Whispers (41 page)

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Authors: Lisa Jackson

BOOK: Whispers
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Kane let out his breath. She hadn't killed Harley, not that he'd ever thought she was involved, but he'd known she'd lied to him. To the world. And she didn't even know why.
“It's . . . it's my fault,” Tessa said, her voice weak.
“No, Tessa, don't—”
“Shut up, Randa, you've been taking the fall for this for years and protecting me.”
Tessa? The killer?
Tessa rammed both hands through her short blond hair. “I was drunk and with Weston that night. We were in the pool house when Randa walked in on us and went ballistic.”
“I should have killed him,” Randa said.
“Randa tried to break us up, to tell me what a loser he was, but I'd had a lot to drink and he'd come to me and . . . and . . . oh, shit, I was always a fool around him, you know that.”
Claire didn't comment, just stared at her youngest sister.
“I couldn't take it,” Miranda said. “Weston had already nearly raped me in his office. I got out by kicking him in the crotch, so when I found him with Tessa, I saw red. I tried to break them up and Weston . . . he decided to teach me a lesson, so . . . oh, God . . .” Her voice trembled. “. . . so when I attacked him, he came undone and he . . . he . . . Claire, he raped me so brutally that I . . .”
“She miscarried,” Tessa whispered.
Kane's hand curled into fists. His stomach knotted.
Claire didn't move. “Miscarried?”
“I was pregnant with Hunter's baby.”
“Oh, Randa!” Claire walked behind Randa's chair, fell to her knees, and hugged her sister fiercely. “I'm . . . I'm so sorry.”
“That's not all,” Tessa added. “I just watched him do it to her. I was too drunk, too stunned to do anything but watch as he hit her and kicked her, tore her clothes off her, threw her across the sofa, and dropped his pants and . . . and . . . Oh Randa, I'm so sorry, so damned sorry.”
“Shhh.”
Bile rose in Kane's throat, and he thought he'd be sick. If he ever saw Weston Taggert again, he'd personally coldcock the bastard, then choke the life from him. And that was just the warm-up.
“I—I was so upset that when I could get my legs to work, I chased Weston down,” Tessa said. “Only when I got to the Taggert estate, I saw him leave again.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I followed him to the marina.”
“Oh, God.”
“Tessa, don't,” Miranda said, her eyes flying open. “This isn't smart.”
“But it's the truth, damn it. I thought I was following Weston onto the boat, but it was dark and I was drunk and . . . and he was looking the other way, and I guess I thought Harley was Weston, so I hit him, with a rock I'd picked up and he turned . . . and it was Harley and . . . and he fell over the railing. I didn't mean . . . I wouldn't . . .” She started crying and coughing. “I saw him struggling, flailing but . . . but he couldn't swim. It was like he was trapped and . . . and . . . Oh God . . . I ran. I left him there. I . . . I . . .”
“No,” Claire whispered, pain cracking her voice. “No. No. No.”
“I found her walking home, dazed, still holding the rock,” Miranda cut in, her voice surprisingly steady. “She told me what happened, I called nine-one-one anonymously from a phone booth, but the police were already there because someone on another boat saw his body. Anyway, I drove home and we found you.”
“And the blood on your skirt was from the baby?”
“Yes,” Miranda whispered. “Hunter's baby.”
“What . . . what about the rock that Tessa used to hit Harley?”
“I don't know. I threw it away when we stopped the car and told you that Harley was dead. Remember that stretch of road?”
Claire nodded. Her face was white as death, her expression twisted in horror. She hadn't known.
“I pitched it into the woods.”
Claire was on her feet in an instant, racing to the far end of the porch, where she fell against the railing and threw up over and over again. She was crying and retching so painfully that it was all Kane could do to stay hidden in the shadows. He wanted to run to her, to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her. Despite her lies. Despite the years and circumstance separating them. But he couldn't.
Nor could he write the story of Harley Taggert's death. Not now. Not knowing the truth. Too many innocent lives would be ruined. As of this night, Kane's personal vendetta against Dutch Holland was over. It had to be. Dutch, the bastard, was Claire's father and his own son's grandfather. Kane stood in the shadows of the hedge and knew that he'd destroy everything he had on file. If the sisters wanted to spill their guts, so be it. But he wouldn't bring them down or haul Tessa in to face justice. Weston Taggert, if he was indeed Hunter and Jack's killer, would be found out soon enough.
