The Man She Once Knew (15 page)

He’d talked to virtual strangers about them. Exposed her. Made her a fool.

She was tired of fighting him. He’d told her again and again to leave him alone; it was time to listen. She would pack. Miss Margaret’s ridiculous thirty days could rot in hell. What did Callie care for any of these people who had never cared one whit about her? She could support herself, and whatever became of the property was no concern of hers….

She barely made it into the driveway at her great-aunt’s before she dropped her head to the steering wheel and allowed the searing pain to take over.

Last night was a lie. Her hopes—absurd, girlish dreams—were ashes. More, they were the worst kind of self-deception. David didn’t love her, had never loved her. She’d had some great sex and sold herself a fantasy of whopper proportions.

Well, enough of that. Callie straightened in the seat. Screw David and screw Oak Hollow; she would be just fine without either one. She didn’t need anyone, not now, not ever.

She shoved open the car door, grabbed her purse and stalked toward the house, every tap of her heels a drumbeat of fury displacing naked pain.

I will not cry over you, David Langley, not ever again, you hear me?

Anger felt better, a familiar friend. Anger had propelled her through college and law school, kept her
awake through countless nights of studying dry texts as she marched her way from a past filled with defeat and into a future where she was a winner.

She would win again.

Callie climbed up the porch steps, with a lighter tread, strengthened by resolve never to open herself to such misery again. She’d had to go through this, she rationalized, to be done with the unresolved feelings of the past.

She would give her statement to David’s attorney, but she was done with him and with the past. She had a future to secure, and her job was all she had. She reached for the screen door handle, already preparing a mental packing list—

An envelope fell to the ground when the screen door opened.

Callie Hunter—IMPORTANT
, was handwritten on the front.

Frowning, she slit the envelope open with her fingers as she shouldered her way inside. A single sheet of paper lay within. She drew it out and unfolded it.

Only one sentence in nondescript block print:

Ned Compton is the key.

What did that mean? Who would have sent this?

Her fury stalled in its tracks. Her attention captured, she sank to the arm of the sofa and puzzled over the intent of the sender…and who might care enough about David to intervene.

Something wasn’t right, and she realized abruptly just how distracted she’d been by Miss Margaret’s bequest, by her worries over her job, her uncharacter
istic confusion over how to proceed. By, above all, David himself, his overpowering physical presence and the cloud of emotion that accompanied their past.

She thought back to her shock at the astonishing reversal in David’s trajectory, how the star athlete and talented student had become a killer when nothing in his life predicted a fate even close to that. Sure, there were the cases of “I never would have suspected” when neighbors or coworkers reported some heinous crime, but all that she knew about the makings of a criminal argued against it ever happening to David. Generally the signs were there if you knew where to look.

There were also the discrepancies in the present: how he cared for his mother, the good he’d done for Jessie Lee, the respect he’d shown Granny’s
Jeopardy
addiction…the beautiful carving at their baby’s grave.

Something indeed was wrong with this picture.

Including David’s actions of the morning, if she could manage to get her hurt feelings out of the way. He was a protector, she’d known since she met him.

Could it be that he was protecting her now?

Or was she simply so desperate not to be made a fool of after she’d lost her heart again last night that she was grasping at straws?

Ned Compton is the key.

She’d asked a lot of questions about David, she realized, as she’d talked to people in the community. But she’d given short shrift to one essential aspect of investigating a crime: learning as much about the victim as about the alleged perpetrator.

Ned Compton had many friends in Oak Hollow, but none of them had resided with him. None might know him the way the two people who’d lived with him did.

David had been clear that he didn’t want her anywhere near him, and she could only speculate at this point about why. If he was refusing to speak with her, then she would go to the next person on her list.

David’s mother.

Ned Compton’s widow.

“S
HE SAYS
she’s not leaving until you see her.” The deputy flipped an opened envelope through the bars, where it landed on the floor. “She said maybe this would change your mind.”

David remained on the cot and stared at the paper, its ragged edges symbolizing the complete destruction of any control he might have had over his life. No privacy, not even the most basic courtesy. He was held in contempt by his jailers and by the townspeople with a few rare exceptions. He had no future here, and the sheriff had made it very clear that Mickey Patton’s word would be believed over anything David could produce, short of a videotape of the confrontation, which David had yet to explain.

The sheriff, he reminded himself, had been a deputy when Ned Compton died and had made no bones about his glee when David went to jail.

All David had on his side was Callie, stubborn, loyal Callie. He appreciated her defense of him more than he could afford to let her know, but how long would her faith in him hold with her job in jeopardy, with no more
chances for them to be together outside an interview room? He didn’t kid himself that he would ever get out of jail again.

Not unless he was willing to tell the truth, which he could never do.

“Well? You gonna read it or not?”

He eyed the envelope again. “Since you’ve obviously done so, why don’t you just tell me what it says?”

“Read it yourself. Don’t make sense anyway.”

Why hadn’t David’s callous words sent Callie running? Why wouldn’t she give up on him?

Because she’s got the heart of a lion, that’s why.

