Читать книгу The Last Landry - Kelsey Roberts - Страница 13

Knife in one hand, Taylor read the note. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach. The block printing made it impossible for her to identify the writer, but the contents and the knife made the message frighteningly clear: “SHANE DID IT. THE PROOF IS IN THE ATTIC.”

OhGodohGodohGod! This wasn’t possible. Shane was a lot of things, but not a killer. Sure, they had their tense moments, but she knew with absolute certainty that he was incapable of hurting anyone. Especially not the mother he worshiped and the father he revered.

Why accuse him?

Oh, God. Who could have delivered this?

Maybe it was a joke. A sick, perverted and cruel one, but some fool’s idea of humor. She couldn’t show Shane. Not now.

Observing him these last few weeks, she knew where he was on the bereavement scale. The initial denial stage had passed the second he’d identified his mother’s wedding ring. The anger stage had passed as well, probably because he’d transferred those emotions to the fantasies of what he’d do when the killer was caught. The funeral ritual had been an outlet for the bargaining and depression stages.

Shane had now reached the final phase—acceptance. Yes, she knew it had been a sudden, unwelcome and painful journey, but she wasn’t about to let some weasel with a warped sense of humor set him back to square one. Crumpling the note, she decided when and if she ever found the prankster, she’d kick him, then charge him for repairing the puncture left by the knife. “Jackass,” she muttered.

Taylor heard the sound of an approaching car and hurriedly put the knife and crumpled note inside her purse. Tossing her bag on the passenger seat, she slipped behind the wheel.

Seth’s marked SUV pulled alongside her sedan just as Taylor turned the key, starting the engine. With a wave of her hand, she rushed off before he noticed anything was amiss. Amiss? She almost choked. That wasn’t the word for it. Amiss didn’t come close to describing the protective surge of anger churning her insides.

SHANE WAS IN THE PROCESS of grabbing another beer when he heard the front door open and close. For a split second, he let himself hope that it might be Taylor coming back inside. Maybe she’d decided to abandon her class in favor of spending the evening with him. Yeah, sure. That was about as likely as fish learning to dance. Acknowledging that reality made him scowl.

Seth strolled into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting. “What’s with Taylor?”

Shane shrugged. “Don’t know. I never know, which probably explains why we’ve lived under the same roof for five years and I still don’t know her middle name.”

“Sophia,” Seth replied with a brotherly sneer as he weaved toward the kitchen. “Put us all out of our misery and make your move. Get proactive, will you?”

“Proactive? Is that from your word-of-the-day calendar? You weren’t here a few minutes ago. If you were, you’d rethink your belief that she’s hot for me. She thinks I’m a moron.”

“You can be a moron, but that’s beside the point,” Seth teased. “Trust me on this, Shane. Time’s a-wastin’.”

“Why do you think she’s interested in me?”

“My exceptional talents for deduction.”

“Really?” Shane asked, smacking Seth’s Stetson off his head. “Maybe you should put those skills of yours to good use by trying to figure out why the woman can barely keep a civil tone in my presence. She hates me.”

“You’re so wrong,” Seth stated, tossing his hat onto the table. “Men are such jerks.”

“First you quote movies, now this?” Shane demanded. “You are such a girl.”

“No, I’m insightful,” his brother said easily. “One of the many advantages of age and experience, bro.”

“Do you have a valid reason for being here?” Shane asked as he watched his brother help himself to a bottle of water, tucking it into the utility belt clipped at his waist. “By valid I mean something more than a roadie of water and an opportunity to rag on me? Has there been a development in the investigation?”

Seth flopped into his chair. “Nothing so far. But after our chat this morning, I thought I’d come by to see if you asked her out. Everyone is very interested in your progress with Taylor. We voted and decided it was more fun to focus on that than champing at the bit because we can’t get involved in solving Mom and Dad’s murder.”

Shane and his brother shared a moment of reflective silence.

“Everyone?” Shane asked. “What did you do, take a poll?”

