Vows of Silence

“Hello, Rick.”

“It’s good to see you.” His voice was deeper, huskier than before, but there was no mistaking the underlying tension there. His expression grew harder, more intense the longer he looked at her. Was he remembering as she was?

“It’s nice to see you, too.” Lacy broke away from those disturbing gray eyes and sipped her warm beer.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Melinda?” he asked, his tone sincere.

Melinda managed a decent attempt at a smile. “I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do,” she offered listlessly.

Had the question come from any other cop on the force, Lacy would have been certain an ulterior motive existed. But Rick genuinely meant what he asked. He wouldn’t beat around the bush. He would say what was on his mind.

“In a few days we’ll talk,” he went on. “But not now. I know you have your hands full dealing with all this. In the meantime, you be sure and let me know if you need anything at all.”

“We’re here, Chief Summers,” Cassidy said bluntly. “If Melinda needs anything, we’ll take care of her.”

He nodded, acknowledging the game point to Cassidy. “Of course. I’ll keep you informed of our progress on the investigation.”

He looked at Lacy one last time before he turned and strode away. She inhaled sharply, almost gasped.

“You okay?”

Lacy met Cassidy’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, sure.”

“This won’t be the last time the chief or one of his deputies wants to talk to us.” Cassidy’s focus moved from one to the other. “We have to be prepared to hold our ground. No one, and I mean no one, is to be caught off guard. Don’t allow anyone—not even your own family—to question you alone. We’re in this together. We’ve all known this day might come. We’ll take each necessary step together. As long as we’re united, no one and nothing can touch us.”

“Thank you, Cassidy,” Melinda said, tears glistening in her eyes. “I don’t think I could get through this without you—without all of you.”

“Right now we should all go home and get some rest. We need to stay on our toes. But we have to keep each other informed of our whereabouts. And Melinda—” she turned her full attention back to her “—I don’t want you left alone at all.”

“I’ll take her home and stay with her,” Lacy offered, anxious to be away from all this subterfuge.

“All right.” Cassidy dropped a bill on the table for the beers and a tip. “I’ll relieve you at ten tonight.”

Melinda heaved a tired sigh. “Really, Cassidy, I’m not a child. I can be alone.”

She shook her head. “It’s too risky. They’ll target you, Melinda. They’ll consider you the weak link.”

She looked confused and uncertain, then with a nod relented, “You’re right, I suppose.”

“Hey,” Lacy interjected with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “It’ll be like old times. Remember how we loved sleeping over?”

Melinda smiled weakly.

But it wouldn’t be like old times, Lacy admitted to herself. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Charles Ashland, Junior, was dead.

And now the whole world knew.

Lacy followed Melinda into her house. She would rather walk on broken glass and then tread across hot coals than come back to this house, but she had to. If Cassidy said it was necessary, then it was. They had to pretend that everything was normal—appearances were important right now. And Melinda definitely didn’t need to be alone. She looked like hell. Lacy caught a glimpse of herself as she passed a hall mirror, not that she looked any better.

“Are you hungry?” Melinda led the way into the kitchen. “I’m suddenly starved.”

“When did you eat last?” Lacy had a bad feeling that it hadn’t been today.

Melinda washed her hands in the sink and reached for a nearby towel. “I can’t remember. Sometime yesterday, before the call.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lacy opened the fridge door and surveyed the contents. “How about I make a loaded chef salad?”

“You don’t need to do that,” Melinda protested. “You’re a guest. Let me take care of dinner.”

Still standing in the vee created by the open door, Lacy lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. “A guest?” She harrumphed. “Get real, Mel.”

“God.” Melinda dropped into a chair at the table. “I’m not sure I can get through this, Lace.”

Lacy shoved the door shut, and crouched down in front of her friend. “Look, we’ll get through it. No one has to do this alone.”

“But what if Cassidy’s wrong? What if they have that stupid inquest my attorney told me about and something goes wrong?”

Lacy shook her head adamantly. “Nothing is going to go wrong. Cassidy knows what she’s talking about.”

Melinda ran a hand over her face and then smoothed back her hair. “I know you’re right. It’s just so hard. I’m so afraid.”

