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“Of course I want to know. But I would prefer an unbiased investigator, not someone who already has an ax to grind against my brother.”
“I am an unbiased investigator,” he said, sounding stung.
“You haven’t been unbiased in seven years! Admit it! Luke used to be a friend, but from the moment Elizabeth disappeared, you’ve been clear about what you think. You made up your mind he was guilty from the very beginning, didn’t you?”
“I’m only interested in the facts. There was blood found in their home. Elizabeth’s blood.”
“That could have been left there days or weeks before she went missing!”
“Or it could have been left by her that night when her husband killed her.”
“Except he didn’t! I know he didn’t and some part of you knows that as well.”
“I can’t be certain of anything.”
Though she knew where he stood from his actions and his attitude since Elizabeth’s disappearance, hearing his blunt words still cut through her. “How can you say that? He was your friend. You know him. You know he is not capable of hurting a woman, especially not someone he loved as much as he loved Elizabeth.”
“I have a police report here that would say otherwise.” He picked up one of the files from the bottom.
Megan knew what it was, what it had to be, and suddenly she wanted to cry. The tears welled up in her throat and she had a hard time swallowing past them.
This was why Luke was the prime suspect in his wife’s disappearance. One moment—and one sad, troubled woman.
“Yes, you can see the police were called by the neighbors who reported a domestic disturbance. But as you read the report, you can see no charges were ever filed against my brother. The report was of shouting and crying coming from the house. Not of anyone actually witnessing abuse. Your father wrote on the file misunderstanding.”
She had seen the report. And more than that, she knew Elizabeth’s fragile emotional state leading up to it.
“Women are often afraid to file charges,” Elliot said. “The law requires that one of the parties should be removed from the home temporarily during the investigation. Clearly, that didn’t happen on the night in question. I’m not sure why, but that’s not the point. The disturbance was reported to police, which indicates something happened that night.”
“It indicates nothing, only that Elizabeth was mentally unstable before she disappeared. You’ve got that in your reports, too, don’t you? She was on medication for postpartum depression. She wasn’t acting like herself. Luke was afraid to leave her alone with the kids, for crying out loud. He paid a babysitter to care for them in the day, worked a full-time job, then came home to take care of them all night.”
He continued gazing at her in that stony, emotionless way that made her want to scream, as irrational as Elizabeth in those last months.
She sighed. “I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath. Your mind is made up. Nothing I say will convince you that Luke is a victim here, just like his children. He lost his wife, they lost their mother, but Luke hasn’t been allowed even a moment to grieve for Elizabeth. The people around Lake Haven are too busy whispering about him and throwing around baseless accusations.”
“Not completely baseless.”
“Fine. Then wholly circumstantial. If the Haven Point Police Department or the sheriff’s office had anything more concrete against him, they would have filed charges years ago. Instead, he’s been hung out to dry to face the whispers.”
Despite her best efforts to hold them in, a hot tear escaped and slipped down the side of her nose. She swiped at it angrily even as his gaze seemed to sharpen. She wasn’t upset that she cried, only that he saw her at it.
“I want to know the truth,” Elliot said quietly. “Yes, Luke was my friend. So was Elizabeth. If she’s out there somewhere, I want to find her.”
“While staying at my inn, eating my breakfast, walking my stretch of beach. And I’m just supposed to stand by and give you a place to sleep while you ruin my brother’s life? What kind of woman do you think I am?”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u238e85bb-32b3-5a93-83cf-5d2b9ae2dbc3)
THAT WAS A question with no easy answer. He had always been fascinated by Megan Hamilton. With each passing day he spent living next to her, he was finding her more irresistible.
There was something so enticing about her, something fresh and bright and genuine. In the mornings when he was running along the lakeshore, he would see her from a distance as she greeted some of the inn guests or walked her grumpy-looking dog and he had the weirdest feeling, warm and soft like he was being bathed with sunshine.
At night, he would look over while he was working and see her lights on next door and he would remember what Verla McCracken had said, that she was a fan of his work. The idea of her reading the words he had written somehow inspired him to work harder.