David sighed and reached for the paper on the floor, holding it in his hand for a moment before reluctantly sliding it from the envelope. Slowly he unfolded the single sheet.

You have to see me. For the sake of one lost angel, if nothing else.

He bowed his head.
Not fair, Callie. Not even a little fair.

Damn it. What could she have to say but what he’d already heard? If she understood the true situation…

But she didn’t. Couldn’t, as long as he continued to lie to her.

There’s no hope, can’t you see that? You’re wasting your time. Go back to Philadelphia and get on with your life.

His own was over. Any hope for them had fled.

But one stubborn little seed pushed its fragile stem up from the depths of darkness. Up through a tiny crack
in the grimy asphalt that was his life. Maybe she knew something…this was her arena after all. Maybe…

“Damn you, Callie,” he muttered, but there was little heat in it.

“All right,” he said to the deputy. “I’ll see her.” He refused to dwell on whether the appeal was simply having one last chance to be near her.

C
ALLIE PACED
the interview room at the county jail after having made record time on a return trip through the mountains. At the last minute, she’d veered from her intended path of interrogating David’s mother because doing so felt like a form of torture when the woman was obviously fragile and lost.

Callie would use the note first in an attempt to shake David out of his intransigence. She might have to resort to using his mother as a threat, but she hoped not. To that end, she’d decided an emotional appeal would have to work, and their only connection—besides one night that he had already destroyed—was their shared past.

She didn’t have a lot of optimism that the sketchy note would sway him, but she also knew better than to put any concrete information in writing. Prisoners had rights, yes, but that didn’t extend to blind acceptance of sealed envelopes or containers by the authorities. She’d thought about various codes she might use, but she and David had been apart too long for that to work.

Please, David.
She paced again to the far corner of the concrete block room.
Please talk to me.

When she heard the door opening, she was almost afraid to turn.

But then she heard the sound of heavy, shortened steps, like those of a prisoner whose ankles were bound. She bit her lower lip and revolved to face him.

The man who had thrilled her, had sent her to stunning heights…that man was nowhere in evidence. Neither was the one who had given himself up to her embrace.

Before her stood a stranger, not the one who’d raged at her, not the one who’d smoldered with anger. This man was solid stone, refusing to so much as meet her eyes.

“Please remove his cuffs,” she requested of the deputy.

A quick, impatient shake of David’s head. “No. This won’t take long.”

The deputy looked between them as if trying to figure out whom to obey.

David’s eyes remained locked on the wall above her head, but she could see his jaw flexing.

To avoid causing him further grief, she merely nodded at the deputy, who shook his head and left the room.

David said nothing, did nothing.

For one of the few times in her life, Callie didn’t know what to say. At last she ventured a question. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if they uncuffed you?”

“This is reality. It’s who I am.”

But it’s not
, she wanted to protest. A night without sleep, a day of upheaval…suddenly, Callie was exhausted, sick of everything. “What are you trying to accomplish by acting like this?”

At last his gaze flicked to hers. “Just go away, Callie.”

If his voice hadn’t been surprisingly gentle, perhaps she would have thrown up her hands. “I can’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Why the hell not?”

“What do you want from me, David? Your attorney’s out of town, and I’m trying to help you. You don’t have to be alone in this, but you slap away every attempt—” Seeing his hardened features, frustration rose.

“All right!” she exploded. “No more kid gloves.” She slapped her palms on the table. “Tell me about Ned Compton.”

At last she’d succeeded in shaking him. “What?”

“I want to know about your life with your stepfather.”

His whole face tightened. “Don’t call him that.”

An inkling grew into a much stronger instinct. Ned Compton. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Callie had had to learn to trust her intuition; sometimes it made all the difference in a case. She’d been sleepwalking since she’d lost her confidence in her skills. Now the driven prosecutor was back and on the hunt. “What did he do to you, David? Did he hit you? What was he like when nobody was looking?”

She saw the reaction, so faint she would have missed it if she hadn’t been staring straight at him.

“He was fine.” Back to not meeting her gaze.

“You don’t kill someone who’s…‘
fine
.’” She punctuated the word with fingers clenched in quotation marks. “What are you hiding?”

He ignored the question. “You have no idea what I was like back then.”

“Only months after you played Sir Galahad with
me? I don’t buy that, David. You reached out to a messed-up girl who was a total stranger, and you stuck with me even when it cost you dearly.” She started around the table. “How you treated me was no different than you treated everyone else. Everybody loved you. You changed that much after I left? Uh-uh.” She folded her arms in front of her chest. “I think I might need to have a chat with your mother.”

His eyes flew wide, then narrowed to pure fury. Rage pumped off him in rolling waves.

Abruptly, he simply shrugged. Turned off his feelings like a spigot. “She wasn’t there that night. She can’t tell you anything.”

“She just walked in on you after you’d killed him, is that right?” That’s what his testimony had been.

“Yeah.” His gaze locked on hers as if daring her to argue. “My fingerprints were on the murder weapon. Do your homework.”

