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“What . . . what about the rock that Tessa used to hit Harley?”
“I don’t know. I threw it away when we stopped the car and told you that Harley was dead. Remember that stretch of road?”
Claire nodded. Her face was white as death, her expression twisted in horror. She hadn’t known.
“I pitched it into the woods.”
Claire was on her feet in an instant, racing to the far end of the porch, where she fell against the railing and threw up over and over again. She was crying and retching so painfully that it was all Kane could do to stay hidden in the shadows. He wanted to run to her, to wrap his arms around her, to comfort her. Despite her lies. Despite the years and circumstance separating them. But he couldn’t.
Nor could he write the story of Harley Taggert’s death. Not now. Not knowing the truth. Too many innocent lives would be ruined. As of this night, Kane’s personal vendetta against Dutch Holland was over. It had to be. Dutch, the bastard, was Claire’s father and his own son’s grandfather. Kane stood in the shadows of the hedge and knew that he’d destroy everything he had on file. If the sisters wanted to spill their guts, so be it. But he wouldn’t bring them down or haul Tessa in to face justice. Weston Taggert, if he was indeed Hunter and Jack’s killer, would be found out soon enough.
As for Claire and her lies about Sean, he’d talk to her later. He watched as Miranda scooted back her chair and walked toward Claire. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered, and the two sisters clung to each other.
“But what about Weston?” Tessa said. “We can’t just let him go free.”
Miranda’s face was grim. “The police will figure out that he lied about Hunter’s employment records. They’ll put two and two together and besides, I’ve done some investigating on my own with the help of a friend, Frank Petrillo, in the department. Some of Weston’s business dealings, especially that one he’s trying to put together with one of the tribes for a casino, aren’t on the up and up. He’s going to have more legal trouble than he ever dreamt. Not that it matters.”
“Of course it matters,” Tessa said, her voice a monotone. “He’s got to pay.”
“Shh. Don’t talk like that,” Miranda commanded. “And have some faith. I know it’s hard, but things will turn out all right.”
“They’ll never be all right,” Tessa said, as Kane, guilt heavy on his shoulders for eavesdropping like a common snoop, slipped away and headed back to the path that rimmed the lake. But Tessa’s voice chased after him. “I think we’re doomed,” she said in a monotone. “Every last one of us.”
Thirty-one
Claire couldn’t eat or sleep. After last night’s revelations she’d spent the remaining hours tossing and turning, staring at the clock and remembering Harley, sweet, sweet Harley. She’d loved him with that silly naive love of youth, and until she’d met Kane she hadn’t questioned her feelings for him. Whatever Harley’s faults, whatever his shortcomings, he hadn’t deserved to die, nor had Tessa deserved to become a killer.
Claire dressed and showered, took the kids over to Stone Illahee for tennis lessons and a day at the pool, then returned home and wondered how she could ever put her life together. She considered calling the police, reached for the phone several times, then decided
to let Miranda handle it. She was with the District Attorney’s office for Multnomah County, which was basically the greater Portland metropolitan area, but as an officer of the court had some responsibilities to truth, justice, and the letter of the law. The authorities in Chinook would become informed.
And what about you? Don’t you care about right and wrong? Harley’s death? Weston’s rape of Miranda? The loss of Miranda and Hunter’s baby?
Pain ripped through her. There was so much agony. Too much.
As she had as a child, she felt the need for escape, and, ignoring the list of things she was to do today, she walked to the barn and noticed clouds sliding across the sky. Who cared? Within minutes she’d saddled a little bay mare and headed up the familiar and overgrown trail to the sacred grounds of the local Native American tribe, the clearing on the cliffs that Ruby had warned her of all those years ago, that special place where she and Kane had found love.
Kane. Her heart ached at the thought of him. Surely he would uncover the truth, discover her lies. He’d somehow divine that Sean was his boy. And what then? Would he hate her forever, abandon her, try to gain custody? Her thoughts spun out before her in worried circles. Oh, God, she had to tell him and soon.
A flock of seagulls rose above the trees and spiderwebs, sparkling with dew were flung between the branches. A few leaves slapped at her face as the mare loped steadily upward toward the clouds.
At the top of the cliffs, she slowed and reined her mount toward the campsite where she’d found Kane so often. But today it was vacant and aside from cold ashes from a long-ago fire, it showed no hint that anyone had ever been there. A chill crawled up her spine, causing her flesh to rise in little bumps, and she wondered if Ruby was right, that the spirits of the dead inhabited this stretch of land.
Disappointed, she let the mare graze as she sat in the saddle and stared over the ridge to the ocean, dark and brooding, the clouds above rolling ominously. She hadn’t wanted to ride, she realized, but was hoping to see Kane again. It wasn’t this gloomy little rendezvous spot she’d needed to visit again, but Kane.
And so she would.
“Hiya!” She yanked on the reins. Turning the horse toward the lodge, she pressed hard with her knees and urged the mare into a gallop. For some reason she felt as if she was running out of time, that if she didn’t reach Kane soon and tell him the truth, all hell would break loose.
The last person Weston expected to find at his office was Tessa Holland, but here she was, seated on the couch, her shapely legs crossed, a cigarette burning in one hand. Somehow she’d sneaked by his Nazi of a receptionist, but Weston didn’t mind. She was still as sexy as ever in her tight white sweater and short black skirt. He felt his cock quiver and silently damned his overactive sex drive, which forever got him into trouble. Serious trouble.
“Tessa,” he said, hoping to sound casual as he propped his butt against the corner of his desk and clasped his hands over one knee. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I thought it was time to come clean.”
“You?”
“No. You.” She took a puff from her cigarette and let a cloud of smoke rise from her mouth. “You’ve heard they found Hunter Riley’s body at the excavation site for the next phase of Stone Illahee?”