Lacy took Melinda’s hands in hers. “We all are, Mel. But we’re going to be all right. Cassidy wouldn’t be so sure of herself if she had any doubts at all. You know her better than that. She’s a tiger when it comes to the law, and she’s totally honest and irreverently blunt.”

“What about Rick?” Melinda moistened her lips and blew out another breath of worry and helpless frustration. “I’m scared to death he’ll suspect something.”

Lacy managed a halfhearted laugh. “That’s his job. He’s supposed to suspect everybody until he solves or closes the case.”

An old anger and hurt turned Melinda’s hazel eyes as hard as granite. “The son of a bitch deserved to die. He’s not worth all the worry he’s causing now. The only good that came of him are my two kids.” She closed her eyes to fight the tears brimming. “I couldn’t live without my kids.”

“I have an idea,” Lacy offered, desperate to relieve her friend’s hurt. “Why don’t we go pick up Chelsea and go out to dinner in Huntsville. It’s only an hour or so from here and we won’t have to worry about running into anyone who might say the wrong thing. Hey, we could drive all the way to Marion and have dinner with Chuckie.”

Melinda smiled. “That’s a good idea, but I think we’d have to call in advance to have dinner with Chuckie.”

The telephone rang, making them both jump.

“Christ.” Melinda pressed her hand to her chest. “That scared the hell out of me.”

Lacy let go a shaky breath as she stood. “It shaved a couple years off my life too.”

Melinda crossed the room and picked up the cordless receiver. “Hello.”

Lacy watched the turmoil of emotions that skated across her friend’s face as she tried as politely as possible to protest whatever the person on the other end of the line was suggesting. Already etched with grief, Melinda’s face turned an even whiter shade of pale. This wasn’t good. Lacy’s pulse leaped, sending the blood pounding through her veins. Surely nothing else had gone wrong.

Melinda pressed the disconnect button and braced herself against the counter.

“What’s happened?” Lacy was at her side in four strides.

“That was Mrs. Ashland.” Defeated, Melinda lifted her head. “She’s coming over to pack a couple of bags for Chelsea. She thinks my daughter will be better off with her and the senator until this is completely over.”

Rage erupted inside Lacy. Just because they were rich and powerful the Ashlands thought they could do anything. “We won’t let her keep Chelsea! The old man’s only a senator not a god. We can just say no.” Charles, Senior had always dabbled in politics, but just over a decade ago he’d launched a serious political career, culminating in his taking a senatorial seat.

Melinda made a sound, not quite laugh and not quite sob. “Tell me, Lacy, how do you stop an Ashland in his own town?”

All emotion drained from Lacy’s body, leaving her numb and weak-kneed. Melinda was right. You couldn’t stop an Ashland…not in this town.

Chapter 3

Gloria Ashland had always been one of the town’s beautiful people. Time hadn’t changed that. Lacy glared, welcoming smile plastered in place, at the woman for a long moment before stepping back and allowing her and her friend entrance into Melinda’s home. The idea that Senator Ashland had been asked to run on the Democratic ticket for the vice presidency in next year’s election was downright scary.

“Where’s Melinda?” Gloria asked sharply, skimming Lacy and immediately flashing disapproval.

“She’s in the family room.”

Gloria headed in that direction, a flurry of Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana. What a bitch, Lacy fumed. Well, giving Mrs. Ashland grace, Lacy released a weary sigh. The woman had just been forced to relive the loss of her son all over again. Lacy’s lips tightened into a grim line. But then, Gloria Ashland had always been a bitch, even when her son was very much alive.

“I’m Renae Rossman. You remember me, don’t you, Lacy? I served as mistress of ceremonies at your debutante ball.”

Lacy closed the door behind the woman who had just spoken. Fifteen or so years younger than Gloria, Renae was even more striking than Lacy remembered. And she remembered her all right. A former Miss Alabama, Renae had married Wes Rossman when she was only twenty-one. The rumor was that she had dropped out of college and married so abruptly because she was pregnant, but nine months later that rumor remained unproved. Only about ten at the time, Lacy could remember wondering why such a pretty lady, blond haired, blue eyed, and built like a runway model, would marry such an old man. Wes was at least twenty years older than Renae. Eventually Lacy had come to understand that he was a very rich man, and money talked. He was connected as well. He’d served as the senator’s campaign manager in his every political race. Their ties ran deep.