“Actually, I did.” Seth smiled. “With Sam, Callie and the kids out of the house, we all think it’s time you stopped dragging your heels. I swear, Shane, it took less time for Michelangelo to paint the Sistine Chapel, for chrissake.”

“He had divine inspiration. I have Taylor’s verbal missile defense system. By the way, I know she’d be thrilled to hear my brothers are so concerned about our love life—the one we don’t have—that they felt it necessary to gossip and send an emissary.”

“Whatever,” Seth remarked dismissively before taking a long swallow of beer. “So, what’s the holdup? How much longer do we all have to stay away?”

“You call this staying away?” Shane flicked a bottle cap at Seth, which he deflected easily. “Besides, what do you care?”

“We’re crazy about Taylor, and speaking only for myself, it would be really, really nice if the two of you could hook up before midnight Sunday.”

Shane rolled his eyes. His brothers didn’t think anything was off-limits when it came to the friendly placing of wagers. “How much?”

“I bet fifty bucks that you’d admit your undying love before the vernal equinox. Make it happen and I’ll split the booty with you.”

“Maybe,” Shane hedged. “What’s the pot up to?”

“Twelve hundred. But only because we made Chandler pony up a thousand on the sixty day over-under.”

Shane gave an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe I should work a deal with Chandler then.”

“Before you get too chummy with him, you should know he bet the over, that it would take you more than sixty days to convince Taylor to accept your sorry ass.”

“He might be right,” Shane admitted, shoulders slumping under the weight of knowing that he wasn’t exactly on the road to success. Forget the road, he hadn’t even left the driveway. That could change, if he could come up with a feasible plan. Until he had one, a switch of topic seemed like a good idea. “How are Savannah and the kids?”

“Savannah is hot and my children are cuter, smarter and growing faster than everyone else’s.”

Shane smiled, knowing full well Seth’s remark was part jest and part fatherly pride. “Speaking with complete impartiality, I’m sure.”

His brother stood and launched the now-empty bottle in a perfect arc into the trash can. “A three-pointer.”

“Not from that distance, girlie-man,” Shane scoffed, tossing his beer bottle behind his back, around his waist, and watching it sail easily into the recycling bin with a satisfying clink. “Now, that is a three-pointer. I am the king.”

“Yeah,” Seth chuckled softly. “The lonely king.”

“That was harsh.” True, but harsh nonetheless.

“Buck up, bro. I’d be happy to give you some pointers if—”

Shane glared his older brother into silence. “Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Yep. Here.” Seth paused and replaced his Stetson, which bore the official seal of the city of Jasper. “I’m checking on a couple of parolees you hired for the calving season.”

“Anyone I should keep an eye on?”

Seth shook his head. “One did six months of an eight-month stint for bouncing checks, and the other guy’s out on early release on a simple use and possession.” Seth glanced at a small pad he pulled from his breast pocket. “Brian Meyer is the bad-check passer. Luke Adams is the bad driver with the bad habit. He wasn’t bright enough to keep under the speed limit while he was rolling a joint on his thigh.”

“Don’t have to be bright to be a criminal,” Shane said with an expelled breath. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Seth scanned the notepad again. “I ran checks on both guys when Will sent me their names. Nothing popped in the system. I would’ve called if anything came up. Meyer is a first-timer, so it’s worth giving him a chance. Adams has a few other busts, petty stuff. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Shane shrugged. “Will’s pretty good at screening them. He wouldn’t hire on anyone he didn’t think was a safe bet.”

“I agree,” Seth said. “Still, I want both of them to know I’m in the area. I’ll run out to the barn and just say hi before I head home.”

Shane walked with his brother to the front door. A rush of cold air filtered in and he was distracted for a minute, wondering if Taylor was dressed warmly enough. Of course not. She’d rushed out without a coat.

“Show them your gun and be sure to look mean,” Shane teased.

