Sandra Brown - Low Pressure

“What would it matter?”

His harshness wounded her deeply. Had all the times they’d laughed and talked together, all the times he’d taken her side against Susan’s and vice versa—had all those shared experiences meant nothing to him?

When she was on the brink of flunking an algebra exam, it was Steven who’d convinced her that the test wouldn’t define the rest of her life, but then had coached her to a passing grade. It was he who had insisted that her braces were barely noticeable and that her pimples would eventually go away. Whenever her self-esteem was at a low ebb, he’d forecasted that one day she would be beautiful and that her future would be bright. Brighter even than Susan’s.

She had considered him more brother than stepbrother, and she had thought he felt the same about her. Yet he had shut her out of his life effectively and entirely. She had been dispensable to him, and realizing that was acutely painful.

“ You mattered, Steven,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “You, your life, your loves mattered to me.”

He looked somewhat chastened. “Try to understand. When I left Austin, I had to abandon everything. That was the only way I could survive. I had to make a life for myself that was free of that one. If I’d taken any aspect of it with me, even you, I would have stayed shackled to it all. I had to make a clean break. No attachments. Except for Mother, and I keep her at a distance that’s safe to my well-being.”

“That’s why you made an excuse anytime I tried to get together with you in New York.”

“You were a reminder of the worst years of my life. You still are.”

“And you’re still a shit.”

Steven looked sharply at Dent, who’d spoken for the first time since their lukewarm handshake.

“You were a sniveling, selfish kid, and so far I’ve seen no improvement.”

“Dent!” Bellamy exclaimed in a whisper.

But he wasn’t finished. “She went to a lot of trouble to come here. You could at least pretend to be glad to see her.”

When she was about to speak again, Steven held up his hand. “It’s okay, Bellamy. He’s right. I am a shit. It’s a survival tactic. Not meant to hurt you.” He smiled ruefully as he reached out and stroked her smooth cheek, and, as though reading her thoughts of several moments earlier, murmured, “Just as I predicted. The duckling has turned into a swan.”

Then he lowered his hand, and the glimmer of affection she’d seen in his eyes flickered out. “It took time, therapy, and diligence, but I reinvented myself. I was content with the life I’d made. But now your book and the ballyhoo it’s created has brought back everything I ran from. Once again, I’m that skinny, frightened kid being grilled by the police.”

“Dale Moody?” she asked.

“Big guy. Barrel chest. Gravelly voice. He questioned me several times. The interrogations didn’t come to anything, but being a suspect, even for a short time, scarred me for life.”

“Dent said as much.”

Steven looked over at him, taking him in fully. “Pardon my curiosity. There was no love lost between you and our family, but here you are in Atlanta with Bellamy. Why?”

Bellamy spoke before he could. “I chartered a flight with Dent in the hope of mending fences.”

“It didn’t work. In fact, Mother was terribly upset over seeing him.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So why is he here with you now?”

After a lengthy hesitation, she said, “Someone has been menacing me for weeks. I need to know who and why.”

She recapped for Steven everything that had happened and ended by saying, “I haven’t told Olivia or Daddy. Please don’t mention it, because they don’t need another worry. But we—Dent and I—don’t think the acts of vandalism done to my house and his airplane were random or coincidental. Whoever committed them is somehow connected to that Memorial Day.”

He frowned skeptically. “That’s an awfully broad leap, isn’t it?”

“Dent and I have nothing else in common.”

Steven gave each of them a long look. “I’m connected to that day. Did you come to accuse me of painting a threat on your bedroom wall?”

“Of course not.” She reached for his hand. “I’m hoping you’ll share some of your recollections and impressions of that day.”

“To what end? You’ve already written the book on it.”

Dent snickered at the wry remark. She didn’t acknowledge it. She had decided that, for the time being, she would tell no one else about her lost frames of time. But it was important that Steven fill in some of the gaps. “Will you answer a few questions?”

He looked annoyed. “What purpose will be served by talking about it?”

“Humor me. Please.”

He considered it for a moment, then gave her a brusque nod.

She wasted no time. “Shortly before the tornado, you left the pavilion and went down to the boathouse.”

Another curt nod.

“Why? Why were you going to the boathouse?”

“For beer.”

“Beer? You hated beer. You told me that you had tried it at a party and hated the taste.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to give it another try. Word had got around that some guys had smuggled beer to the boathouse. I went to check it out, but no one was there. Only a bunch of cans. I was on my way back to the pavilion when somebody spotted the funnel and everybody started screaming. I was nearer the boathouse, so I ran back and took cover there.”

She nodded absently. “When I came after you—”

“When you came after me?”

“To warn you of the approaching storm.”

“You did?”

His reaction mystified her. “Why does that surprise you? It was in the book. If you read it—”

“I did. But I thought you were only capsulizing for narrative clarity.”

“That’s not the way you remember it?”

“After I left the pavilion, I didn’t see you again until you were rescued from the wreckage of the boathouse.”

“You didn’t see me there earlier?”

He shook his head. “I have no idea how you got there.”

Bellamy glanced over at Dent. He was looking at her, his eyebrow eloquently arched. Turning back to Steven, she said, “After the tornado, you managed to get out from under the debris.”

“It was sheer luck that I wasn’t crushed by the collapsing walls. But that section of the boathouse fell outward instead of in. I was scratched up and dazed, but nothing serious. I managed to wiggle my way out of the rubble and wandered back toward the pavilion. Howard and Mom practically smothered me with hugs. But of course they were frantic to find Susan and you.”

Steven’s recollections of the storm’s aftermath coincided with Dent’s, so Bellamy didn’t linger on them. “Why did Detective Moody question you?”

“Because of the sexual overtones of the crime. He interrogated every man past puberty, especially those close to her. The boyfriend,” he said, tipping his head toward Dent. “I was her stepbrother, but that didn’t exclude me. Even Howard was questioned.”

Bellamy was stunned. “Daddy was questioned? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sure that Mother and Howard protected you from knowing about it because of the disturbing implication.”

“It’s not disturbing, it’s disgusting.”

Steven looked down and traced the white tablecloth’s weave pattern with the tip of his finger. “Moody wasn’t so far off base.”

His softly spoken words had the effect of falling bricks. Bellamy was shocked dumb. Dent said nothing, either, but placed his elbow on the table and cupped his mouth and chin with his hand. Steven must have felt the pressure of his solemn stare, because when he gave up his study of the tablecloth, it was Dent he addressed.