Turning to face the woman, Lacy affected her most charming smile. “Why, of course, I remember you, Mrs. Rossman.” She offered her hand.

Renae clasped Lacy’s hand briefly but firmly. “Call me Renae. The ‘Mrs.’ always makes me feel old. You’re looking well.” Remorse flickered in her eyes. “I regret these circumstances have brought us together again.”

Again?

Lacy supposed she was referring to the memorial service the Ashlands had held for Charles shortly after he was officially pronounced dead. Lacy, Kira and Cassidy had surrounded Melinda then, as well, providing an insulating barrier between her and the harsh reality of their own actions. A shiver raced through her at the memory.

“So do I.” Lacy turned away from the beauty queen’s scrutiny and hurried to the family room. She’d left Melinda alone too long with Gloria. Cassidy would not approve. With good reason, Lacy chastised herself. Melinda was vulnerable right now.

“You know I only have the child’s best interest at heart,” Gloria was saying as Lacy and Renae entered the room. She sat alone on the sofa, her back ramrod straight as she perched on the very edge. “She and Chuckie mean the world to the senator and I.”

Melinda stood behind a wing chair opposite the sofa. She gripped the back of the chair, her fingers digging into the elegant brocade, whether for support or protection, Lacy couldn’t be sure.

“I know you mean well,” Melinda offered, her voice trembling. “But I would prefer Chelsea be with me. I’m her mother. She needs to be with me.”

You tell her, Lacy cheered silently.

Gloria sighed dramatically, then pressed her handkerchief to her flushed cheek. “Tell her, Renae, about the reporters.”

Lacy went on instant alert.

Renae sat down on the sofa next to Gloria and took her hand in hers in a comforting gesture. “They’ve gathered at the courthouse,” she explained quietly.

The woman’s voice oozed Southern charm. Lacy could hear her Miss Alabama acceptance speech now, all warm and chock-full of false humility. There was something oddly unsettling about the woman, something Lacy couldn’t quite put her finger on. Renae’s words filtered through her distracted focus and Lacy went as cold as ice.

“What do you mean?” The question came from her, but Lacy didn’t remember forming the words.

“The news of—” she moistened her lips and swallowed “—the discovery has apparently garnered the attention of the media, local and state. There are at least a dozen reporters hanging around the chief of police’s office. As soon as they’ve exhausted their efforts there, they’ll come here.” Her focus shifted from Melinda to Lacy and back. “I don’t think Chief Summers will be able to stop them. This story has too many possible ramifications with Charles, Senior, having just been asked to run for vice president.”

Damn. Lacy hadn’t even considered the media circus that would no doubt descend as soon as the news reached the right ears.

“God, I hadn’t thought of that.” Melinda stared at the back of the chair she clutched. “It’ll be a nightmare—even worse than before.”

Lacy moved to her friend’s side. The damned chair was probably the only thing keeping her fully vertical at the moment.

“Then you see that I’m right,” Gloria offered, her eyes shining with self-satisfaction. “With the security we have at home there’s no way a reporter is going to get near Chelsea if she’s with us.”

Melinda nodded her surrender.

“Why don’t we go up and pack those bags?” Lacy suggested softly. Even she could see the justification in the move. Melinda nodded again, and with her leaning heavily on Lacy, the two walked slowly toward the hall.

“Chelsea’s going to be fine,” Lacy assured her. “You know Gloria will take good care of her.” She laughed drily. “She’ll probably spoil her outrageously.”

Melinda paused at the bottom of the stairs. “What if they won’t give up, Lace? What if they keep digging until—”

Lacy shook her head firmly, hoping to convey the certainty of her words. “They won’t.”

Rick studied the mass of paperwork before him. He had cleared his desk and then spread the Ashland file so that he could review it all at once.

“I’m gone, boss.”

Rick scrubbed a hand over his stubbled chin as he glanced up at his deputy. Brad Brewer, his right-hand man, leaned through the open door. He looked like hell. Rick knew, without the aid of a mirror, that he looked just as beat. Neither of them had bothered to go home last night and the lack of sleep was catching up on them.

“Yeah, Brewer, thanks for hanging in here with me.” It was nearing midnight. Everyone had left hours ago, except the two of them.