As for Claire and her lies about Sean, he'd talk to her later. He watched as Miranda scooted back her chair and walked toward Claire. “It'll be all right,” she whispered, and the two sisters clung to each other.
“But what about Weston?” Tessa said. “We can't just let him go free.”
Miranda's face was grim. “The police will figure out that he lied about Hunter's employment records. They'll put two and two together and besides, I've done some investigating on my own with the help of a friend, Frank Petrillo, in the department. Some of Weston's business dealings, especially that one he's trying to put together with one of the tribes for a casino, aren't on the up and up. He's going to have more legal trouble than he ever dreamt. Not that it matters.”
“Of course it matters,” Tessa said, her voice a monotone. “He's got to pay.”
“Shh. Don't talk like that,” Miranda commanded. “And have some faith. I know it's hard, but things will turn out all right.”
“They'll never be all right,” Tessa said, as Kane, guilt heavy on his shoulders for eavesdropping like a common snoop, slipped away and headed back to the path that rimmed the lake. But Tessa's voice chased after him. “I think we're doomed,” she said in a monotone. “Every last one of us.”
Thirty-one
Claire couldn't eat or sleep. After last night's revelations she'd spent the remaining hours tossing and turning, staring at the clock and remembering Harley, sweet, sweet Harley. She'd loved him with that silly naive love of youth, and until she'd met Kane she hadn't questioned her feelings for him. Whatever Harley's faults, whatever his shortcomings, he hadn't deserved to die, nor had Tessa deserved to become a killer.
Claire dressed and showered, took the kids over to Stone Illahee for tennis lessons and a day at the pool, then returned home and wondered how she could ever put her life together. She considered calling the police, reached for the phone several times, then decided to let Miranda handle it. She was with the District Attorney's office for Multnomah County, which was basically the greater Portland metropolitan area, but as an officer of the court had some responsibilities to truth, justice, and the letter of the law. The authorities in Chinook would become informed.
And what about you? Don't you care about right and wrong? Harley's death? Weston's rape of Miranda? The loss of Miranda and Hunter's baby?
Pain ripped through her. There was so much agony. Too much.
As she had as a child, she felt the need for escape, and, ignoring the list of things she was to do today, she walked to the barn and noticed clouds sliding across the sky. Who cared? Within minutes she'd saddled a little bay mare and headed up the familiar and overgrown trail to the sacred grounds of the local Native American tribe, the clearing on the cliffs that Ruby had warned her of all those years ago, that special place where she and Kane had found love.
Kane.
Her heart ached at the thought of him. Surely he would uncover the truth, discover her lies. He'd somehow divine that Sean was his boy. And what then? Would he hate her forever, abandon her, try to gain custody? Her thoughts spun out before her in worried circles. Oh, God, she had to tell him and soon.
A flock of seagulls rose above the trees and spiderwebs, sparkling with dew were flung between the branches. A few leaves slapped at her face as the mare loped steadily upward toward the clouds.
At the top of the cliffs, she slowed and reined her mount toward the campsite where she'd found Kane so often. But today it was vacant and aside from cold ashes from a long-ago fire, it showed no hint that anyone had ever been there. A chill crawled up her spine, causing her flesh to rise in little bumps, and she wondered if Ruby was right, that the spirits of the dead inhabited this stretch of land.
Disappointed, she let the mare graze as she sat in the saddle and stared over the ridge to the ocean, dark and brooding, the clouds above rolling ominously. She hadn't wanted to ride, she realized, but was hoping to see Kane again. It wasn't this gloomy little rendezvous spot she'd needed to visit again, but Kane.
And so she would.
“Hiya!” She yanked on the reins. Turning the horse toward the lodge, she pressed hard with her knees and urged the mare into a gallop. For some reason she felt as if she was running out of time, that if she didn't reach Kane soon and tell him the truth, all hell would break loose.
