Unforgivable (Romantic Suspense) Page 3

  Lost in the shadows.

  That’s how she felt, lost in Ben’s shadow and his identity. Maybe she was supposed to be happy with just him and their nice little life. That’s how it was with her and her mama. Just the two of them, closer than Siamese twins. Mama didn’t trust people, but she was adventurous in her own ways. They walked in the woods at night, went skinny-dipping in the tiny creek trailing deep in the woods. Katie had been fearless then. Adventurous, waiting impatiently to grow up so she could explore the world. She’d never left Flatlands except for one trip to Atlanta with Ben. And her mama had been swallowed up by a darkness darker than the woods behind their mobile home, darker than any monster.

  She pushed open the door and walked outside. The evening air felt like the breath of God, warm and slightly humid, scented by the earth. A bright sliver of moon frosted everything in translucent silver. Twigs creaked in the distance, and something scurried across the layer of decaying leaves. Two feet beyond the far edge of the gazebo lay the black unknown. The forest that bordered her yard was a mix of maples, poplars and oaks, a lush menagerie during the day, a place of mystery at night.

  There was nothing to fear out here; everything to fear was inside her. She settled onto the gazebo bench and ventured to the edge of that fear.

  If she didn’t deserve Ben, then he certainly didn’t deserve her. What did she offer him? Maybe the unselfish thing to do would be to let him go.

  And go where, without any money, friends, or prospects? Certainly she couldn’t keep her job at the hospital if she left him. She’d have nothing, she’d hurt Ben, and…

  You left your mama for one night, and look what happened to her. If you leave Ben…

  A whining sound in the distance pulled her from her smothering thoughts. She tilted her head, trying to discern where it came from. It faded, then started up again a minute later. It sounded like a saw cutting through wood, a sound that always set her teeth on edge. Katie jolted to her feet. No one should be sawing out there. No one should be out there at all. The sound was coming from the direction of Silas Koole’s old place a half-mile to the west, she was sure of it. Nobody had lived there in all the years since he’d been taken away.

  She went inside to call Ben on his cell phone, but her finger halted on the final number. She would have to admit she was outside, because the sound was too faint to hear from inside the house. He’d give her that disappointed look, what a selfish wife he had, thoughtless of her hard-working husband, calling him away from a benevolent task.

  Whoever was sawing wasn’t exactly lurking in the dark. She’d have the advantage of being the lurker. She’d just investigate and decide what to do when she found out what was going on. No confrontations.

  After tucking her feet into sneakers, she set off on a journey that had her heart thudding. Whispers of danger caressed her mind’s ear. Her throat was dry. She hadn’t felt this way in longer than she could remember. Was she crazy to be afraid and to relish the feeling at the same time? The small penlight she’d grabbed from the kitchen drawer lit only a small patch of ground before her feet. Anything more could alert whoever was creating the noise. Her feet sank into the layers of leaves, from last fall and many falls before that. The muffled crunch of leaves seemed to signal to everyone in Flatlands that she was there, trudging through the saplings that brushed softly by her arms.

  When her penlight lit a spray of feathers on the ground, she stopped. It wasn’t a dead bird, no body anyway. Only the brown feathers to signify the lost battle.

  She didn’t believe dead birds were a bad omen anymore, but it never hurt to be a little more cautious after seeing one, just in case. Which made what she was doing even more foolish. Still, her feet took her forward instead of back to the house.

  In a short while, the maples and oaks gave way to a thicket of pines. Some were slash pines, but many were what she called northern pines. Their spindly branches scratched and pulled at her clothes and hair. She shielded her eyes and continued on. It was hard going for ten more minutes, until the pines started mingling with the grand old oaks that surrounded the house where Silas grew up. Like the old oaks by the cemetery, these spread their branches in a canopy. Ivy covered their trunks and dripped from the branches.