“In the morning I’ll stay on the Birmingham office until I get that preliminary forensics report for you.”

Rick nodded though he imagined that the senator had already pressed for a speedy turnaround. “Thanks, Brewer. See you in the morning.”

The deputy’s steps echoed down the empty hall, then faded as he exited the Law Enforcement Center. Rick blew out a breath of frustration and exhaustion and turned his attention back to the puzzle before him.

Dozens of interviews had been conducted with friends, work associates and family members when Ashland first went missing ten years ago. Rick scowled at the stack of neatly typed reports. Preston Taylor, the chief of police in Ashland for as long as Rick could remember until retiring six years ago, had personally performed each interview. The guy wouldn’t let anyone else work on the case, not even a deputy as eager and ambitious as Rick. Taylor had insisted that he was the only man with the finesse to do right by the town’s most prominent family.

Rick had to admit that Taylor had been thorough if nothing else. Bank records, phone records, appointment book—it was all there. Every step Ashland had taken for a month before his disappearance was recreated in the neat stacks of investigative reports. There had been no evidence of foul play. No indication that Ashland had felt any pressure or unusual stress prior to his disappearance. His finances were in excellent condition and the future only looked brighter for the lucky jerk. He had more friends than you could stir with a stick. And, apparently, plenty of female company besides the little wife.

Any of the women with whom he’d been involved could have put those bullets in him out of sheer jealousy, but only one woman had anything to gain by his death.

Melinda Ashland.

Rick picked up the most damning report and reviewed Taylor’s notes. About a year before his death, Charles and Melinda had taken out multimillion dollar life-insurance policies. It wasn’t as if they weren’t already heavily insured, but the additional policy had left Melinda Ashland a very, very rich woman by anyone’s standards. The required wait hadn’t been a problem, either, since there were plenty of assets without the insurance money. All that added up to serious motivation.

The interviews with Nigel Canton, Ashland’s business partner, garnered Rick’s attention next. The co-owned investment firm had made both men wealthy in their own rights. Ashland and Canton had signed an agreement giving the surviving partner first dibs on the business over any heirs of the deceased. The price was a meager ten percent of the firm’s worth. Friends of the two men—and clients of the firm—had attested to the growing animosity between the men in the final months of Charles’s life. Especially where Canton’s wife was concerned.

The fact of the matter was, Rick mused, both Nigel Canton and Melinda Ashland had a great deal to gain from Charles’s death. But staring that undeniable fact right back in the face was the indisputable reality that there wasn’t a shred of evidence that either of them was involved. To seal that fate, both had alibis. Not necessarily airtight alibis, but alibis all the same. Hell, Melinda had been a patient in the hospital at the time. He supposed there was always the slim chance she had slipped out when no one was looking.

Yeah, right. That’s not slim, Summers, that’s frigging anorexic. Even though one nurse’s statement indicated she’d found her room empty at some point that afternoon, Taylor hadn’t put much stock in that idea since mobile patients often walked the floors of the hospital.

There was Melinda’s brother Kyle Tidwell. He’d hated Charles, for what he’d done to his sister but, according to the reports, his alibi had also been airtight. Then there was the senator. Though he loved his son, Charles, Junior had been a major embarrassment to him.

Another frown inched its way across Rick’s forehead. There was that other little nagging detail of the one-hundred-thousand-dollar withdrawal Charles made the day he disappeared. He’d liquidated a couple of CDs and withdrew the money in cash. A suitcase and some of his clothes had been missing. Every indication at the time, Rick had to admit, was that Ashland had simply skipped town. But now they knew differently. Rick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. What the hell had happened to that money? Ashland hadn’t been a gambler, and he didn’t have a drug problem.

He was a drinker and a womanizer. And somehow he’d pissed off somebody badly enough to get himself killed.

The forensics boys from Birmingham had arrived today to go over the Mercedes. But Rick wasn’t expecting them to find anything. He’d already had a look himself. No murder weapon, no nothing. Except a couple of slugs and the bare skeletal remains of a man wrapped in a nondescript beige shower curtain in the trunk. Any fingerprints or trace evidence would have been damaged if not completely washed away by the years in the water.

