B.J. Daniels - Hotshot P.i.

Sometimes she could almost forget about the upcoming trial. Almost pretend none of this was really happening. Then she’d get a flash of Dex Westfall sprawled on the couch in the garret. Murdered. And her standing over him with the murder weapon in her hand. One of her own sculptures.

Her heart told her she hadn’t killed him. But reason argued: how do you know you didn’t? You were asleep. And look at all the evidence against you.

Exhaustion tugged at her, beckoning her to the one place where she didn’t have to think. Sweet slumber. But with sweet slumber came somnambulism, and she feared her nocturnal wanderings. Look what had happened tonight. What had happened tonight? She wasn’t even sure. Her hands shook as she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

She clung to only one hope. That somehow she could prove her innocence. And the only place she knew to start was with Dex. She had to find out everything there was to know about him, including why he’d ended up dead in her garret.

She told herself going to Bozeman, to another county, wasn’t really violating her bail. And anyway, she’d be back before anyone even knew she was missing. If she was lucky. But she’d take extra clothing, just in case. In case she found out something that would prove she had killed him and she decided to make a run for it?

Clancy was coming down the stairs, her hair wrapped in the towel turban-style, when she heard the pounding at her back door.

“Clancy, I know you’re still up,” Jake called. “You might as well open the door.”

She pulled the towel off her head, shook out her hair and used the tip of the damp towel to clean her glasses. Maybe he was coming to tell her he was leaving, going back to wherever her aunt had found him. Hadn’t she wished for the opportunity to really see him before he left?

If only her other wishes were granted that easily, she thought as she opened the door to find him standing on her step. He’d changed out of his wet jeans; he wore chinos and a white T-shirt that accented his broad shoulders and his tanned, muscular arms. A Houston Astros cap was snugged down on his sandy blond head; his hair curled at the nape of his neck still wet from a shower. His clean, spicy smell engulfed her.

“It’s late,” she said, but he didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. The same way she was staring at him.

Her earlier impression of Jake hadn’t done him justice. He’d been cute at nineteen; now he was strikingly goodlooking. Strong features. A full, sensual mouth. Expressive gray eyes. A man with character. He had the kind of face she’d love to sculpt. A mixture of toughness and tenderness.

“You wear glasses,” he said simply, sounding pleased.

She didn’t tell him she’d worn glasses since she was fifteen—just not around him when she was a girl. “I can’t see much without them.”

He smiled then. “That’s nice.” He leaned one broad shoulder against the jamb.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. Goodbye? Or maybe that he was sorry he’d hurt her. Or even that he understood she’d only done what she had to at the trial. “It’s late,” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said, the smile dissolving as if he’d suddenly remembered why he’d come over. “It’s about your case.”

She stared at him, telling herself she shouldn’t be surprised. “I thought I fired you.”

His frown deepened. “Your aunt hired me, and she’s the only one who can fire me. And trust me, as much trouble as she’s gone to to get me here, there isn’t much chance of that happening.”

Clancy could only assume her Aunt Kiki had lost her mind.

“So now that we have that settled.” He glanced past her into the lodge.

“Yes, I guess that settles everything.” She yawned openly, not that the Jake Hawkins she used to know could take a hint.

“Except for one thing,” Jake said, his voice deadly soft. “I had a fishing trip planned that your aunt interrupted to get me up here.” He held up his hand to silence her before she could tell him what he could do with his fishing trip.

“Let me give it to you straight. I’m here for only one reason—to get the goods on you,” he said, his gaze hard as his body looked.

She swallowed, the cold hatred in his voice making her heart ache, her eyes burn with tears. Only stubborn determination kept her from crying. She wasn’t about to let him see how much he’d hurt her ten years ago, how much he could still hurt her.

“I’m going to find evidence I can use against you,” he said. “And then you’re going to tell me the truth about what you really saw the night of the resort fire, the night Lola Strickland was murdered.”

Clancy started to tell him she had told the truth, but she knew it would be a waste of breath. He hadn’t believed her at the trial, why would he believe her now?

She looked into his eyes, wondering what had happened to the boy she’d loved, the boy who had loved her. She saw nothing in all that gray but bitterness. But instead of hating him, her heart broke as she thought of all the years he’d suffered. Because of his father. Because of her. Jake should have trusted her. He should have known she wouldn’t lie, she wouldn’t hurt him or his father, and she wouldn’t have thrown away their love without a fight, the way Jake had.

“In the meantime,” Jake said, “you and I are going to be inseparable until you’re acquitted—or sent to prison.”

She bit back a curse. “You’re making prison look better all the time.”

His gaze met hers. “I think I know why you lied about my father, but no matter the reason, you’re going to admit it to me. And very soon.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap. “See you in the morning.”

She slammed the door and dropped into a chair at the table, feeling incredibly tired and despondent. Aunt Kiki had brought Jake back knowing how he felt about Clancy, knowing how she’d once felt about him. That old familiar ache seized her heart in a death grip. How Clancy still felt about him.

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down over her cheeks, bitter on her tongue. She wiped at them. She still loved him. Through all the hurt, she’d never stopped loving him. Could never stop loving him. But like him, she felt betrayed. And angry with him for not trusting her. She knew she’d have to draw on that anger to keep Jake from knowing how she felt about him—and using it against her.

Emotional exhaustion and lack of solid sleep stole at her strength. She leaned her head on her arms and closed her eyes, telling herself she’d rest for a while, just until she could be sure Jake was asleep. Crossing the lake at night seemed less dangerous now. Much less dangerous than facing Jake Hawkins. If there was more incriminating evidence out there against her, Jake would find it.

She wished with all her heart that she could turn back the clock, back before the night of the fire and Lola’s murder, back when Jake loved her. She closed her eyes. And saw Jake come sauntering up the sandy beach, sixteen and suntanned, that grin she loved on his handsome face. And she ran out to meet him, as carefree as the breeze that rippled the surface of the lake.

* * *

CLANCY OPENED HER EYES, shocked to find the sun streaming in through her bedroom window. Even more shocked to find herself curled in the middle of her bed, the quilt rough with sand from her bare feet. She lay perfectly still, her mind frantically trying to recall when she’d come to bed. No memory.

That’s when she noticed her left hand clenched into a fist, as if she held something that might try to escape. With dread, she slowly uncurled her fingers. There in her palm lay a single tiny blue bead.