Friday, August 2, 6:00 P.M.
Luke wasn’t sure why he’d come. A phone call would’ve been more efficient, and he had no doubt Faith would do her best to persuade his brother to recant that damning confession without more prompting. Yet here he was, lounging on Faith’s sectional, waiting for her to return from the kitchen with his beer. He tore his gaze away from the kitchen door, but his thoughts remained on Faith.
He pictured her smiling, leaning over to hand him a cold bottle. Her sleek red hair would fall loosely over her shoulders, and her collar would gape open . . . just enough for him to glimpse the tops of her lush breasts. He might even get a peek at a nipple. Their hands would brush. She’d look at him a moment too long before casting a glance around the room, then he’d touch her cheek, turn her face back to him, and drag her into his lap.
And that would spook her for damn sure.
He remembered their first meeting at the gallery. Faith had been standoffish. He’d worked hard and finally managed to put her at ease. Her smile had opened. Her posture had softened. The space between them had grown smaller and smaller until they were separated only by a vanishing layer of highly charged air. Then he’d reached out his hand to touch her, and just like that, she’d disappeared. So no. As much as he’d like to take her in his arms the moment she walked in the room, as much as he’d like to show her how good they could be together, he couldn’t chance it.
He needed Faith to convince Dante to recant. Until then, he’d keep his hands off. But once she succeeded in that—and she had to succeed or else there’d be no hope for his brother—he intended to make good on his word.
When I see something I want, Faith, I don’t apologize. I just go get it.
So who was he kidding? He knew exactly what he was doing sitting on Faith’s couch. He dusted his hands together, got to his feet, and went to wait for her by the window. If she leaned over him, he’d wind up doing something he’d regret. Sensing her approach, he turned to face her.
“I only had a light. I hope that’s okay.” Faith touched his shoulder, then handed off the beer.
She’d poured it for him into a frozen mug, and the frosted glass nearly froze his palm. Good. He could do with a little cooling off. From this distance, he could smell that fresh-flower scent on her skin, and he willed her to back up a little.
Instead, she came closer.
“Light’s perfect.” He licked ice off the rim of the mug, then took a slug. The beer burned his chest on the way down, and he sputtered out a cough.
Smooth, Luke. Real smooth.
He didn’t care for small talk, so he jumped right in. “I know I’ve been a jerk up to now, Faith, but I promise I’ll do better in the future.”
Her eyes opened a bit wider. “No worries. I turned your brother in to the police. It’s only natural you’d be angry.”
“You did what you had to do.” He should’ve told her that from the get-go. Instead, he’d blamed her, made her feel worse than she already did. “When I heard my brother had been arrested and accused of murder, I couldn’t think straight. But like I said, I get it now, and I came to thank you for agreeing to talk with Dante. If anyone can make him see reason, get him to recant, it’s you.” He took another sip of beer, slowly this time. “You seem to be the only person he actually trusts.”
“You’re a good brother, Luke.”
He didn’t deserve the admiring look she was giving him, but he definitely liked it. “I’m not perfect. Hard to believe, I know.”
“Oh, it’s not hard at all.” Her tone was teasing. “I wasn’t laboring under the impression you were anywhere close to perfect. But what you’ve done for your brother is admirable. Even for brothers raised together, it’d be difficult for one to give away half his inheritance to the other. But that’s exactly what you’re doing for a man you haven’t seen in almost twenty years—a man you barely know. Right now, the whole world is against Dante, but you’re standing by him, and you won’t let him turn you away no matter how hard he tries.”
“Dante doesn’t know what’s good for him. I barely trust him to choose his own breakfast, so no, I can’t let him face a murder charge alone.”
“A lesser man would breathe a sigh of relief and wash his hands of the whole matter the moment his brother refused his help.”
He shook his head, uncertain if he should disillusion her. What if she heard him out and decided he was more toad than prince? On the flip side, if he won her heart—and it seemed her heart might be the very thing he was after—based on a lie, that would be worth nothing to him. He needed her to see the man he truly was, not the man she wanted him to be. “When I was a kid, I begged my father to send both Dante and his mother, Sylvia, away.”
Faith’s body stiffened, and she quickly smoothed away a fleeting frown.
“I don’t feel good about it, but it’s true. When I was five, our housekeeper, Sylvia gave birth to Dante. Once it came to light that he was my father’s son, the tension between my parents became unbearable. For nearly a decade after, if my father entered a room, my mother would walk out. I don’t know how many times I caught her crying in secret. Then one day I had enough of seeing my mother cry, and I begged Dad to get rid of them. Sylvia and Dante lived in small guesthouse we called the casita. I thought if they left the ranch, things would go back to normal.”
“So your father sent them away?” Faith asked softly.
“Not that day, no. But later, a month or so maybe, my father came and told me Dante was leaving for good.”
“Only Dante? Not his mother, too?”
