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“Point taken,” she said, sliding an arm around his waist, sending him into an immediate image of her pressing him up against the elevator wall and having her way with him.
It was then that he knew she wasn’t the one he needed to worry about. Nor was her family.
He was the one who was failing in the acting department, failing to appear like he didn’t have feelings for Everleigh. But he’d die before he failed to keep her safe.
* * *
Coming from Clarke’s condo and knowing what she did about his family, Everleigh found herself embarrassed as they pulled up in front of her parents’ clean, but clearly aged-and-not-in-a-good-way home in a neighborhood of older, not-updated homes with small yards filled with snow that covered the cracked sidewalks. Shivering, she didn’t know what Clarke was seeing, but her gaze went straight to the broken shutter, top left. It had been that way her whole life. Used to be how she’d pick her house out from down the street of identical-looking skinny shotgun-style homes that lined the block.
The piece of black metal blurred as tears filled her eyes. This place looked like home, but it didn’t feel that way to her. That porch...the outside lights that gleamed from both sides of the door to welcome guests... None of it glowed with love anymore.
They’d come early purposely, before the other guests arrived, so that she could get through the initial moments of seeing her parents for the first time since she was arrested without an audience. But when she saw the front door open, framing her mother and father—and also her aunt and a couple of other bodies she couldn’t see well enough to identify—her heart sank.
“Do they know you’re bringing a guest?” Clarke asked from beside her. His calm tone, as though they were discussing how they wanted their burgers cooked, seemed to lighten the tension in her chest a small bit. Allowing a bit more freedom in her lungs.
“Yeah. I told Mom that we’re seeing each other and asked if I could bring you along. That’s the way it’s done here,” she added. “You ask...”
“What would you have done if she’d said no?”
She glanced at him, feeling the early evening’s chill in the air as he turned off the car. “She’d never say no,” she told him. “Any friend I ever wanted to bring home was welcome.”
As an only child, she’d been well loved. Or so she’d thought.
But then, she’d thought she’d been loved and honored as a wife, too...
Given the onlookers’ presence, he told her to wait for him to come around to get her. Giving him the appearance of being the perfect gentleman to his date. She figured he’d really issued the order more as a bodyguard than a lover. Either way, she was happy to comply.
She wanted him there. And wanted the evening over. They had to get on with it.
Everleigh knew why Clarke’s arm was around her waist as they traipsed through the snow up the covered walkway and to the porch. But her body melting into him wasn’t just because of the show they were putting on. For those few seconds, right or wrong, she leaned on his solid warmth.
She was potentially walking into the presence of someone who wanted her dead.
“Baby girl!” Amie McPherson came bursting out the door, medical boot and all, as soon as they reached the porch, pulling her close for one of her tightest hugs. Embraces that Everleigh used to soak up. That used to make her feel loved.
The effusiveness seemed over-the-top after her mother had sold her up the river to the police when they’d come calling, saying she must be a murderer. Maybe the hug was for the benefit of the audience standing behind them.
Everleigh pulled away quickly. “You don’t have a coat on, Mom,” she said, using the cold as an excuse as she reached for Clarke’s hand and took a step toward the door and all of the people waiting there. She moved past them. Or rather, kept moving and they got out of the way. It was either that or have her bump into them. She wasn’t going to break into tears in front of everyone, and that left her with no choice but to stand on her anger for the moment. Her aunt was just inside the door and stepped back as her parents did, forcing the other few people there—some close neighbors, explaining a lack of cars outside—to step back as well, and she pulled Clarke inside.
“This is Clarke Colton,” she said. “And, yes, he’s brother to the chief of police, but he’s not a cop. He’s here as my date and I would appreciate it if you’d treat him accordingly. He’s not working, he doesn’t answer for what his sister or the rest of the department does, and I want him to be able to get to know my family and friends the way I do.”
There. She hadn’t planned the speech. Or any greeting. She’d been dreading seeing her mother more than anything.
Her father stepped forward, his pants and plaid flannel shirt looking like his best, as he gave her a hug. “Good to have you home, Missy,” Andrew McPherson said, using his nickname for her. Warming her heart for a brief second.
Until she remembered that he hadn’t stood up for her, either. He hadn’t blamed her. Had tried to come to her defense in terms of never having really liked Fritz or the way he’d treated her.
But...after being presented with DNA evidence, he’d believed her capable of taking a life.
She just couldn’t wrap her mind around that. Yeah, it looked like the evidence proved her guilt, but faith was believing without, or in spite of, proof.
Neither of her parents had faith in her.
And someone still wanted her dead.
While she grappled with an overwhelming sense of grief, Clarke stepped forward, still holding her hand, but greeting the others, shaking their hands...starting with her dad first and then her mother.
The doorbell rang a minute or two later, and Amie herded everyone to the back through the entryway to the living room and then on to the kitchen. Guests could mingle in the two rooms, able to access the bathroom off the kitchen, for the remainder of the night. The bedrooms upstairs were off-limits.
