyes—that barely restrained hunger that made her panties wet with just a glance. And deep in her heart she knew she wasn’t going to stop him. What she wanted most in this instant was to have him inside her. Something about him emboldened her; that was the only explanation for this fevered desire she felt every time she was in his presence. Her mouth suddenly felt like cotton. Her tears were completely forgotten. Her palms grew damp and her skin prickled with anticipation—all with merely a look.

Without a word, she backed up toward the bed, and he followed, his blue eyes brilliant and full of purpose. Swallowing the knot that rose in her throat, Augusta sat on the bed and he knelt in front her, pushing her legs apart without a word, sliding her skirt up.

A whimper caught in her throat as she fell back against the bed, clutching the hem of her skirt and pulling it the rest of the way up. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, even before his lips touched her.

He settled his nose against her panties, breathing deeply and then pressing his tongue against the soft cotton before taking the damp material into his mouth and pulling the panties off with his teeth. Augusta swallowed convulsively.

After being so long without a woman in his life, Ian might have thought that all he’d want to do was to bury himself inside her sweet body, but he longed for more than that. He wanted to savor each and every moment. He wanted to taste every inch of her body. He lingered on the tiny bud that tempted him beyond reason, teasing her with a finger, and he didn’t stop until her body shuddered beneath his lips and she moaned with unrestrained pleasure.

He wanted her to feel appreciated and adored. He made love to her first with his mouth, drinking up the nectar of her body with complete abandon. And then when he was done, he kissed her thoroughly, wanting her to know that there was no part of her that wasn’t divine.

“I play for keeps,” he whispered against her temple, and then pressed his weight down upon her, pulling her blouse off a little feverishly.

Augusta welcomed his weight, drawing him down atop her, but words failed her.

Eagerly, she unbuttoned his white shirt, and tugged it off, throwing it behind her on the floor. He unzipped his jeans, and stood a moment to shrug out of them. “I want to see all of you,” he said, his eyes never leaving her.

Augusta shimmied out of her skirt, and before it hit the floor, he was kneeling over her once more, his body hard and ready.

There was no shame in his actions. He peered down at her, looking primal and ready to take what he wanted. His hand moved to his shaft and he stroked himself while she watched, completely uninhibited. The sight of him touching himself, pulling his thumb over the bead of moisture at the tip, turned her on like nothing else ever had. God help her, she thought she would have another orgasm simply watching, and then he brought his hand to her lips, painting her mouth with the silky moisture, giving her the tiniest hint of the taste of him. His fingers shook with barely restrained passion, and he looked at her pointedly.

“I want you in my life until we both take our last breaths, Augusta. You’re the last thing I want to see at night before I go to bed. If you don’t want that, too, say no and I’ll get up right now, put my pants on and see you to the door.”