The Drake House (23 page)

Nick walked across the hall and knocked on Brad’s bedroom door. With his arms crossed, Brad had his back to him looking out the window. “You up for talking?”

Brad turned. “How’s Trisha?”

Nick had never met a less selfish group of people in his life. “Pretty pissed off at me. You have any beer?”

Brad’s smile was brief. Following him into the kitchen, they sat down at the table with a long neck, and Nick updated him on the meeting.

“Wow,” Brad said after swallowing. “The whole time they were protecting her. They couldn’t have killed Andrew or Chuck,” he mumbled to himself, then met Nick’s eyes. “Seriously. What’s the point?”

Nick had a damn good idea, but from now on, he and Lafferty were alone. He wasn’t involving Brad and Trisha in the investigation. “Lafferty and I will figure it out. In the meantime, Trisha has a lot on her plate, and visitors I don’t necessarily trust. Keep an eye on her and keep me informed. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. I can’t blame her, so just help me out.”

“You think her nightmares will stop now? Now that she knows what happened.”

Not likely.
Nick didn’t think this was all of the story. “I hope so.”

Brad took another drink from his beer. “I keep seeing her with that look on her face from last night. What do you think she meant by ‘help me’ or ‘I’m sorry’?”

Standing, Nick tossed his empty bottle into the blue recycling bin near the sink. “I don’t know. Try to get some rest. I’ll come by soon.”

****

Nick was due to meet Lafferty and his team in Madison the next morning to form a plan and regroup. With Wayne officially off duty, Nick could afford to bring in two part-time officers from a neighboring county. However, with everything going on, he didn’t think it was the right move.

There were about ten men in Small Rapids trained well enough to tackle volunteering in emergencies. Brad being one of them, and a twenty-one-year-old guy named Tom being the more appropriate candidate to call in. Nick needed Brad at the orchard, so he sent Tom Garrett and Howard Leison, a thirty-three-year-old construction worker born in Small Rapids, to Madison for the week to get the additional training necessary to bring them on their force.

Two volunteers, Greg Halstead and Emery Vicor, would be assisting in the meantime. Steve had stepped up to help him out today while he and Lafferty were at the orchard by drafting a schedule for the guys to follow and showing them the ropes so Nick could focus on other things.

Things like getting the police reports back from Wayne Radcliff. Nick rang the doorbell to Wayne’s small two-bedroom ranch and waited for him to answer. In the waning light of day, the crickets chirped, but all else was quiet. Wayne’s garage door was open, and Nick could see his car parked inside. There was a light on in the living room, too. So why was the old man taking so long to answer?

Nick rang the bell again, still with no response. Rounding the side of the house, he found him in a lawn chair on the back deck.

“I tried ringing the bell.”

Wayne glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the cube glass in his hand. “I can count on one hand the number of times I needed to drink whiskey.”

Nick climbed the steps and sank into a chair, a Weber gas grill between them, and looked out over Wayne’s yard. The quarter-acre lot with a chain link fence was encased in shadows.

“Your grass needs to be cut.”

Wayne grunted. “Guess I’ll have time to do it now. Though the snow will come before long.”

If he was expecting an apology, he sure as hell wasn’t getting one. Instincts told Nick that Wayne didn’t commit these murders, but he knew more than he was saying. They’d already hurt Trish enough by trying to protect her.

“I need the files.”

Wayne bobbed his head slowly, like he knew all along why Nick had come but didn’t give a damn. Slamming back the whiskey, he stood. “I’ll go get them.” He disappeared into the house and returned moments later with a fresh finger of whiskey in his glass. “We never had reports on either Trisha’s disappearance, or Drake’s suicide, because Madison handled both. These are them.”

Nick took the files from him and descended the deck stairs.

“Nick,” Wayne called before Nick rounded the house.

