Читать книгу Protecting His Brother's Bride - Jan Schliesman - Страница 10

Chapter 2

“She’s dead.” Dalton mimicked the thug’s voice to perfection, a skill he and his brother, Josh, had honed as kids. At the same time he was grinding his heel into the intruder’s face for emphasis.

“Clean it up and get here by morning.” Whoever Rico was, he disconnected before Dalton uttered another word.

He shoved the phone into his pocket. The surreal activities of the past twenty-odd minutes came into clear focus. The blonde bomber had told at least one truth: she didn’t have a partner. She also didn’t have a prayer of walking away without sharing the full, unabridged version of why she’d ended up at his door, and how she planned to stay alive.

For a moment, he allowed his gaze to roam her body, lingering on the cleavage exposed when her shirt had slipped off one shoulder. The thickening smoke reminded him they had to get out of here.

Dalton could consider himself every kind of fool for not letting the woman suffer alone, but she needed a doctor. A man with any functioning brain cells would’ve found out her name when she’d first opened her eyes. There had been an explosion, so maybe he should cut himself some slack.

The sound of rain splattering against the house, along with the crack of thunder that followed, had him breathing easier. The small fire would be out in no time. “At least something is going right.”

He should have expected that the man would put up quite a fight. The bastard had gone after Blondie again, leaving no doubt he wanted her dead. Dalton had stopped short of killing him, but the thought still flickered in the back of his mind.

It would be self-defense, plain and simple. But he didn’t want an ounce of scandal to touch his family’s name ever again. His mom couldn’t take another and would never forgive him. First Lauren, and the personal attacks that had seeped into his mom’s life, then Dalton lying his way through his brother’s death. The tabloids insinuated Josh had gotten what he deserved, and although Dalton felt the same way, he had to deflect their claims.

Josh had always been their mother’s favorite. Maybe because he was the baby of the family, or maybe because his mother coveted his free and easy nature. He could do no wrong in her eyes. And since they’d fought the day before his death, his mother was convinced she’d played a role in sending him over that cliff.

Dalton grabbed the man’s shirt collar and dragged him into the bathroom, anchoring him with duct tape to the cast-iron bathtub while he writhed in agony.

“Who are you and why do you want her dead?”

The portly man pressed his lips together, trying to look cocky. “You’re a wrinkle in the plan,” he said. “They want this place gone, burned to the ground. I’ll be out of jail and back in a couple hours to finish the job.”

“I’m shaking with fright.” The man might have been intimidating to anyone else, but to Dalton, he was simply a bully. “Behave yourself and I’ll call the cops tomorrow.”

He returned to the bedroom and dialed the emergency services number again. He couldn’t second-guess his decision to help the unconscious woman. Commitment was his middle name. “This is Dalton Matthews. I need to cancel the call for a grass fire. Looks like the rain put it out.”

“I’ll remove it from our list,” the dispatcher replied.

“I’m heading out of town for a few days. Could I get an extra patrol to swing past tomorrow and make sure everything’s in order?”

“We can do that.”

The man in the next room gathered enough energy to bellow a string of curse words.

“Sorry. Forgot to mute the television before I called.”

“No problem, sir. I’ve heard worse.”

“Now that I think about it, switch the patrol to the day after tomorrow.” Dalton grinned to himself. “Nothing exciting ever happens around here.”

“Right. I’ve got you down. Have a safe trip.”

He disconnected the call and stared at Blondie. She was out for the count and his ruse might have bought her a short reprieve. Getting her to a doctor or hospital would cover his culpability regarding her injuries. He dropped his bloodstained flannel shirt and pulled on the first available T-shirt.

“Now for sleeping Blondie.”

All his efforts while he’d been in hiding the past several months would be wasted by tomorrow. There was no time to cover all the windows and prevent any further damage to the house. He released another, longer sigh and with it some of the anger kindling his blood.

He tossed an old afghan onto Blondie and secured her close to his body. He settled her in the front passenger seat of his vehicle, clicked the seat belt in place and climbed into the driver’s side. He backed out of the garage and refused to look at the damage.