She let the insult pass. “So the person who sent me an anonymous note that Ned Compton is the key was…?” She left the question hanging, alert for the slightest reaction.

The smallest things could betray a person—the faint widening of the eye, the tiniest hitch of breath, the quick flinch of a muscle.

She spotted all three. David was not the accomplished liar she’d learned to be.

“Someone’s just messing with your head,” he said. “You don’t have time to hang around anyway. Your job is on the line, you told me so.”

It was her turn to react as he stated what she’d been trying to ignore. She did not have the luxury of lingering here, had indeed planned to leave today and return to fight for her career, her life, the only one she knew.

She could relinquish Miss Margaret’s legacy and figure out some way not to harm the people involved. She had two weeks left on her thirty days, but that wasn’t an insurmountable issue, she had to believe.

But if she went back now, David would stay in jail until his trial, then he would go back to Jackson, to a cell that would cage his spirit, that would harden him beyond redemption, the traces that were left of that beautiful boy. This time prison might even break him.

“You’re absolutely right. It makes no sense for me to remain here,” she said, testing him.

“Good.” Relief warred with the faintest spark of grief, then both settled into resignation bordering on despair.

So what did she say to him when she knew she had no intention of leaving? When she planned to drive straight to his mother’s house and force the truth she was beginning to suspect? Did she walk away and let desolation settle deep into his bones for however long was required for her to dig out what had really happened that night?

But what if she were wrong? Did she dare raise his hopes?

Someone knew the truth of Ned Compton’s death. She’d hoped to shake it from David, but he hadn’t blinked. Locked up, he couldn’t interfere with her, and maybe that was what she needed, even though seeing him chained grieved her.

She felt him staring at her and looked up, realizing she’d been silent too long. “So…can I bring you anything?” she said with careful politeness.

“No.” His brow beetled. “Thanks,” he added as an afterthought, his gaze piercing.
What are you up to?
she could almost hear him asking.

She watched his fingers—those long, powerful fingers that had caressed her body, had drawn her soul from her—clench, and she had a moment’s temptation to yell at him, to shout,
What are you doing to yourself? To us? To what we could be together?

But even if she succeeded in getting to the bottom of this tangle and freeing him, she didn’t know what his dreams were, what he’d wish to salvage from the bright future that had been torn from him…and she had her own goals, her own game plan.

One thing at a time
, she lectured herself.

“Okay, then. I’ll see you later.” She eased toward the door.

“Callie.” His voice was ominous. “Where are you going?”

She skirted around him.

“Don’t involve my mother in this, you hear me?”

The urgency in his tone was wrenching. She was on the right track, had to be. She slipped through the cell opening, biting her lip as she heard the jerky half steps caused by his ankle bindings.

“Callie!” His tormented roar echoed in her head.

I’m doing this for you, David.
She was practically running as she left.

“M
RS
. L
ANGLEY
? It’s Callie Hunter,” she called as she knocked for the second time. “I need to speak with you about David.”

The drapes were closed, the door was locked. Callie decided, after a third round of knocking, to circle the house and see if she could detect anyone inside.

Once more, the woman’s sad plight touched her. The small home that had always been neat and well tended had fallen into decay. David’s efforts were slowly reversing the trend, but the sense of hopelessness was inescapable. For a second, Callie contemplated simply retracing her steps and letting the woman be.

But that would not save David.

When Callie had first learned of his criminal record, she had assumed that everything bad that had happened had begun with her, that his fall from favor was solely her fault.

Only today had she stopped to consider that Ned Compton had entered David’s life at that same juncture. She’d never met the man, though she had heard his name mentioned when she lived here. He’d been new in town then, she thought, and wealthy compared to the rest of Oak Hollow.

Not that she expected to escape blame herself. She had surely initiated David’s precipitous decline, and she bore plenty of responsibility for taking a decent boy and so ruthlessly pursuing him that the normal drives of a teenage male had led him straight into her very willing arms.

He would never have touched her if he’d known she
was only fourteen. She’d understood that then and even more so now.

Still, Delia Langley had never given any indication of wanting a husband. She’d been an exceedingly beautiful woman, but her life had been centered around David, and even a dumb teenage girl could see all that she’d sacrificed to raise a very fine boy.

So how had Ned Compton come into the picture? And what kind of man had he been really?

A tiny stir in the curtains of the back bedroom caught Callie’s eye.

Gotcha.

She strode up the back steps and tried the screen door. Finding it locked, she rapped sharply on its frame. “Mrs. Langley, when I left David at the jail, he was chained hand and foot. He’ll go back to prison for a long time if something doesn’t change.”

Was that faint sound footsteps? Just in case, she continued. “I think there’s more to the story than anyone knows. I also think you’re the one who sent me that note—”

The back door opened. “Chained?” His mother’s hand went to her throat.

“Yes. Did you send me that note?”

Unpainted lips pressed together. She nodded.

“He doesn’t want me talking to you,” Callie said. “But if I don’t, there’s no help for him.”

“Please.” The screen door opened. “Come inside.”

Callie followed her.