When Nick turned, Wayne suddenly looked like the old man he was—weary, lonely, and bitter. “I didn’t kill those boys. And Trisha is like my own. I’d never do a damn thing to harm her.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

****

Trisha wrapped her sweatshirt tighter to her body when the wind picked up. Nick wasn’t at his house, and she couldn’t stand to be at home right now. She asked Brad to drive her over to Nick’s place, but that was over an hour ago. Lacking the courage to call him, she just sat down on the stoop for the third time to wait when his SUV pulled in. Rising, she hugged her arms around her as he got out of the car.

He took two steps before seeing her and paused mid-stride several feet from her on the sidewalk, the large manila envelope in his hands plopping to the ground. Quickly, he bent to retrieve it and straightened, this time not looking at her.

Back on the orchard earlier today, he’d just been doing his job. She’d been too angry or surprised to realize it. Deep down, she knew in her heart that her family, her people, couldn’t have executed these murders. A seed of doubt was growing now, though, and she couldn’t focus on anything except getting out of the house. On seeing him.

“I couldn’t stay there,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He still didn’t look up, but in the dark she could see his eyebrows furrowed in thought. She’d kicked him out of her house for doing his job. It also broke any romantic ties there may have been. What were they to each other? How many more times would he forgive her cruelty?

“I’m sorry about before,” she said quietly.

Lifting his head, he looked at her. “I do believe I told you once before to stop apologizing. I accused your family of murder, Trish, and though I’d do it over the same, I never want to see that look on your face again.”

His gaze whipped over to the house and then down to the sidewalk, avoiding her eyes once more, as if he couldn’t believe what he just admitted.

“Should I call Brad to come get me? I can stay at the ranch with him.” She began to stammer as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms trying to fill the silence. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just had him drive me here.”

Keeping his eyes down, he closed the distance between them, stopping inches from her. She stared at his chest, wanting to touch him, wanting the safety of his embrace, and the way he made her feel.

“I missed you,” he said, low, husky, skittering a ripple of pleasure through her body. “It’s all wrong…you and me, but I missed you anyway.”

Lord, he didn’t talk much, but when he did he had an irritating way of turning her into a pile of mush. She looked up at him, seeing the insecurity in the turn of his mouth, edging his eyes.

“I knew the moment I first saw you that you were going to break my heart,” she said. “I don’t get my heart broken. I won’t allow it.”

A corner of his mouth curved, but his eyes saddened. “You’d have already captured mine if I had one.”

She grinned, realizing the vast understanding which just befell them. If they stayed within the boundaries, and followed the
don’t-rock-the-boat
scenario, they could go on as they were. No expectations. It’s all she could hope to have, and more than she allowed before.

“You might have to handcuff me to the bed so I don’t sleepwalk.”

He tried and failed to defy smiling. “I may do it anyway for fun.”

Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her cheek on his chest. It took him a few moments, but his arms came around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. She closed her eyes, inhaling the leather scent of him, and lifted her mouth to brush over his shadowed jaw.

He cleared his throat and backed away. “No touching me again until you eat something. You need fuel.” Pulling keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door and held it open for her.

After looking at him, trying to display her lack of amusement, she stepped inside. When he closed the door behind him, she pressed her mouth to his and backed him into the door. Immediately, his hands cupped her face, his mouth opening for her and deepening the kiss, deepening the need she had only for him. His stubble was abrasive and delightful against her soft skin.

With a moan, he broke away and edged around her. Turning on a few lamps along the way, he passed through the living room and into the kitchen. When she stopped smiling long enough to follow him, she found him with his head buried in the fridge.

“I can do homemade mac and cheese or BLTs?” he asked her.

She sat down on a stool at the counter. “Mac and cheese. I haven’t had it since I was a kid.”

“That’s a crime,” he said, pulling a pot from the cabinet and filling it with water. Once he set it to boil, he removed a box of Velveeta from the fridge and plopped it in a pan to melt.

It was really sexy watching him in the kitchen. “Did you learn to cook from your dad?”

He threw a towel over his shoulder. “It’s just mac and cheese, but yes, my dad taught me how to cook. You should try my lemon herb chicken sometime.”

It was the first time he made any indication for future plans. Before she could respond, he pulled his cell from his pocket and hit speaker.

“Hi Dad.”

“Are you busy? Working or with a woman?”

