CHAPTER NINE

Ellie spent the ten-mile drive back to Stillwater alternately banging on the steering wheel and wiping tears from her cheeks, while a string of increasingly creative expletives streamed from her mouth. God, men were worthless. Why was it always the women who have to be so strong?

“FUCK.” She banged her hand on the steering wheel again. This time, it tingled painfully up her wrist to her arm.

“Great. Just great. So, Ellie? How did you hurt your wrist? Oh, you know, banging my fucking steering wheel over a goddamn man.”

She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth a few times. “Get a grip, Elliot.”

She turned into a driveway almost obscured by trees, wild roses, and blackberry bushes. A crooked post stood at the end, a dented mailbox on the ground a few feet away. She stopped the car and got out. Fucking kids. She didn’t know why she kept fixing it. No one lived here anymore, and the post office knew to forward the mail to her. Still, she picked up the mailbox and put it in her back seat before driving on.

The road wound through a tunnel of trees, the sight of their golden and red leaves soothing her fevered brain, before ending in front of an A-frame house. Trees dwarfed the house so sunlight rarely broke through, making it a perfect retreat during the long, hot Texas summers. Lake Yourke spread out behind the house, down fifteen feet from the long drought, but calm on this cool November morning.

She turned off the car and let her hands drop from the steering wheel. She closed her eyes. Jack’s face floated before her, sad, strained, and pathetic. She jerked the car door open, got out, and walked around the house and down to the end of the pier. The lake was empty other than a small boat far across in a small cove known for catfish. The boat moved a bit and stopped. Moved and stopped. Checking a trot line, no doubt.

The house loomed behind her, full of memories she would rather not confront. That was a lie. If she didn’t want to wallow in the memory, she wouldn’t have turned off the highway.

When she and Jack said goodbye on that sultry, September night, she was full of hope. He loved her, and four months wasn’t long to wait, but as the weeks dragged on, doubts crept in. They had known each other for seven days, for Christ’s sake. They’d never been on a date. Eaten dinner together. Watched a movie. Debated politics. Argued. There was the real chance when they did fall into a normal relationship, they would realize they weren’t compatible. Or Jack would discover the flaw in Ellie that seemed to repel men, to make it easy to betray and hurt her. Either way, there was an even chance all of this drama would be for nothing, the relationship wouldn’t last, and she would be alone again. Best to move on. She had thrown herself into her business, the redevelopment of downtown Stillwater, and her campaign. Work and focus had gotten her through every other challenge in her life. Jack McBride would be no different.

But who was she kidding? She couldn’t move on or forget. The memory of their last night together hadn’t consoled her; it had tormented her. The knowledge that happiness had been right there, in her grasp—the kind of happiness fairy tales sell you, the kind that normal people don’t really believe in but damn would they like to—had been one word away from being a reality. Instead, it was torpedoed by her fucking sense of right and wrong, by her concern for a fourteen-year-old boy who would hate her no matter what she did, by her knowledge that if she and Jack did the selfish thing, the thing that would make them happy, the fallout would only make them miserable in the end.

So, she did what she always did. Controlled what she ate, when she ate at all. Pushed herself every morning to run faster and farther. Drank more than normal. Let Jane Maxwell talk her into running for a city council seat she didn’t want. At least she hadn’t slept with Eddie, though she’d been sorely tempted to, especially on the nights the vision of Jack making love to Julie kept her from sleep. Instead, she went to Dallas one Saturday night and looked up an occasional lover she knew would be willing and whose only question would be, “How can I make you feel good?”

Control was the key. Anytime she’d allowed her control to slip, this happened. And, fucking shocker; it always involved a man. Daddy issues. Ha. How fucking stereotypical could you get?

Ellie turned to face the house. She wasn’t there to confront her memories. She was there because she didn’t want to be told what to do by anyone. Especially a man.

Especially Jack McBride.

She walked up the stairs to the deck and stopped. The glass sliding door was open a few inches. She knew she hadn’t left it open last time she was here.

“‘So, how was Ellie murdered, Chief McBride?’” Ellie said quietly in her best reporter voice.

Ellie lowered her voice in an impersonation of Jack. “‘She specifically disobeyed my completely reasonable, professional suggestion to let the authorities handle it.’”

Ellie crept toward the door. “‘So, she was hard-headed?’”

“‘You have no idea.’”