  Once in a while she found herself wandering to the Greek Revival house tucked into the forest. It was long past white, though it still looked in good condition. Someone had boarded up the windows in the last couple years, probably the Atlanta company that owned it. Sometimes kids partied there, and Katie picked up the garbage. She couldn’t bear to see the place trashed up.

  The sound grew louder, the high-pitched whining creeping up her spine. If someone hired by the company was working on the house, why after dark? And why didn’t anyone know about it? The city council had been trying to buy the property the house was on, but the company never responded.

  Unease skittered along her nerves when she spotted the light through the trees. Just an innocuous twinkle through the trees as she moved through the dark. The saw ground through another length of board and faded into silence again. Then the staccato sound of hammering. Not enough sound for many people to be making. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind: Stay away from strangers. Don’t trust anyone. As often as she’d heard that during her first nine years, she’d never had reason to be afraid of anyone. This was Flatlands, a quiet town established in the early eighteen hundreds that was separated from the surrounding towns by acres of forest. Folks spent their whole lives here. Nothing bad ever happened in Flatlands.

  Nevertheless, the murder mysteries she liked to indulge in helped create a scene in her mind of illegal activities being carried out in the night, of the innocent person who stumbles across them and pays with their life. Well, she sure wasn’t going to gasp in surprise or trip over a root and give herself away.

  Even the moonlight was obliterated by the trees. Massive trunks covered in etched bark were spaced farther apart now. The thick canopy of leaves left the ground barren of growth. Something cool whispered past her cheek. She stopped, holding her breath before she realized what it was: a strand of the ivy.

  She saw the house first, washed in light and rising out of the distance. Music floated through the air, a rock and roll station that faded in and out. Pressing herself against one of the rough trunks, she peered around it. Sawhorses were set up just outside the front door, a door that was now leaning against one of the massive columns. Three portable lights washed the front of the house and the work area in brightness. A black and gold sport utility vehicle was parked nearby, tailgate open. She got as close as she could to the house, which was closely guarded by the oaks surrounding it.

  A man walked out carrying a length of wood. Her heart reacted first, not a startled jump but a different kind of jolt. He was tall and lean, his brown wavy hair reaching just past his collar. A blue handkerchief worked as a headband. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt that was left unbuttoned. She glimpsed a hard chest and taut stomach as the shirt opened with his movements.

  Silas, a voice whispered in her head.

  He stopped just short of the circular saw and, amazingly, looked into the trees surrounding the house. She hadn’t made a sound, except a startled gasp in her mind. He set the wood against the sawhorses and turned down the radio. And he kept searching.

  She was able to do nothing more than press closer against the tree.

  Silas.

  Could it be him, after all this time? It seemed a dream, a crazy dream that spun her insides and made breathing difficult. The last time she’d seen him had haunted her, Silas being taken away. Even though he had been cleared of suspicion in his father’s death, he’d still been an orphaned minor. Katie had pleaded with the Emersons to take him. The two Emerson boys who went to school with Silas said he was strange, unfriendly, that he’d probably killed his father, and no way would they live with Spooky Silas. So he’d been relegated to state protective services, and Katie had never seen him again.

  Spo
oky and mysterious, yet tender and compassionate. He’d touched her little girl soul and left an imprint that hadn’t quite gone away.

  Silas walked toward the edge of the encroaching trees, then turned back toward her. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he inhaled, the memory of the lanky teenager evaporated. He was still lean, but his chest and shoulders had broadened. He’d grown even taller. The last time she had seen him, he’d been an adult to her young eyes. Now he was all man, and the thought stirred her in some inexplicable way.

  When he opened his eyes, he looked right at her. She was still certain, despite her hammering heartbeat, that he couldn’t see her. She shrank behind the trunk and waited for him to look elsewhere. Curly green mold that was plastered to the trunk pulled at her hair, but she didn’t even move to disentangle herself. This wasn’t the way she wanted to see him again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see him at all, wasn’t sure it was wise. She’d wait him out, for as long as necessary, and go home.