He had heard other writers talk about their primary reader, the person they pictured while they wrote and imagined reading their words. Now that person in his head was Megan.
This fascination with her had to stop. It was completely ridiculous. He had been telling himself that for years. She was not his type at all. He preferred professional, composed, intellectual women whose agendas closely matched his own. Not sweet-faced photographers who had once been in love with his brother.
It didn’t matter that he was drawn to her. The feeling was definitely not mutual. She made no secret of her dislike for him. She thought he was uptight, rigid, unfeeling. Mr. Roboto.
If she only knew.
Added to that, now she was furious with him for digging into Elizabeth’s disappearance. He supposed he couldn’t really blame her.
She was waiting for a response, he realized, and it took him a moment to remember the question.
“You asked me what kind of woman I think you are. I think you’re a caring, compassionate woman who loves her brother and is loyal to him. I respect that, Megan. Believe me.”
In his line of work, he often saw the opposite, people willing to stab their best friends in the back if it would protect themselves and their own interests.
“You would do the same, if one of your family members had to face what Lucas has over the last seven years.”
“That’s probably true,” he acknowledged. He would go to the wall for any one of his siblings. “I understand your anger and your urge to defend your brother. I’ll leave the cottage if you insist, but I would rather not. I like it here. I’m not sure why, but I’ve been able to get more done on my manuscript in the last week than I have in months.”
It was true. Even before the stupid choices he had made leading up to his injury, his life had felt on hold, somehow. He had been going through the motions at the FBI, doing his job without the passion he had once brought to the work and treating his side hobby of writing the same way.
In the week since he’d come to Haven Point, Elliot felt as if he had returned to center somehow. He had managed to regain a little equilibrium, to find the peace that had been missing in Denver, probably because he had been wearing himself so thin trying to do everything.
“Why should I let you stay?”
“Because you signed a rental agreement? And because I haven’t done anything that would provide you grounds to break that agreement?”
She shrugged. “Sue me if you want to. You think I care?”
Come at me, bro. She didn’t say the words, but she might as well have.
“If I let you stay, would you promise to leave Elizabeth’s case alone? Let Marshall’s department handle it?”
He thought of the last few fevered nights of writing and the stacks of finished pages that had come out of them. He needed more of those nights and that same productivity and wanted nothing more than to agree to her demand.
His innate sense of justice and the desire to find the truth wouldn’t allow it, however. The community deserved answers. For that matter, so did Elizabeth’s children.
“No,” he said, with blunt honesty. “I can’t promise you anything of the sort.”
She made a face. “You’re so predictable. That’s exactly what I knew you would say.”
“Why did you bother to ask the question, then?”
“Idle curiosity, to see if I was right.”
She studied him for a long time and he waited, quite certain she was going to show him to the door, literally and figuratively. After a long moment, she sighed. “I can’t kick you out. You paid for two more weeks and the paperwork to issue a refund would be a nightmare. Not to mention—you being predictable and all—I could see you being the kind of person who would follow through and take me to court.”
He wouldn’t, but he let her keep her illusions. “It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Beyond that, your sisters would probably have something to say about it. It’s not worth the trouble.”
He doubted Katrina or Wyn would take his side. The women of Haven Point tended to stick together, even against family at times. Cade and Marshall could attest to that.
He wasn’t about to argue, though, especially if it meant he could stay at the cottage. “You’re probably right.”
“About many things,” she retorted. “First and foremost, I need to say this one more time. Luke did not harm his wife. She was a troubled woman, Elliot. Ask anyone. She was suffering postpartum depression. She struggled with it when she had Cassie and it never really went away when she had Bridger only eighteen months later. She was angry and moody and not the woman we all knew and cared about. None of that was Luke’s fault and it’s completely unfair that he has had to shoulder suspicion all these years.”
Her words rang with a sincerity he couldn’t avoid, but he had been an investigator too long, had seen too much, to share the same kind of faith in her brother. While he still found it surprising, he had read in the file numerous reports about how depressed and angry Elizabeth had been before she disappeared.
That didn’t clear Luke, not by a long shot. If anything, he might have even more motivation to lose his temper with an unhappy wife, then somehow tried to cover it up.