The sheer curtains covering the sliding glass door blew gently in the breeze. When she touched the handle, she remembered a conversation she’d had with Susan and Kelly over wine once about how stupid horror movie characters were. Why do they always walk through the door? Just fucking run away, they all said, falling over in laughter. Here she was, walking straight into a stereotypical horror movie scenario.

“At least I haven’t just had sex. I’d be a goner for sure.”

She opened the door.

Enough light filtered through the sheer curtains to show Ellie she was alone. Instinctively, she pulled out her phone and called Jack. He answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Ellie?” Hope laced his voice.

“Jack, there’s a meth lab in my kitchen.”

Ellie leaned against her car outside the crime scene tape strung from tree to tree, twenty feet from the house. Jack, Ann and Tammy Cole ducked under the tape and walked to her. Ellie straightened to meet them.

“Well,” Ann said, “the good news is they hadn’t started cooking yet. Just set it up.”

“We told you not to come out here.” Anger laced Jack’s voice.

Ellie crossed her arms and glared at him. Could he be any more obvious that his feelings about her actions weren’t professional, but personal? She wanted to punch him in the chest, or maybe slap him, but knew it would be left up to her to deflect suspicion. “I’m sorry,” she said, in as contrite a voice as possible. “It was on my way. I wasn’t thinking, I guess.”

“Did you see anyone around the house or on the road in?” Tammy Cole said.

“None after I got off the highway.”

Ann pulled her phone out and held it up to Ellie. A phone number was highlighted in a text message. “Recognize this number?”

“No. Why?”

“About the time you called Jack, 911 got a call about suspicious behavior out here at your house. From this number.”

“I’m pretty sure no one saw me. I know I didn’t see anyone.”

“Maybe you were distracted,” Tammy said.

“Maybe,” Ellie said.

“When was the last time you were out here?” Ann asked.

“A couple weeks ago?”

“I thought you said you didn’t come out here much,” Tammy said.

“I don’t. Maybe it was more like four or five.”

“Were you out here alone?”

“No.” Ellie paused. She felt Jack’s gaze. Lied. “Sometimes I come out here with my friends, drink wine, visit.”

“We’re going to need the names of who’s been out here. To account for their fingerprints.”

“Okay.”

Ann took out a small notebook and pen.

“Now?” Ellie asked.

“If there aren’t many.”

“Kelly Kendrick. Susan Grant. Barbara Dodsworth cleans it every month. I can call her and get the names of which maids cleaned it last.”

“We can do that.” She looked up. “Anyone else?”

Ellie looked at Jack and was about to speak when he said, “Me.”

Tammy Cole rested her hands on her gun belt, shifted a bit on her feet, and looked away. Ann Newberry didn’t say anything for a moment. Ellie closed her eyes, looked away and shook her head.

The sheriff flipped her notebook closed and pocketed it. “Okay, then. You can go. I’ll be in touch with you later. Cole, want to take a look at this?” Ann nodded toward the house.

“Sure,” Tammy replied and followed.

Ellie turned away and cursed under her breath.

“It’s fine. Ann and Cole won’t say anything,” Jack said.

She turned back to Jack, her face burning with anger. “Why did you say anything?”

“They were going to figure it out as soon …”

“No, they wouldn’t have. The house has been cleaned since you’ve been here.”

“There would have been a print.”

“I doubt they’re going to dust the bedroom.”

“I wasn’t only in the bedroom, now was I? Why are you so angry? When you looked at me, I assumed …”

“Well, you were wrong.” She jerked open the car door and got in. Before she could close it, Jack grabbed the door.

“Whose prints are they going to find?”

“Eddie’s.”

Jack’s face hardened. “What are Eddie’s prints doing out here?”

All the anger at Jack from earlier came rushing back. “What do you think?”

Jack’s face turned red. “Eddie wouldn’t betray me.”

“But I would?”

Jack opened his mouth, but closed it. He wasn’t sure. Fucking perfect. Ellie laughed. “Trust me, your brother’s been trying like hell to betray you since the moment he rode into town.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie?”

Jack remained silent. Ellie started her car and tried to shut the door. Jack held on.

“Are you fucking my brother?” he said, as though he couldn’t believe he was asking the question.

“No. But I’m pretty sure your wife has.”

She yanked the door from Jack’s grip, slammed it in his face, and drove off.