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Rod took Mack’s bowl and dumped it into the sink.
“Hey!” Mack cried. “I wasn’t finished!”
“You can eat later,” Rod said, messing up Mack’s hair just to piss him off. “Let’s go.”
Mack knocked his hand away, then halfheartedly tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. “Go where?”
“You told me you’d help me find my phone, remember?”
Rod thought Mack might give away the fact that they’d already decided he should go to the shop and not help find the phone, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak until he’d passed Rod’s smashed bike, which Donald and Sam had set to one side of the driveway, and climbed into Rod’s truck. “First you don’t want me to go. Now you do. What’s up?” he asked once Rod had started the engine.
Should he try to explain? Probably not. If he brought it up, his brother would only deny feeling any attraction to their stepsister. To Mack’s credit, he did his best to avoid her. Rod had noticed the effort he put into that. But...as hard as his brother was fighting whatever he felt, there was still a kind of tangible energy whenever he and Natasha were in the same room. “You’ve never touched Natasha, have you?” he asked.
Mack’s eyebrows slammed together. “What the hell are you talking about? Touched her in what way?”
“You know what way.”
“Unless you’re looking for a better fight than you got last night, don’t ever ask me that again,” he snapped, instantly furious. “That’s too screwed up for words.”
“I know she’s attractive, but...she’s off-limits.” They weren’t related by blood, and they hadn’t grown up together, so Rod could see where the confusion might come in. Two people from different families meeting after adolescence because their parents had married through some prison website could cloud the “related” issue. But Rod couldn’t stand the thought of his brother being tied to someone who’d make Anya a permanent part of their lives. There were too many other women out there who didn’t have an addict for a mother, didn’t bear the stigma of ever having been called their sister—and didn’t have the emotional problems Natasha did.
“You think I’d ever be able to forget that?” Mack said.
Rod felt like shit for even asking. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and kept his mouth shut. “No, of course not,” he replied and peeled out of the drive.
* * *
When India heard the sound of an engine, she peered through her plantation shutters. She knew it had to be one or more of the Amos brothers. Other than a handful of houses half a mile down the road, they were her only neighbors. She liked the countryside, with its wide-open spaces. That was why she’d chosen this location.
Sure enough, someone was leaving in a big blue truck.
She recognized Rod immediately. He was in the driver’s seat, which was closest to her as the vehicle rolled by. She was fairly certain he had Mack or Grady with him, but it was difficult to see. The passenger didn’t matter, anyway. Knowing that Rod wouldn’t be around for a while eased her anxiety. She hadn’t begun to get over her embarrassment about what she’d done last night. The fact that they could bump into each other if she so much as went out to weed the front flower bed made her reluctant to leave the house.
God, what had she been thinking?
Rod had to be scratching his head, too, wondering what kind of woman had moved in next door. The further she got from that moment, the more horrified she became. It bothered her so much that, when she couldn’t sleep last night, she’d gotten up and baked him some cookies. She had a special snickerdoodle recipe that had been her mother’s. Besides a few pieces of jewelry, some photo albums and a handmade sweater, that recipe was about all her mother had left behind. Charlie would often take platefuls of her snickerdoodles to the other doctors and nurses at the hospital, so she thought Rod might like them, too.
In any case, they were her peace offering. She’d just relocated, planned on starting over. She didn’t want the first person she’d met in Whiskey Creek to hold a terrible opinion of her. She and Rod could be neighborly even if they weren’t exactly friends, couldn’t they?
As she watched his taillights disappear around the bend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had the chance to make her delivery when he wasn’t home, which was the opportunity she’d been looking for—if only she could figure out what to say on the accompanying note and get it over there before he got back. She didn’t want to write anything that might make him think this was another invitation. That was why she’d driven to the Gas-N-Go early this morning, before the closest supermarket was open, to buy a package of paper plates—so she wouldn’t have to put the cookies on a dish he’d feel obliged to return. She was merely acknowledging that she’d screwed up and was promising it wouldn’t happen again. She preferred to leave it at that.
She imagined seeing him in the future, out in the yard or on the road, and giving him a polite wave. She wasn’t sure they could get to a polite wave from “Will you take me to bed?” Especially with just a plateful of cookies. But she’d already made them. She figured it was worth a try.
Dear Rod, she wrote. Then she made a face at the words. “Dear” sounded both too familiar and old-fashioned. Unfortunately, “Rod” without the “Dear” didn’t seem right, either.
After throwing that note away, she started over and skipped the salutation completely:
I wasn’t myself last night. I’m sorry. Please accept these cookies as my apology and know I will never cross that line again.
Sincerely,
Your neighbor—who is cringing at her behavior but promises she’s not as bad as you must think.
She didn’t allow herself to analyze what she’d written or change it again. She slipped the card into its envelope, grabbed the cookies and a roll of tape and hurried over to the stairs that led up to the deck outside his bedroom. She couldn’t go to the front door and ring the bell, or his brothers would know she was leaving him something. If he had to explain, she was afraid of what he might say.
“With any luck, he’ll forgive me, and we’ll just go on as if it never happened,” she mumbled and put the foil-covered plate on the railing.
