Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

“You didn’t hear me admit to anything, either, did you?”

“I heard enough to draw some pretty damning conclusions.”

“Conclusions don’t mean much in court. And somehow I don’t think you want to get on that witness stand and subject yourself to a hostile cross-examination. Could get pretty nasty with Claire in the courtroom.”

“I doubt it will come to that.” Charlotte gave him a faint smile as she held up her cell phone. “I just spoke to Lee Elliot. He corroborated everything Claire said here tonight. You’d better find yourself a damn good lawyer, Alex, because you are in some serious trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge if I were you. Every story has two sides.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“What I told Claire was right, you know. Nothing I did changed anything.”

Now it was Charlotte who gave him a pitying smile. “You’re wrong about that. It changed you, Alex. It turned you into someone that Claire could never fall in love with. And somehow I think that might be the most fitting punishment of all for you.”

She left the apartment as silently as her sister had, and still Alex didn’t move. Through a break in the buildings outside his window, he could see the shimmer of lights on a barge on the river, and he listened for the foghorns that he could sometimes hear at night before he drifted off. The plaintive sound always left him lonely and longing for something that seemed just out of his reach. He’d always thought it was Claire he missed, but now he knew that what he’d really been searching for all these years was his soul.

When had he become one of the bad guys? Alex wondered. The transformation had been so subtle, he hadn’t seen it coming. One bribe, one payoff, the first time he’d agreed to look the other way. When had his ambition convinced him that in the scheme of things, none of that really mattered? The bigger picture was all that counted.

And then, as the years went by, it became about survival—covering his ass. One thing led to another until he hadn’t worried so much about right and wrong anymore, and somewhere along the way, he’d started to think of himself as immune, untouchable.

And now the sins of his past were all catching up with him.

The barge disappeared and the sounds of traffic outside his window faded. He got up to turn off the light, then went back to his place on the couch, a strange lightness in his limbs. The apartment was empty and silent, and for the first time in years, Alex Girard sat alone in the dark with his conscience.

Dave had been home for a long time, but he hadn’t felt like going up to bed yet. When he first got in, he’d fixed himself something to eat and turned on the television, watched a movie straight through and then the news. When he started nodding off, he carried his plate into the kitchen, rinsed it off in the sink, then went upstairs to shower.

Crawling into bed, he stretched out his legs, trying to relax, but it took a long time for the tension to drain out of him. He’d just managed to drift off when the sound of a car in his drive startled him awake. He got up and went over to the window to see who it was.

He recognized the car, and he watched as the door opened and Claire got out. She looked up at the house, but Dave didn’t think she could see him in the window. He hadn’t turned on the light. Pulling on a pair of jeans, he went downstairs to let her in.

She was still coming across the yard when he stepped out on the porch. She heard the door and faltered. “Dave?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Moonlight flooded the yard and a mild breeze drifted through the trees. He could see the gleam of her hair, hear the swish of her skirt as she started toward the porch.

He reached over and unlatched the screen, realizing suddenly that he was nervous. “Are you okay?”

“I guess so.” She climbed the steps and Dave held the door open for her, but she hesitated. “I got you out of bed, didn’t I? I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t asleep. What brings you out here at this hour?”

She smiled apologetically as she stepped up on the porch. “I couldn’t sleep, either.”

It was a warm night, but Dave thought he could see her shiver. “You want to come inside?”

“Could we just sit out here for a while?”

“Sure.”

But she didn’t sit. Instead she walked to the end of the porch and stared out at the bayou. Dave was behind her, but he made sure he didn’t cramp her space as he watched her in the darkness. She’d changed clothes since she left the cabin earlier, and he thought he could smell her shampoo in the breeze. It was sweet, like honeysuckle.

“I went to see Alex tonight.” She turned, and their eyes met briefly before she glanced away.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She lifted a hand to the back of her neck. “No. That’s not why I came all the way out here. I want you to tell me about Savannah Sweete.”

“I would have called you in the morning.”

“I know, but I didn’t want to wait. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to find that doll.”

“I’ll tell you what I know, but it’s not much. Like I said earlier, she lives about thirty miles south of Houma, near Tiber. I drove by her place yesterday, but I couldn’t get in to see her. The gate across the property was locked, so I went back to town and asked around about her. Your information seems to be pretty accurate. She’s an artist who specializes in portrait dolls, and they can run as high as two or three thousand dollars.”

“Is that all the information you could get?”

“Pretty much. You were right about the accident, too. She’s confined to a wheelchair and hardly ever leaves her house. The people I talked to seemed pretty protective of her, but when I explained the situation to the parish sheriff, he said he’d have a word with her nephew, see about getting us in to meet her. He even offered to drive out there with us if we need him to.”

Clare glanced up at him. “We?”

“I’d like to be there when you talk to her. If that’s okay with you.”

“I don’t know, Dave. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea anymore.”

“Isn’t that why you came to me in the first place? You wanted me to help you find the doll. What’s changed?”

She paused, glanced out at the darkness, and said softly, “We’ve changed.”

He looked at her standing there, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

She turned away, but he could still see her profile. Her face looked pale and fragile, but her backbone was ramrod straight as she gazed out at the trees. Her hair was pinned up in back and the moonlight glistened along her creamy skin. And at that moment, Dave would have cut off his arm with a butter knife for one brief touch of that smooth neck.

“I lied,” she said softly. “I didn’t come out here to talk about Savannah Sweete. The truth is, I don’t know why I came.”

He swallowed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Dave…”

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his backbone. He stood silently, a strange humming inside him. It was as if every nerve ending in his body had suddenly come to life after years of lying dormant. He reached up, brushed the softness of her cheek with his fingertips, and she trembled.

Afterward, she went into the bathroom to dress. She came back out wearing only her shirt and panties, and as she perched on the edge of the bed, Dave reached out and drew his finger down her backbone. She was so beautiful to look at, and her skin was like warm silk. Her hair had fallen loose from the pins and hung in tangled curls about her shoulders.

She shivered at his touch and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come out here with that in mind.”