“If he had nothing to do with her disappearance, wouldn’t it be in your family’s best interest if I could find some kind of evidence that might prove it?”
“Keep an open mind. That’s all I ask. Will you tell me if you find out anything new?”
She deserved nothing less. “Yes,” he answered.
By the careful way she studied him, then finally nodded, he assumed she took him at his word. “Thank you. And you promise you’re not writing a book about the case?”
“I swear.”
She bit her lip and he could tell she was already regretting her decision to allow him to stay.
“I’m sorry I snooped in your papers. I shouldn’t have spied on a guest like that. I was hoping to steal a sneak peek at your new book, but that’s still no excuse for invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
His face felt suddenly warm but he ignored it, touched that she would apologize despite her anger at what she had found. She was remarkable.
“The book is still in revisions, too rough for anyone else to see. You wouldn’t enjoy it at this point. A few more weeks and you can read it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. If you want to.”
“Thanks.” She glanced at her watch. “I should go.”
Do you have to?
The question welled up inside him but he sternly shoved it back before he could do something stupid like actually say it.
He reached to pick up the handle of her plastic tote of supplies and she reached down at the same time. His forehead brushed against hers and the tiny, fleeting contact burst through him like rockets exploding in the sky during Lake Haven Days.
For an instant, they gazed at each other and he could almost swear he saw awareness bloom there.
Something clutched at his insides, a fierce, long-buried longing.
No. Impossible. This was Megan. The woman who had once loved his younger brother and still grieved for Wyatt.
“Careful,” he said, his voice more abrupt than he intended. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, her expression now impassive.
He felt awkward and stupid, suddenly aware he was still sweaty from his run and his arm hurt like a mother.
He gestured to the bucket. “For the record, I won’t require housekeeping services for the remainder of my stay.”
“It’s included in the price of the rental. Twice-weekly. You’ve already paid for the service. You might as well take advantage of it.”
“Just leave towels and fresh sheets a few times a week. I can make the bed myself and take care of the rest.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but finally shrugged. “Your choice. I’ll instruct my staff. I certainly can’t force you to accept housekeeping services, especially when we’re shorthanded.”
She left before he could answer, leaving him to watch her walk down the steps of the porch into the afternoon sunlight.
* * *
SHE SHOULD HAVE thrown him out.
As she returned the cleaning supplies to the housekeeping cart and started pushing it back to the main inn, Megan wanted to kick herself.
She couldn’t shake the sense of impending disaster. She didn’t want Elliot anywhere near the case file on Elizabeth’s disappearance. He was a single-focused investigator, from everything she knew about the man. His siblings called him the Bulldog, for heaven’s sake. Something told her Elliot wouldn’t rest until he found answers—or twisted the facts to suit his version of the story, anyway.
No, she caught herself. That wasn’t fair. Elliot was a man of integrity and honor. He was a decorated FBI agent. He would work tirelessly until he found out what truly happened to Elizabeth. That could only be good for Luke, surely, to finally know the truth.
Still, that apprehension niggled at her. Innocent people went to prison all the time. She watched plenty of television, had seen the documentaries. A mistaken eyewitness here, a botched forensics collection there. It happened. She couldn’t let Luke be one more of those wrongly convicted.
Her phone rang just as she pushed the cart into the supply room for the staff to refill the next morning before their rounds.
She glanced at the incoming caller ID. Speak of the devil.
“Hi, Luke,” she answered. “I was just talking about you.”
A long silence met her thoughtless words. “Oh?”
She should never have brought it up. She certainly couldn’t tell him she had been conversing with a certain FBI agent about him—or that Elliot was digging into Elizabeth’s disappearance while he was in town.
“It doesn’t matter. What’s going on?”
Luke hesitated before continuing. “We’re trying to finish the trim on this house and I need a few more hours. I hate to leave the job site, especially when we’re so close to finishing, but the kids’ babysitter can’t stay late tonight. Any chance I could have her drop them off at the inn for a couple of hours?”
She thought of all she still had to do before she could head back to her cottage and work on photos again late into the night. That didn’t matter. The kids came first. “Of course. I love having them here.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I try,” she joked.