As she searched for a place to tape the note, she saw that he hadn’t closed his door all the way. He didn’t seem to take much care when it came to protecting his personal property, but she could understand why he might not be too concerned. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Whiskey Creek; that was one of the reasons she’d moved there. Also, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else, which would make a man like Rod an unlikely victim.
He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos. That was what one of the paramedics had said.
Since she had such easy access to his room, India wished she could put the cookies on his bed or dresser, so she wouldn’t have to worry about ants, rodents or other animals finding them before he did. But entering his house wasn’t a serious consideration until she heard someone outside, around the front.
“You’ll have to drive over later,” a male voice called out. “I’m late as it is.”
Damn! She was afraid she was about to be spotted...
“It won’t take me long to shower,” a female voice responded. “Rod’s hand is jacked up. Mack texted me that he doesn’t think Rod’ll be able to work, but Mack will be at the shop in an hour or so.”
“We’ll manage. See you there,” came the response.
An engine started. India had to do something or whoever was driving that car would see her the moment he backed up, and she definitely didn’t want to be caught lurking outside Rod’s door.
Snatching up her cookies, she stepped into the room.
“Hey, keep it down!” someone shouted, this time from inside the house instead of at the door. “What do you think this is? I’m trying to sleep!”
That was a woman, too, but not the woman India had already heard, a fact that became more apparent when the first woman snapped an equally irritated response. “Yeah, well, some of us have to work.”
Half expecting an argument to flare up, India held her breath. Neither woman seemed to be in a good mood. But nothing else happened. The younger one must’ve gotten in the shower so she could go to work, because everything fell silent.
“Thank goodness,” India whispered. She thought she could leave now, but she couldn’t help taking a look at Rod’s room while she was there.
He had a big bed, which he hadn’t made. His torn and bloody clothes from last night lay on the floor, along with some cleats and a football. Other than that, the place was clean. It was even sort of decorated, which came as a surprise. Twenty or more baseball caps lined the dresser, and a collection of grilles and hubcaps from old cars hung all over the walls.
India was tempted to throw away the clothes he’d left—they couldn’t be saved—and straighten the bedding. She supposed it was the mother in her...
Actually, if she was being honest, it had nothing to do with the mother in her. She liked him enough to want to touch the things that were most personal to him...
A door opening and shutting somewhere else in the house reminded her that she needed to get out.
She set her cookies on the railing, where she’d put them before, taped the note beside the foil-covered plate and hurried down the steps and across the lawn.
Once she reached her screened-in porch, she knew she was safe. But then she turned to give the cookies and note a final glance and realized she’d left his door open a little wider than she’d found it. She hated that he might guess she’d invaded his private space—especially since she had—but she wasn’t going over to correct it. In the future, she planned to keep her distance from Rod Amos and anything or anyone associated with him.
Now she needed to figure out a way to approach her in-laws about getting her daughter home, so she could bring some normalcy back into her life, or the loneliness that dogged her every step would completely destroy her.
Before she could commit herself to that course of action, however, she had to call the detective who was handling her late husband’s case.
4 (#u078a007a-7f7f-5d5c-a636-6cbe4bf43d1f)
“Are you going to get it x-rayed?” Dylan asked, his voice sounding a bit tinny through Bluetooth.
Rod glanced at his swollen hand. He’d been driving with his left; it hurt too much to use his right. But at least he’d found his phone, way off, under a bush. The fact that it had traveled so far from the point of impact showed how hard he’d come down, which made him angry all over again. “I think I’ll give it a few days. See how it feels.”
Mack frowned at him from the passenger seat. He, too, had been telling Rod to stop by the hospital—and now that Dylan was starting in on him, Rod wasn’t sure he’d be able to refuse. He loved and respected his oldest brother more than anyone in the world. Dylan was more of a father to him than their own father had ever been.
“I’d rather you got to a doctor right away,” Dylan said.
Mack, who could hear everything, since Rod’s Bluetooth worked as a speakerphone, smirked at him. He knew how hard it was to say no to Dylan. They all had the same problem—except maybe Aaron. Although Aaron and Dylan got along now, they’d fought like crazy over the years, probably because they were closest in age and too damn much alike.
“What will it hurt to wait?” Rod asked.
“I need you at the shop,” Dylan replied. “If it’s broken, let’s get it fixed so you can use it as soon as possible.”
Rod rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
When Mack laughed to see him crumble so easily, Rod sent his younger brother a look that said he’d better not provoke him any further, and Mack, of course, ignored that and slugged Rod in the arm.
“Want me to meet you over there?” That came from Dylan before Rod could slug Mack in return, an interruption that was well-timed. Since he couldn’t use his right hand, it would’ve been too awkward to reach across his body with his left.
“You kidding?” Rod said. “It’s Saturday. You’re needed at the shop. Besides, I’m a big boy. I can handle seeing a doctor on my own. I’ll drop Mack off first, so you’ll at least have his help.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll check on Liam while I’m at the hospital,” Rod went on. “See how bad off he is.” As angry as he was that this guy wouldn’t leave Natasha alone at the bar, not to mention everything the bastard had done afterward, Rod didn’t want to be responsible for seriously injuring anyone. It wasn’t as if he lived for violence. He also didn’t want this incident to escalate. He knew he’d probably get the worst of any repercussions. Although Liam had started the fight, he’d been hurt worse, so it meant Rod looked like the bad guy.