The rain had arrived in time to stop the fire. He adjusted the wipers and pulled onto the darkening county road with one final glance in his rearview mirror. No second thoughts.

Right or wrong, he was committed to securing Blondie’s health and safety. She needed a hospital. She’d get a hospital. If she woke up before that, he’d get answers.

Dalton rubbed his knuckles, thinking of the bastard who’d taken a hit to the groin. The man’s curse-filled tirade had confirmed that someone wanted more than death for Blondie. What did she want from Dalton? More than a few things didn’t add up.

Dalton spotted the bright pink nails grasping the edge of the damp afghan he’d thrown over her. He caught himself reaching for her fingers, the familiar color causing his gut to clench. Instead, he anchored his hands on the steering wheel.

How many times had he seen such a color? Visiting the nail salon had been a ritual for Lauren. Until the day she’d taken her life. It was almost impossible not to think of his wife, and every time he did, he couldn’t get past the circumstances framing her death or the blame levied at him.

“How many media exclusives can you people want?” An unlimited supply, when every person Lauren had known, past and present, collected a fee for their sorrow. Too bad they hadn’t been half as involved in her life when her fame had started tearing her apart.

But paparazzi don’t normally carry guns or have thugs blowing up their cars.

The woman beside him was too pale. Too fragile looking, as though she’d endured more than her fair share of pain. She moistened her lips and wiped her hand across her eyes before wincing and bolting upright in the seat.

“Let me out!” She tugged at her seat belt.

He glanced at the highway. “Out where?”

She pushed a strand of hair off her face and glared at him. “Just pull over and let me out.”

Dalton hit the brakes and steered the sedan onto the shoulder, sending gravel flying against the undercarriage of the car and abruptly stopping them with enough force the airbags could have deployed.

She braced a hand against the dashboard before throwing off the afghan and releasing the seat belt. She yanked on the door handle and then beat her fist against the cherrywood trim in frustration. “Why won’t this door open?”

Dalton placed the car in Park and turned off the ignition. “Because we have some unfinished business, because it’s dark and rainy outside or because you aren’t wearing shoes. Take your pick.”

She shut up for six seconds and then immediately returned to attack mode. “I already said I was sorry. Now let me go.”

“First tell me your name.”

“Tell me your name.” She might talk big, but her body language told a different story. She was shrinking to the corner of the seat.

“I have a feeling you already know it.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she softly counted to ten. Then she reached forward, opened the glove box and started riffling through the papers inside. He’d give her points for resourcefulness, but she’d find nothing in there to help her.

Next, she flipped on the console light and held up three or four papers for inspection. “BCA. BCA. And BCA, Inc.” She glared over at him. “What’s a BCA?”

“Business name.” He winked, hoping she could see it in the dim light. “Your turn.”

“I pass.” She crossed her arms, stubborn yet again.

“Are you sure?” he asked, typing in a request on the car’s GPS screen and doing it with enough fanfare she had to be watching him. He flipped on the audio switch and waited for the announcement.

“Law enforcement located, ten point three miles northeast, downloading directions now.”

She stared at the screen, chewed her lip nervously and then straightened her spine. “If you were going to turn me in, why didn’t you do it already?”

He didn’t need her calling his bluff. He needed her to crumble and spill her guts so he could determine her true motivation. It was like a really bad game of hot potato and he wanted to get rid of her as soon as feasibly possible.

“Simple answer, I was headed to the hospital, quicker than waiting for an ambulance.” He invoked his most take-charge tone before continuing. “You could move things along by telling me your name and how you found me.”

She shoved the mass of paperwork and fast-food napkins back into the glove box and slammed the cover shut. “I wasn’t looking for you.”

“Really? Then what were you doing, snooping around my property?”

She chewed her bottom lip again. “Exactly how long have you lived there?”

The air in Dalton’s lungs turned to fresh cement and for several seconds he couldn’t breathe as he remembered the day he’d escaped to the woods. Had he really been hiding out for over a year? He cleared his throat. “Answering a question with a question is a classic avoidance technique, one you probably already knew.”