Saying this out loud was harder than he’d anticipated. “It was early morning.” He tried, but he couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. “A policeman came to our house. He stood in the kitchen and talked with my father a long time. That afternoon, Dad explained what had happened—Sylvia had died in an accident. She’d been drinking, and her car went over a railing on a mountain pass.”
Faith’s eyes flickered up as if she were trying to remember something. “Dante told me his mother died in a car accident, but he never said anything about your father’s sending him away that same day.” She shook her head slightly. “You’d think he’d have told his therapist something like that.”
“Maybe it’s too hard for him to talk about. You hadn’t been treating him very long.”
“Long enough for him to confess murder.”
“Long enough for him to give you a false confession to murder. The things he confessed to you are in his head, whereas this really happened. So it’s not the same at all. Anyway, the point is I wanted Dante and Sylvia out of my life. Out of my family. And suddenly they were gone. My father sent Dante away that very same night. He wasn’t even allowed to attend Sylvia’s funeral.”
“I can hardly believe your father sent Dante away the same night his mother was killed.”
“Heartless bastard.” He jerked his hand, and beer sloshed over the side of the mug. “Even I knew that wasn’t right, and I was just a selfish kid.”
Her sigh was heavy, and he wondered again if telling her the truth had been the right the thing to do. But he’d kept his family’s secrets far too long. Besides, the more Faith knew about the family, the more likely it was she could help his brother. “So you see, I got my wish. I never wanted Sylvia to get hurt, but the result of her death was that I got everything I asked for. Suddenly, I was an only child, the center of my parents’ world. My mom and dad stayed together. Without Sylvia and Dante around as a constant reminder of my father’s infidelity, they were able to tolerate each other until I left for college. I got everything, and Dante got nothing. It was almost as if my father erased them. Like Dante and Sylvia never existed.”
“The fact that you resented Dante when you were a child, and for very understandable reasons, doesn’t diminish what you’re doing for him now.” Her expression hadn’t altered during the entire conversation. She still thought better of him than she should.
“I’m only doing what’s right, so don’t give me too much credit. Nothing I do will ever make up for what my father did to Dante, or for my own selfish part in it. But I have to try because I’m all he has left.”
Like he’d imagined earlier, Faith held his gaze a moment too long, then cast a glance around the room.
His hands itched to touch her. He headed back to the couch and made a production of choosing a coaster for his beer. She sat down beside him—too close. He gripped his fingers together tightly and changed the subject. “I’ve decided we should have a security system installed in your house—on my dime. After all, you’re helping with the case, and a woman shouldn’t—”
Now her expression altered. He found what he read as her miffed face, adorable—and he wasn’t the type of guy who found things adorable. “I don’t need you to pay for a security system. I’m already shopping for the best deal, and I can handle this myself.” She fiddled with the hem of her blouse. “I don’t think you came here to thank me at all. I think that was just an excuse to check up on me.”
He had indeed wanted to check up on her. “Busted.” He grinned. “I’m checking up on someone all right, but not you. I wanted to see how my good friend, Chica, is doing.”
In immediate response, a howl came from the other room. Then, Chica herself, looking a good five pounds heavier already, trotted into the room and plopped at his feet. “Good girl.” He leaned down and scratched behind her ears.
Faith’s smile returned. “The vet says she’s a genuine miracle dog. She’s not only getting fat and happy, but she should be able to carry her pups just fine.” Her enthusiasm showed in both her voice and her hand gestures. “And I can tell you I didn’t want to have to break the news to Tommy if there weren’t going to be any puppies. He’s already picking out names.”
“Tommy’s the kid next door, right?”
“Right.” Faith’s phone-messaging alert sounded. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and said, “Speak of the devil, look at this cute pic I just got of Tommy making the rounds with Chica.” Her brow drew down. “Says contact unknown. Maybe Tommy’s mother got a new phone.”
She passed him her cell, and sure enough, there was a small boy with a big grin on his face and a tail-wagging Chica by his side.
The message alert sounded again, and Faith took her phone back. “Tommy’s so—” Her voice broke off midsentence. Her hand opened, and the phone slid to the floor. She grew so still, he couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not.
With one arm, he pulled her against him, and with the other hand he picked up her cell. “It’s going be okay, babe.”
“No. It’s not going to be okay,” she said in a strangled voice.
He tightened his hold on her, glanced down at the cell, and found himself unable to look away, unable even to blink. There were now two images, both from the same unknown contact. The first was the picture of Tommy and Chica. The second photo showed a bloodied boy with his hands and feet bound. Luke’s heart stopped, then started again when he recognized the photo of Kenneth Stoddard.
The Saint’s first victim.
Keeping his hand steady, he eased his own cell out of his pocket and hit speed dial. An operator picked up. He took a long, controlled breath. “Luke Jericho for Detective Johnson. Tell him it’s urgent.”