“No need,” Dylan said. “I’ve already called over there. Liam Crockett has a broken jaw, a broken nose and a concussion.”
“Damn!” Mack said. “You busted him up good.”
“What’d you do?” Dylan asked. “Slam his head into the pavement?”
Rod wasn’t even sure. It’d all happened so fast—and when someone pushed him that far, he fought to win. “I honestly don’t remember. After I went flying from my bike, I got up, saw him charging toward me and...unleashed. But it wouldn’t have been like that if he hadn’t asked for it.”
“Might be a few days before we find out what he has to say,” Dylan informed him. “I talked to Chief Bennett this morning, too. Called him as soon as Grady filled me in. He’s not even going to take Liam’s statement until the guy gets out of the hospital.”
“When will that be?” Rod asked.
“Tuesday or Wednesday,” Dylan replied. “At least, that’s what his sister told me, who’s with him.”
Rod scratched his neck. “Stupid bastard shouldn’t have run me off the road.”
“I doubt he’ll ever make that mistake again,” Dylan said wryly. “Call me after your X-ray.”
Dylan had his own son to worry about these days. Little Kellan was nearly eighteen months old. Dylan doted on him, but Rod figured he’d never stop taking care of his brothers, too. Their father was out of prison and living at the house with his wife and her daughter, yet J.T. hadn’t replaced Dylan. Dylan had been there for them too many years to suddenly stop playing that role.
Rod considered it a blessing that Dylan retained some interest in them. Their father was more of a liability than an asset, even now.
“Okay,” Rod said grudgingly. “But it might be a while before you hear from me. You know how long the hospital takes.”
“Cheyenne can bring Kellan over and sit with you, if you like,” Dylan offered.
“Kellan doesn’t need to be in a hospital waiting room,” Rod said.
“They can keep you company, help you pass the time.”
Mack cut in, raising his voice so Dylan could hear. “Hey, Dyl, I can always send some toy trucks with Rod, if you think that’ll make the wait any easier.”
Rod shot Mack another warning glance for being such a smart-ass but spoke to Dylan. “You’re getting soft in your old age, big brother. You know that? You’re treating us more like little girls every day.”
“Just get yourself back to work,” Dylan snapped.
“That’s better,” Rod teased and hung up.
“So you’ll go to the hospital if Dylan asks you to but not if I do?”
“I’d walk through fire if Dylan asked me to, and so would you,” he replied. As far as Rod was concerned, Dylan had earned it.
* * *
India had tried to reach Detective Flores three times and received his voice mail every time. She wanted to talk to him. But when she saw his number flash across her screen, she drew a deep breath. There was so much she needed him to say, so much he never seemed able to say. Her disappointment in the criminal justice system and the lack of information and closure she received from the police could be crippling. Sometimes it took days to recover.
“India, Detective Flores,” he said when she answered. “How are you?”
He always sounded so warm and friendly. But she didn’t trust the encouragement and hope his tone offered. His voice had the same inflection the day he’d told her that the crime scene analysts hadn’t found any of Sebastian’s DNA in her house—and on the day he’d told her that Sebastian’s wife, despite the way he’d treated her, was providing him with an alibi.
“I’m good. Better.” To a point, that was true. She had some bright moments, usually when she was working or feeling grateful to still have her daughter in her life. At other times the memories flooded back or she missed Charlie so much she could scarcely breathe. Then the questions would start. Could she have saved him if she’d called 911? Or would Sebastian have shot her, like he’d said he would?
“I’ve moved to Whiskey Creek and set up my pottery workshop in a lovely screened-in porch overlooking a small river,” she told him. “So that’s nice.”
“Sounds like you’ll be able to open your studio soon.”
“I hope so—when I find the right spot.”
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that you’re moving on.”
She cringed as she thought of the mistake she’d made with Rod Amos last night. Was that a sign that she was making progress—or backsliding? Her behavior would shock Detective Flores; it would shock anyone who knew the person she’d become once she’d managed to gain some self-esteem and change her life, and that included Charlie’s parents. “Thanks. How are you?”
“Busy, as usual. My wife and kids are actually at Disneyland. I was supposed to go, too, but something came up here at work. With any luck, I’ll be joining them tomorrow.”
“You work hard, and that’s a blessing to every single person attached to the cases you handle.”
If only he could do more... As kind as he was, she hated to think that, but it was the truth. She’d seen firsthand how difficult it could be to hold anyone accountable—even when that person had committed a horrendous crime and she had a diligent detective investigating the matter.
“I appreciate that,” he said. “I’m guessing you called to see about Sebastian’s new trial.”
“Yes.” She wanted to know when it would be taking place, although she wasn’t sure she’d attend the whole thing. The first trial had dominated her life after Charlie died, what with waiting and wondering and preparing—and then testifying and listening to everyone else testify, including the infuriating witnesses called by the defense.