“Good tip, thanks.” Seth raised one hand and bounded down the steps two at a time. “You have fun tonight! All alone and wandering through the house like a—”

Shane slammed the door, not interested in taking any more of his brother’s ribbing. It wasn’t like he was ready to concede that his hands-off policy was getting harder and harder to maintain. In addition to his staggering fear of rejection, the truth was the growing intensity of his feelings for Taylor scared him. Keeping her at arm’s length was a lot easier than risking everything.

Except that his patience was running out. He felt as if his life had been one big hourglass for the last five years. Finding his parents, after wondering where they were and why they’d left, gave him an odd feeling, a kind of warning bell that there might only be a few grains of sand left.

“She’s going to graduate,” he told himself as he wandered back into the living room and flopped down on the leather sofa, grabbing the remote control. “Get a job and leave.” The thought depressed the hell out of him.

He flicked through the satellite menu without really seeing the images. They had two hundred fifty channels, but there was nothing on. Instead, his mind played visions of Taylor. In the kitchen. Working in the yard. She was as much a part of the Lucky 7 as he was now. Thinking about her impending and inevitable departure weighed heavily on him.

Four hours and fifty-six minutes later, Shane tried again to convince himself that he wasn’t actually waiting up for her. Right? his conscience ridiculed in a taunting little voice that was irritating as hell. Had to be that he was totally engrossed in the infomercial for the miracle herb that promised everything from increased energy to improved sexual function. Plus, if he acted now, he could get a six-month supply for the value price of only three hundred twenty-nine dollars and ninety-five cents. A veritable steal.

“Like I need anything for sexual function,” he muttered, standing up and taking his dishes into the kitchen. “My plumbing works just fine, thank you very much. That isn’t my problem. Sell me a magic pill to read her mind. Now that would be freaking worth three hundred and ninety-whatever dollars! Hell, I’d pay ten times that.”

He had just put a plate with crumbs of her delicious apple pie in the sink and was about to call it a night when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps on the front porch.

A sense of excitement rushed through him as he stilled, listening to the door opening and closing, followed by the familiar rhythm of her moving in his direction.

Taylor’s subtle perfume entered the room a split second before she appeared.

He knew something was wrong the second he saw her. “Fail a pop quiz or something?” he asked, disturbed by the tension in her hazel eyes.

Damn it. Taylor had hoped he’d be asleep by the time she got home from class. She wasn’t up to a verbal sparring match with Shane tonight, she really wasn’t. She’d been on a razor’s edge through the entire class, absorbing nothing. Anger over the knife and the note had claimed her focus for hours.

Somebody had strolled up to her car, in full view of the house, and had taken the time to open the door, stab the knife and note into her upholstery and walk away.

Who? And why make such a cruel and false accusation about a man who’d just buried his parents?

She tossed her purse on the foyer table by rote, then panicked a little—what if Shane suddenly ripped into it and demanded to know why she was carrying a knife? She shook with pent-up rage, and rubbed her arms as a diversion, trying to avoid him when he stepped farther into the hallway. “Not now, please? It’s late. I’m tired.” And spitting mad and…

She’d pivoted, fully intending to hide in the sanctuary of her room, when she felt his large fingers gently close on her shoulder. Fighting the urge to lean into the invitation of his touch, she stopped in her tracks. Finding the note, trying to figure out who might have sent it, sitting though a class without processing so much as a word of the lecture—all of it had zapped her energy. She was exhausted and wired all at once—that jittery, caffeine-rush kind of energy that had her stomach burning and her pulse pounding in her temples.

“What’s up, Taylor?” he asked softly, the teasing tone gone from his voice.

She opened her mouth, then went mute when he eased up behind her and began to softly massage away the tension that had been holding her hostage since leaving the ranch. His fingers moved gently, subtly. Because her still-damp hair was up in the clip, she was able to feel the warm wash of his breath against her neck.

“Your shoulders feel like rocks. Come on, tell Dr. Shane all about it.”