  “Katie.”

  Her eyes widened. It wasn’t a question or unsure guess. Her fingers tightened against the bark. She wasn’t sure what she felt the strongest: trepidation, embarrassment, or something she couldn’t define. She squeezed her eyes closed and hoped she’d misheard, because that made sense. As it was, the pulse in her ears obliterated any sound. A second passed, then two, three.

  Something skittered down her bare arm. Not a wayward vine. Her senses pieced together the feel of a finger grazing her arm and then the words, “Katie, you all right?”

  She jumped and stumbled backward. The loamy ground cushioned her fall, though a bed of marshmallows couldn’t have cushioned her pride.

  “You okay?” he asked, reaching down to her.

  “I’m fine.” She couldn’t see his expression in the shadows, which was probably a good thing. She accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She spent as much time as allowable brushing off the damp leaves clinging to her like leeches. When she looked up at him at last, he was watching her. “Hi, Silas.”

  “Hi, Katie.” His smile was laced with question.

  “I wasn’t…spying on you exactly. I heard the saw and came over to see what was going on.”

  His low laugh vibrated through her. “It’s okay. I was surprised to see you here.” He started walking into the glow of light, turning to see if she was following.

  “Me, too. Surprised to see you here, I mean.”

  Her insides were as jittery as Jell-o as she stepped up beside him. Closer up, she could see that his chest was sprinkled with sawdust. He smelled like a mixture of pine and man, interesting in a way she shouldn’t have found interesting.

  Now she could see that hint of smile he’d surely had when she’d fallen on her butt. She’d forgotten about those deep blue eyes, the way they slanted up complemented by the arch of his eyebrows. She’d forgotten how much his smile had meant to her way back when, like a rare gemstone glittering out of ordinary dust. He reached out, and she readied herself for his touch against her cheek. Instead, he removed a leaf from her hair.

  “Good to see you again, Katie.”

  “Me, too. I mean, it’s good to see you, too.” She rolled her eyes, mortified at the way he was throwing her off. “How’d you know I was there?”

  He shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

  All she could do was nod, though she wasn’t sure she bought it. Still, she was the interloper here, so she had no basis to demand more of an answer.

  He walked over to a cooler on the steps. “Want a drink?”

  “I don’t really drink,” she said, imagining a bottle of beer. Instead he lifted out a bottle of water.

  “At all?” he asked, looking so genuinely perplexed that she knew he was pulling her leg.

  “I’m fine, thanks.” The way her stomach was dancing, she didn’t trust even water. “What are you doing back here? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” Looking at him as she spoke softened her words to the consistency of butter.

  He studied her for a moment. “Did you want to see me again?”

  “Yes,” she answered too quickly. “I mean, I wanted to…I felt bad. I felt responsible for the sheriff finding out about your dad. If you hadn’t taken me to see him about pressing charges, he probably wouldn’t have found out.”

  This time he did touch her face, trailing a finger along her jawline before dropping his hand. His touch raised a trail of goose bumps on her arms. “It wasn’t your fault. It was my decision to go in with you. My choice.”

  “But you did it for me.”

  “My choice.”

  You never helped anyone else. Why me? “What happened to you?”

  He leaned back against the column. A gold cross, two simple bars he wore on a chain, caught the light. She wondered if it was the same cross he’d worn before. “They sent me away to a foster family in Adgateville. I figured all they wanted was someone to tend the garden and fix up the house. I took off, went to Atlanta.”

  She leaned against the column across from him. “I tried to find out where you were. No one would tell me.”

  He took a drink of water and set the bottle down. “It’s hard to be resourceful at nine. Were the Emersons good to you? I was afraid they were going to work you to death, too.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How’d you know where I went?”

  “Fifteen-year-olds are more resourceful. I checked on you once in a while. Came back a few times.”

  “Came here? To Flatlands?”