 
 
The last person Weston expected to find at his office was Tessa Holland, but here she was, seated on the couch, her shapely legs crossed, a cigarette burning in one hand. Somehow she'd sneaked by his Nazi of a receptionist, but Weston didn't mind. She was still as sexy as ever in her tight white sweater and short black skirt. He felt his cock quiver and silently damned his overactive sex drive, which forever got him into trouble. Serious trouble.
“Tessa,” he said, hoping to sound casual as he propped his butt against the corner of his desk and clasped his hands over one knee. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I thought it was time to come clean.”
“You?”
“No. You.” She took a puff from her cigarette and let a cloud of smoke rise from her mouth. “You've heard they found Hunter Riley's body at the excavation site for the next phase of Stone Illahee?”
He had to be careful here. Obviously she knew more than he thought. “I heard they found
a
body, one assumed to be Riley because of some ring he wore, but that there wouldn't be a positive ID until dental records were examined and reviewed.”
“Just a matter of time.” She cocked her head to one side and eyed him in a way that made him want to squirm. “You did it, Weston,” she said. “We all know it, because you lied about having him on the payroll in Canada.” She clucked her tongue. “You know, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“So you came here to what—? Accuse me of being a murderer?” He laughed. “Come on, Tessa. Lighten up. The way I remember it, we had some good times together. Isn't that really why you're here, why you came over?”
“In your dreams. I just wanted to play with you.”
“Tessa, baby—”
“The way I remember it, we had some bad times,” she said, her blue eyes widening a bit. “Like the time you beat me and forced me to go down on you.”
“Now, I don't—”
“And then there was the time that you raped Miranda. Remember that? She miscarried. Did you know?” Tessa rose to her feet and strode close enough to Weston that she could poke him in the chest with the two fingers holding her Virginia Slim. She seemed empowered and hell-bent for vengeance, no longer a scared little girl. “You were so brutal with her that she lost the baby. And I was so weak, so damned worthless, that I couldn't even get up and help her. I should have killed you then, Weston, and saved the state the trouble when they find you guilty of Hunter Riley's death.”
“I didn't—”
“Then you know who did.” She let ash drop onto his carpet. “You'd better get yourself a damned good lawyer, Taggert, because you're going to need it.”
“You have no proof of anything you're saying,” he replied, cool on the outside while his guts turned to water. “And who would believe you? How many shrinks have you seen in the last fifteen years? Five? Ten? And wasn't there some rumor about you having sex with one of your therapists? Christ, Tessa, I don't know what you're talking about. You're just another deluded psycho.”
She didn't back down an inch. “And what about Jack Songbird? You know they found his knife by Hunter's body.” She smiled strangely, her lush lips stretching under a sheen of red lipstick. Tapping her head as if she just came upon a thought, she asked, “Didn't I see you with that knife—you remember, right after your car was vandalized?”
Weston was starting to sweat, but he was too used to this game to break down. “You
are
deluded, aren't you?”
“You're going down, Taggert, and it's about time. I just wanted you to know that I can't wait to testify, not only about the knife, but about everything else as well. I've got nothing to lose and you know what, it feels good.”
Weston laughed even though he felt like strangling her. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide. Why would I want to kill Riley or Songbird?”
“Good question, but you know,” she said, grinding out her cigarette in a brass tray on the table near the couch. “The cops are good at finding motives. Oh,” she stopped as if she'd just had another thought, though her timing was so impeccable he was certain this was all a show. “I suppose you know that your business is being investigated as well.”
His stomach knotted. “Investigated?”
“Yeah, I'm not sure which branch of the government is checking you out—the IRS or the state department of revenue or whatever, but you'd better hope your records are all in order.” Clutching her purse in one hand, she walked to the door. “I came by with the good news because I figured I owed you one for everything you've done to me and my family.” She blew him a kiss and reached for the doorknob. “See you in court.”
Then she was gone, breezing out of the room and leaving the scents of smoke and expensive perfume. She was bluffing; she had to be. Or did she hate him so much that she'd humiliate herself by testifying? Wasn't there a statute of limitations on rape and assault or . . . had that changed? As for murder . . .