Nick dumped some elbow macaroni into the boiling pot and grinned. “Both. And you’re on speaker so behave.”

“Hi, Mr. Mackey,” Trisha called out. “Nick’s making me mac and cheese.”

“Call me Bob, dear. Take me off this stupid speaker. I can barely hear you.”

She hopped off the stool and studied Nick’s phone for the correct button before returning to her seat. “Better?” she asked.

“Much. Now’s what’s this about mac and cheese? That’s not a meal. I’m ashamed of him. Have him cook you his lemon herb chicken.”

Trisha laughed so hard she nearly fell off the stool. Nick looked up from stirring noodles with raised eyebrows.

“Some other time, perhaps.” Grabbing a pen from the counter she went into the living room in search of paper. “I need your address to ship you some apples. I should’ve done it sooner, but—”

The humor receded from Bob’s voice. “I heard. I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you.” She found a notepad on the walnut coffee table and sat on the pine green sectional to write, just noticing this was the first she’d seen his house with furniture.

“You there, dear?”

“Sorry. Yes. Go ahead.” He shot out the address as she jotted it down. “We’re about ready to pick a new batch at the end of the week. I’ll ship them right out.”

“Now, I want the dirt on you two,” his father joked. “Nick told me you weren’t speaking to him.”

Nick returned from the kitchen with two steaming plates of mac and cheese, which he garnished with thinly sliced tomato wedges, and set them on the coffee table. Her stomach rumbled.

“We’re talking now,” she said. Nick straightened and waved his fingers for her to pass him the phone. “Sorry, Mr. Mackey. We just got in trouble. Here’s Nick.”

Nick traded a fork for the phone and returned to the kitchen. Out of politeness, she waited until he returned before eating. Barely. She hadn’t the stomach to eat before now.

When he came back, he didn’t have the phone, but instead two glasses of ice water. “This okay? You shouldn’t have caffeine this late.”

Nodding, she sank onto the floor and took a bite from the plate in front of her. Moaning, she rolled her eyes. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

After sitting across from her on the floor, he paused with the cup to his mouth. “No moaning until after you eat either.”

She laughed and took another bite, pausing when she caught him watching her. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. Your laugh just…”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” He took a bite. “You get along too well with my father.”

He appeared more amused than irritated, so she relaxed. “Parents love me. Brad’s parents are still hoping I’ll turn him straight.”

“If anyone could do it, you could,” he mumbled.

The way he said it had her narrowing her eyes. “You saying I should try?”

“Nope.” Without looking up from his plate, he shoved his noodles around with the fork. “Aren’t you born gay anyway? I mean, you couldn’t…”

This time when she laughed, he looked irritated. “Brad always knew he was gay. We lost our virginity to each other. That sealed any doubt.”

He dropped his fork. “What?”

Making an exaggerated effort to take a few bites before speaking, she said, “We were seniors in high school. Losing your virginity sucks. It didn’t with Brad. It wasn’t good for either of us, but I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.”

He stared at her like she was singing a version of
Hello, Dolly
in the nude. “I could’ve gone without knowing that. I was just starting to like Brad.”

It was really amusing how possessive men became, even in a relationship such as theirs. Finishing, she pushed her plate away and leaned against the couch, sipping ice water. “Who was your first?”

“Brianna Martin,” he said with a grin. “Junior year of high school, in my parents’ basement. A ravishing blonde with legs up to her neck.”

He didn’t smile effortlessly like that very often. It made her heart feel good. “So you like blondes then?”

His gaze swept over her face, her hair, then into her eyes, heating every nerve in her body. “Not anymore.”

There he goes again, saying ridiculously sweet things
. “What’s wrong with my laugh? Every time I laugh, you look at me strangely.”

“You finished?” he asked, gesturing to the plates.

Standing, she said, “Yes. Don’t move.” Gathering the plates and forks, she walked into the kitchen, rinsed them off, left them in the sink, and returned to the living room. She stood over him. “Now tell me what’s wrong with my laugh.”

“Come down here,” he murmured from the floor, taking her hand and urging her onto his lap.