Tell the truth? Lie? She didn’t know. Couldn’t know, not when his touch scrambled her already taxed brain. The bombardment of sensations easily overshadowed all rational and intelligent thought. It was impossible for her to process anything beyond the soothingly familiar scent of his cologne as he continued the massage.

Warnings flashed in her mind and she couldn’t ignore them. Deliberately, she turned slowly, lifting her eyes to his. Taylor noted a slight amount of apprehension in his gaze. But mostly she saw a smoldering, tightly leashed passion that threatened to turn her knees to jelly.

It was easier—not to mention smarter—to simply walk away before this went down the proverbial path of no return. That was the wise move and she knew it. Which was why she lifted her palms and placed them against his chest. She fully intended to push him away, toss out a cutting barb, then find sanctuary in her room.

Those good intentions pretty much evaporated the minute she felt the taut plane of corded muscle beneath her palms. The rapid, even pace of his heartbeat. Shane’s body was as solid as a statue and as unyielding as his clear blue eyes. Her fingers fanned out, as if acting of their own volition. Her normally sharp intellect was no match for the years of curiosity that fueled the longing building in the core of her being.

The pads of his fingertips slipped slowly up, over the flushed skin of her throat. His eyes fixed on her mouth, on the way her pale, rose-tinted lips parted ever so slightly when his thumbs hooked beneath her chin. Her eyes blazed but she didn’t look away. Brave Taylor. Maddening Taylor. Shane wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

He also wasn’t sure what his next move should be. Or even if there should be a next move. She sent out mixed signals, and Shane was afraid if he read them wrong he’d be in a world of hurt. He had no idea if Taylor would verbally knock him into the next county or if he was actually seeing possibility in her steady gaze. The signals she was sending right now all seemed to indicate she was as interested and inquisitive as he was. However, she’d shot him down enough times that he was unwilling to rely on the reading or misreadings of signals alone.

“Is now a good time for me to kiss you senseless?” he asked, applying subtle pressure to properly position her upturned face.

“That would certainly level the playing field. Then we could both be senseless.”

He smiled in spite of the remark, only because he felt her trembling. Though Taylor couldn’t keep her sharp tongue in check, neither could she keep her body from reacting. Thankfully, that much she couldn’t hide. The knowledge made him feel a tad more confident. So Shane inched his forefinger toward her mouth. He loved seeing that flash of heat in her eyes as he brushed it across her lower lip. He felt her breath rush over his hand. When she moved fractionally closer, Shane increased the pressure of his fingertip, his confidence rising.

His palm rested against her throat, allowing him to feel a hint of her response. Taylor’s pulse quickened, growing more and more rapid as he dipped his head, stopping just short of making contact.

He could have pulled her against him. Lord knew he wanted to—had for what seemed like forever. He could have kissed her, tested the passion that was smoldering in her eyes. But then he would have given up this. The heady, powerful sense of expectation coiled in every last one of his cells.

Somehow, seeking personal fulfillment suddenly didn’t seem as important as knowing she felt something. Maybe the same things he did. As strange as it sounded to his desire-addled brain, he needed her to make the move, be the aggressor. Say it out loud, clearly, without equivocation, letting him know this was what she wanted from him.

“Tell me,” he prompted. “Tell me what you want.”

For the first time ever, he saw something bordering on indecision pass through her pretty eyes. Not exactly encouraging, but not totally discouraging either. He took it as a minor victory.

“I—I’m not sure.”

It took all of Shane’s fortitude and self-restraint to step back. His body practically throbbed with need denied, but if he had any hope of changing the nature of their relationship, this was the best way to go. He hoped. “Well, until you are, I can’t help you. Good night, Taylor.”

She blinked up at him, said nothing, then turned and walked briskly down the hall. At first, he labeled her quick retreat as a defeat, but then he saw the way she was digging her nails into her palms as she hurried away. He smiled. So, Taylor Reese wasn’t as immune as she pretended. That knowledge alone made the whole self-denial thing worth it.