  The lines of his face had sharpened over the years. With his shaggy hair and easy posture, he still reminded her of a wolf. He nodded. “When I ran away from Adgateville, I came here first. I wanted to make sure you were all right. The Emersons wouldn’t let me see you. I knew Ben wouldn’t help me. When I came back later, you were about to marry him.”

  For a moment, she felt a prick of guilt, as though she’d let Silas down by marrying Ben. Ridiculous, since Silas hadn’t come to propose to her. She shivered at the thought of meeting him when she’d been eighteen. He probably would have been somewhere between the lanky teen and the man he was now. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She’d been promised to Ben, had belonged to him since she was nine in one way or another. She owed him so much.

  Followed by the guilt was a melancholy sense of something missed. Of opportunity lost.

  “You could have come to see me then,” she said.

  He stretched, touching high up on the column. His fingers were long, but not terribly work worn. “No, I couldn’t.”

  She had the most perverse urge to touch him, to press her hand against the planes of his stomach and up to the ridge of his rib cage. With his body stretched long, there was a gap between his skin and the waistband of his jeans. She stopped her thoughts and promised to never read another Cosmo magazine again.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked.

  “Here.”

  She pushed away from the column and walked toward the open doorway. It looked cleaner now, devoid of the disintegrating carpet and draperies. Two wall sconces and three lamps filled the parlor with light. Odd that the electricity was on. Three boxes of hardware supplies lined the wall. The once-elegant room with its high ceilings adorned with intricate molding now looked sadly empty. She couldn’t tell where he slept.

  What she thought was a pile of brown carpet struggled to its feet and ambled over to inspect her. The big dog was a hound mix of some sort, old and cumbersome. His nose twitched as he covered her hand with dog moisture. His face was sprinkled liberally in white hair, as were his big feet.

  “That’s The Boss. He’s named after Bruce Springstein.”

  “You a fan?” she said, scratching the dog’s head.

  “He came with the name. I’ve only had him a couple of years. His owner died, and there wasn’t anyone else who could take him.”

  Finished with his inspection, The Boss settled down at Silas’s feet with a sigh.

  “He might have arthritis,” she said, taking in the way he c
ouldn’t seem to get comfortable. “You might want to have him checked over.”

  “He’s already on medication for it, and my vet taught me how to massage his paws when the pain reliever doesn’t seem to work.” Silas ran his fingers lightly over the dog’s head. “I wonder how much pain he’s in. I’m not sure I could put him down, though.”

  “It’s a hard thing to do, but sometimes it’s for the best.” She knelt down and looked into The Boss’s cloudy eyes. “What bothers me most is when people can’t bear to be with their pets during those last few minutes.” She held his snout in her hand and stroked his nose. “After all they do for us, the least we can do is be the last, loving face they see.”

  After a moment of silence, she realized how out of place she was for being so emotional about that. “Not that I’m condemning those people. I just see it from the animal’s point of view.”

  He was still regarding her with those intent eyes. “You’re right, though. It’s a tough thing to do, but we owe them that much. I bet you have a lot of pets.”

  “Not really. Ben said after being with animals all day, he wants peace and quiet at home.”

  She scanned the dusty oak floors. “Why are you fixing this place up? Some corporation owns it now.”

  “This was my home once. I didn’t feel like staying at a hotel. Besides, I want to keep a low-profile.”

  When she turned back to him, he was standing just behind her. Having him this close was doing strange things to her insides. She could feel the heat coming off him, elevating the temperature inside the house.

  She kept her gaze on the gold cross that rested against the hollow of his collarbone. “Low profile, huh?”

  “You’ll recall I wasn’t exactly popular here.”

  Spooky Silas. “I wouldn’t know anything about being popular.” She took a step back, feeling awkward as she crossed, then uncrossed her arms. “I’m not in the town loop myself. Not that I want to be,” she added quickly, feeling like a failure at making friends. Feeling unlovable.

  “You live at old lady Babbage’s place.”