She blew the bangs from her forehead and turned toward him. “And yet it’s a question I will ask again. How long have you lived there?”

“And I’ll repeat, what were you doing snooping around my property?” Two could play her game.

She glared at him again. “I wasn’t trying to snoop, but I’d actually been there several years ago. I was searching for...an old friend.”

Dalton took a moment to absorb the information. This woman was asking him to believe she’d been there, legally, without his knowledge. There were only four people with a key.

“Maybe the exterior has changed a bit, but I’m 99 percent certain my friend still owns that property. We came here New Year’s Eve almost four years ago.” Her voice shook again and she blinked away tears.

“Blondie, my family has owned that house for sixty years.” Dalton watched as her expression changed from anger to uncertainty. “You’ve either confused the location with another property or you were trespassing the first time.”

He’d expected another string of denials to fall from her lips.

“Damn you, Josh,” she softly cursed.

Dalton’s blood ran cold at the mention of his brother’s name. He gripped the steering wheel when he’d rather have hold of her neck. “Did you say Josh?”

“Yes, Joshua Kincaid.” She swiped her tongue across her lips again, momentarily distracting him.

“And...” He tossed off his seat belt and leaned across the console, anxious to hear what scheme his half brother had gotten her involved in.

“And what? He proposed to me in that cabin.” She released a huge sigh. “Josh is my husband.”

Dalton couldn’t stop staring at her as if she’d admitted to being a topless dancer at an old folks’ home. Then a laugh burst from his chest. “You’re definitely not his type.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Josh was never married.” So this was her plan the whole time? She was sniffing around for a windfall, but not from him, from Josh. No wonder she’d turned up at his family’s cabin, but claiming to be Josh’s wife didn’t help her credibility. At least not with Dalton. And there was no way in hell he’d let his mother hear. Lie or not, she’d take Blondie’s word without a shred of evidence, just so she’d have some part of Josh again.

“We are married,” Blondie said. “And I need to talk to him.”

“Lady—and I use the term very loosely—there are many things you obviously need. But you’ll never talk to Josh.”

“Oh, you can bet I’ll find him,” she yelled, shoving forward and staring Dalton in the eye. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Lucky me.” He’d give her points for appearing wounded by his comment, but she was still a fraud. “Cooking up this whole story isn’t getting you a dime. I guarantee it.”

“It isn’t a story and I don’t want your money. Josh will help set everything straight. Do you know where he is?”

“Yeah, I know a lot of things.” The words spit from his lips. “I know you’re definitely not Josh’s wife.” Of all the ridiculous lies she could have created, this one knocked the breath from Dalton’s lungs. He had to stop her before the situation snowballed out of control.

“I couldn’t care less what you believe,” she snapped, giving as good as she got. “Can you help me find Josh or not?”

“Find him? Oh, yeah, I can lead you right to him.” Dalton slammed his fist against the console and drew a deep breath before he threw the car into gear, made a U-turn and tore down the roadway. He veered right on the second gravel road, so upset that he forgot about slowing down for the ruts.

“Where are you taking me?”

He couldn’t answer her.

“When was the last time you saw Josh?”

“Seven weeks ago.” He pushed the words out.

“Did he seem all right?”

“No.” Dalton felt nothing now that the gate was in sight. “He seemed dead.”

* * *

Blondie was silent for several minutes. “Tell me how.” She kept her face turned toward the window, although he couldn’t have judged her true reaction in the darkness, anyway.

“Does it matter?” Dalton refused to go into the whole story when it was the least of his worries. He followed the ruts in the road as the pellets of rain lessened to a fine mist. After kicking on the high beams, he adjusted the wipers to a slower interval and watched for washed-out spots in their path. He hadn’t been here often, but the archway entrance to the cemetery couldn’t be missed.

“It matters to me.” She rubbed her palms against her eyelids. “Why is this happening?”

“You must have some idea.”

“So far, every one of my ideas has turned to crap.” She coughed. “Leave it to Josh to get the last word, even in death.”