Rick wondered if a man like Ashland, one who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, had suffered any regrets in his final moments before violence stole his existence. Rick studied the glossy photograph of Charles Ashland, Junior, taken ten years ago with his young family. Judging by the cocky grin on the man’s face, he probably hadn’t known the meaning of the word remorse, much less felt the emotion.

Rick tossed the photo aside and pushed away from his desk. He needed sleep. He turned off the light to his office and strode down the long corridor that led to the exit. As far as Rick was concerned there was nothing in Ashland’s file that was going to give him any answers. If there had been, Taylor would have solved this case ten years ago. Rick knew where the hidden secrets lay.

The image of Lacy Oliver zoomed into high-definition focus in his exhausted mind. Lacy and her friends knew something. Whether they were protecting someone or merely hiding some seemingly insignificant detail—they knew something.

Rick had every intention of finding out what it was.

And he knew just the route to take to get what he wanted.

Lacy jerked awake at the sound of a knock at the front door. She straightened, and the book she’d been reading fell to the floor. She blinked and struggled to get her bearings. She was at her parents’ house. After leaving Melinda’s, she’d come home and forced herself to read in hopes of falling asleep. Another knock echoed down the entry hall. Lacy got to her feet and started in that direction.

Had her parents cut their two weeks in Bermuda short? She shook her head. That didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t knock, they’d use their key. Lacy combed her fingers through her hair and then tightened the sash of her robe. She licked her dry lips and drew in a deep breath.

Maybe it was Kira. She might be feeling in need of some company.

A third knock rattled the hinges, startling Lacy although she’d known the sound would come again before she could reach the door. Whoever was out there was certainly impatient, she thought irritably. Tiptoeing, she checked the peephole. Lacy stumbled back at what she saw.

Rick Summers.

Damn.

What the hell was he doing here at this time of night? She glanced at the old grandfather clock and grimaced. A quarter past midnight. Boy, did he have some nerve showing up at her door in the middle of the night.

A chill raced up her spine and spread across her scalp. What if something had happened to Melinda?

Lacy unlocked the door and jerked it open. Her heart slammed mercilessly against her rib cage. God, please let Melinda be okay. Surely Cassidy would have called…

Her parents! The Bermuda authorities would have contacted the authorities here in the event of an emergency.

“I wouldn’t have stopped at this hour if I hadn’t seen the light.” Rick angled his head in the direction of the living room. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Is something wrong? Has something happened?” she demanded, unable to bear the crushing pressure of not knowing.

Understanding dawned in Rick’s silvery eyes. “No…no, it’s nothing like that. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Lacy sagged with relief. Nothing had happened. Thank God. His words suddenly penetrated her haze of euphoria. “Why do you want to talk to me?” Wariness slid over her, making her heart beat fast again. “It’s late.” And she was alone, she didn’t add.

“Do you suppose I could come in?”

Lacy couldn’t speak for a moment. Uncertainty suddenly warred with the almost overwhelming urge to lean into his arms. She remembered all too well how strong they were. He could hold her…make her forget for just a little while.

But he was the chief of police. It was his job to investigate the case of Charles’s murder. This wasn’t a social call.

Lacy hugged herself, suddenly aware of the cool night air against the silk of her robe and her skin. “Can’t it wait till morning?” she asked hesitantly.

His smile was subdued but all charm and persuasion nonetheless. “It could. If you’d rather wait and come into the office around eight, that’d be fine. I just thought we might handle this on a more informal basis.”

Lacy stared up into those steady gray eyes and silently admitted defeat. The same tension and throbbing lust that had plagued them back in high school was there still. She could feel his pull as surely as she could feel her own pulse racing. Steeling herself for whatever was to come, Lacy stepped back and allowed him to enter. Better on her turf than his. Cassidy wouldn’t approve.

“Your folks are away?”

“Yes,” she replied as she closed the door and turned back to him. For one charged moment she allowed herself to take in the complete picture of Rick Summers ten years older. Taller than most men, he was lean and hard. He filled out the pair of faded jeans he wore very nicely. The white, button-up shirt and the loosened tie hanging at his throat set him apart from the average good-looking, small-town guy one might run into in Ashland. But Rick wasn’t just any old average guy. He was the man who had taken her virginity all those years ago in the back seat of his daddy’s Pontiac. And now he was the chief of police investigating Charles’s murder.