Think, Taggert. Think. You've been in tighter spots than this; there's got to be a way out of this!
He rounded the desk and sat in his chair. His heart was hammering and sweat stood out all over his body. He thought he might lose control of his bowels for a second, but the feeling passed as he realized he had an ace up his sleeve. All he needed to do was get rid of Tessa. And Sean as well. The kid was Harley's son, a threat to the inheritance, and so he'd have to be taken care of. Weston had worked too long and hard and taken more than one life in his pursuit of more and more of the Taggert fortune. Only Paige was left to rival him for her share of the wealth, but he'd never been able to get rid of her. He needed her to take care of the old man, and there was something about Paige, an edge to her that he saw in the superior lift of her chin or the glint in her eye, that warned him she could be very dangerous. Though she'd never said as much, he was certain she knew everything vile he'd ever done, cataloged the act, and waited to use it against him.
He reached for the desk phone, thought better of it and found his cell in his briefcase. He snapped the phone open. With practiced fingers he dialed Denver Styles, reached an answering machine, and left a message for Styles to meet him later that evening.
 
 
Never in her life had Claire been to the little cabin across the lake. She'd known Kane had lived there, even roared by the place while boating, but she'd never stopped, and her relationship with Kane had been so short and fierce before he'd joined the army that there hadn't been time. Besides, in those days, Kane was always looking for excuses to leave the house and his drunk of a father rather than stay in.
Now, as she drove to the parking area next to the house, she felt her heart pound. Kane's Jeep was in the drive and she'd have to face him and tell him he was a father. No more lies. Her fingers were wet with sweat, and she found a thousand excuses to put the inevitable off, but she couldn't. It was time.
She walked up the front steps as Kane opened the screen door. “Looking for me?” he asked, and he seemed more distant than he ever had. He didn't hold her or kiss her or even offer her much of a smile, but he was still as handsome as ever, as virile, and a part of her wanted to throw her arms around his neck, kiss him and never let go.
“We need to talk.”
A gold eyebrow lifted in interest. “About?” he asked casually, but she noticed an undertone of something . . . condemnation? . . . in his voice.
“A lot of things.”
His mouth was a hard line, his eyes guarded as he held the door open for her and she ventured inside. The place was clean, aside from his work area that was strewn with papers, pens, files, and paper clips, as well as his computer. She felt him standing behind her, waiting, and she tried to find the words to make him understand. “There's . . . something you need to know.” She was shaking inside. How long had she waited for this moment? Dreamed of it? Feared it? And now the words stuck in her throat. Sixteen years of lies. Sixteen. Until she sometimes doubted the truth.
“Turn around, Claire,” he said, touching her on the shoulders, gently rotating her so that she was forced to look into his eyes.
“This is hard.” She cleared her throat. “It's . . . it's about Sean.”
Kane's lips tightened a fraction. “He's not Paul's son.”
“What? No, but—” Oh God, he knew!
“He's mine.”
The words seemed to echo through her brain, and yet there was nothing but silence in the room. Was it condemnation she saw in his eyes or just plain anger? “Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I—I couldn't. By the time I knew, I was married, Paul had agreed to claim the baby as his own and I thought . . . I mean, until Sean was three or four months, I believed . . .” Tears filled her eyes, shame colored her cheeks.
“You thought he was Taggert's.”
“Yes.” Her voice shook. “I—I—oh, Kane, I'm so sorry.” Never had truer words been spoken. How she rued all the deception, all the time that had been lost.
She stepped into his arms and felt him stiffen.
“I thought the baby was Harley's. All through my pregnancy and during the first few months of his life, I believed that Sean's father was dead, that there could never be any kind of reconciliation and then . . . as the months and years went by it was obvious that he was your boy, but I got pregnant with Sam and it was just easier to pretend that we were a happy, normal family.” She blinked against the hot tears invading her eyes. “Of course we weren't.”
A shudder ran through his body and something inside him seemed to crack. His arms, so distant a second before, wrapped tightly around her body, holding her close, as if possessing her, body and soul. “It's all right,” he said against her hair, and her knees sagged. What had she done to deserve his understanding? He kissed her crown, and she let out a cracked little sob.

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