“So the honeymoon was over? I can’t imagine why Josh would’ve kept your charming personality a secret from the rest of the family.”

“Family? What are you talking about? Josh didn’t have family. Who are you?” She fired the questions while bracing a hand on the ceiling to keep herself from jostling around each time they hit a bump.

Dalton ignored her question. He sped through the gate, gripping the leather steering wheel as he turned to the family’s corner. He eyed Josh’s wife with renewed annoyance and questioned her lack of emotion since he’d announced his brother was dead. If they really were married, shouldn’t she have some remorse over his passing? What kind of wife referred to her deceased husband as getting in the last word?

The cemetery had been a private plot until his father sold most of the land thirty years ago. Dalton had hated the place as a kid. Hated it more now, since Lauren and Josh were buried here. Throwing the car into Park, he jumped out and opened the heavy iron gates separating their family from the rest of the cemetery.

When he climbed back inside the car, he realized Blondie could have locked him out and driven away. Instead, she was staring out her window. What was going through her mind?

He followed the pathway curving to the right. Towering green ash trees and a few rare bushes whose name he’d forgotten edged the lane. He parked near the large headstone serving as the grand centerpiece.

“Let’s go.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not doing this.”

“I don’t remember giving you a choice.” He released the door locks, remembering to pull the keys.

The interior lights flickered when he tugged on his door handle, then exited the car. Stepping away from the closest muddy rut, he waded through the grass and flipped open the trunk. He found the emergency kit and the flashlight before circling to the front of the vehicle, where he waited for Blondie.

She took her time, staring through the windshield at him for several moments before joining him in the halogen glare of the headlights. She dragged the afghan with her as she stalked silently beside him. The flashlight glimmered off the headstone at the center of the plot.

“I guess size matters a lot in your family,” Blondie snickered.

“It’s rumored to be sprinkled with real diamond dust. Probably not true, since no one has ever tried stealing it.”

“Pretty flashy for the middle of nowhere,” she said, continuing around the far end. “Why did you bring me here?”

Was she deliberately trying to goad him?

“The Matthews men were a prideful bunch, with a history of grand exits from the world. This massive headstone took two years and a lot of money during the Depression to complete. Nowadays, only the caretaker sees it on a regular basis.”

“Nice history lesson, but my husband’s last name is Kincaid. This has nothing to do with me and I don’t care.”

Dalton hadn’t been the most respectful Matthews family member to set foot in this place, but Blondie’s disrespect was ticking him off. Or was it being close to Lauren’s grave?

Or even the fact that Josh had been buried next to Lauren, at his mother’s suggestion. And Dalton couldn’t object without voicing his suspicions about their affair and starting everything again. No, this had to end—right here, right now.

Then a stretch of bare earth appeared, and the pile of flowers the wind and rain hadn’t managed to carry away. No one visited, but his mother insisted a fresh arrangement be placed there every Sunday.

“Josh is over here.” Dalton took her arm and tried pulling her a few feet closer to the site.

“Why should I believe a complete stranger who won’t tell me who he is?”

“I’m Dalton Matthews. Josh was my half brother.” It wasn’t a term they’d ever used as kids. Their mother used to say that half of anything didn’t matter. They were brothers. Period.

“No, you’re not. Josh didn’t have any siblings and you have no proof he’s dead. My Josh can’t be dead.” She pivoted and took off running for the car.

Dalton was more than mad, but he couldn’t lose it, not here. For some reason this woman got under his skin faster than any paparazzi. But she wouldn’t fake that she was his brother’s widow. What if she went to his mom?

Dalton easily caught up with her in a few steps and gripped her shoulder.

“Get your hands off me.” She tried dodging his grasp.

He spun her around to look at him, shining the flashlight in her eyes. “How long were you married?”

“Four years in January.”

If Josh had been married, that would explain his frequent absences. Or was Dalton clutching at any straw to keep his mind from straying to the thought of Lauren and Josh together? The flashlight beam swept their graves. He tried for calmness.

He failed.

“You haven’t seen Josh’s headstone yet.”

“You’re an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”