Vows of Silence

“They’re in Bermuda for a couple of weeks,” she answered belatedly, trying her level best not to sound breathless with her heart thundering beneath her sternum.

His gaze slowly washed over her, heating her skin and making her feel restless. “You look good, Lacy.”

The sound of his voice, soft, warm, a little rough from lack of sleep and probably too much coffee and barking orders, curled around her, made her tingle inside. The beard shadowing his jaw only made him look sexier. “We can have a seat in here,” she offered. Her hand shook when she indicated the living room. She tightened her fingers into a fist and led the way.

Rick followed Lacy into her parents’ living room as he had longed to do a million times back in high school. He squashed that line of thinking. They weren’t kids anymore. He had to keep his head on straight here, had to focus.

Dammit. He should not have stopped. She’d been asleep in spite of the light being on. Few people prowled all hours of the night as he did. But it came with the territory. Not all aspects of law enforcement could be accomplished during daylight hours.

He almost groaned at the gentle sway of her hips. When she’d opened the door, she’d looked a little tousled, and a whole lot sexy. Rick had decided a long time ago that Lacy Jane Oliver had been put on this earth to drive him mad with the want of something he could never have. Not completely anyway. And now she was back, reminding him of all he’d lost—not that he’d ever really had her the way he’d wanted her. But that didn’t stop the immediate ache in his loins the instant he’d laid eyes on her at O’Malleys.

Hell, he’d had to banish her from his thoughts to get any work at all done tonight. Even then, she’d lingered just beyond conscious thought. Heating his blood, increasing his ache for her on a level over which he had no control.

He was a fool.

And she was a suspect.

Halfway across the living room, she stopped and turned to face him, the gossamer robe outlining her slender body. All that rich, mahogany hair draped her shoulders, whispering against the silk fabric when she moved.

“Would you like coffee?”

Rick swore silently. It irritated the hell out of him that he hadn’t been alone in the room with her for three minutes and already he was falling victim to her beauty, to the need he could never quite vanquish.

“No, thanks. I’ve had too much already.”

Her dark brown eyes registered satisfaction, as if she’d known his answer before he spoke. “Would you like to sit?” she inquired politely, too politely.

There hadn’t been anything polite at all about the way she’d urged him on that night…all those years ago when she’d been his for just one unforgettable moment.

“No, I think I’ll stand,” he said tightly. After all this time, the notion of touching her was still almost more than he could bear. Yet she stood there, watching him, seemingly unaffected, and he couldn’t even pull his thoughts together.

Wariness crept into her watchful eyes at his hesitation. God, he hoped she couldn’t read him that well. “All right then,” she said. “What can I do for you, Chief Summers?”

Chief, not Rick. So that was the way it would be. He almost laughed out loud at his own stupidity for hoping it would be otherwise. Hell, it had always been that way. She waited, perfectly still, her spine rigid, the wall of windows and expensive draperies an elegant backdrop to the sensual picture she made. The filmy white fabric looked stark against her olive skin, displaying a great deal more than it concealed.

“Is this about the investigation?”

He noted the movement of her lips as she spoke. They were full, ripe with color without the aid of cosmetics. He wanted to taste them, to see if the woman was as hot and sweet as the girl had been. Rick licked his lips. “Yeah,” he finally managed to grind out. “I want to run a couple of possibilities past you. Get your take on the scenarios.”

She was nervous now. He could see it in her eyes, her posture. “I’m listening.”

Rick surveyed the room, right then left, taking his time so that her tension would escalate. How often had he imagined how her home looked on the inside? Hell, he’d driven by every single day until she moved away. “Nice place.”

“Thank you.” She tunneled the fingers of her right hand through her hair, pushing the silky stuff away from the face that still haunted his dreams.

Drawing out the wait, he moved to the mantel and studied the photographs of the girl he’d known back in high school. Being an only child, there were plenty to look at. He tried to remember a time when he hadn’t been crazy about Lacy, but as far back as he could recall he had been.

But she hadn’t noticed…except that once.

“You and your friends were visiting when Charles disappeared,” he asked, his voice sounding too harsh after the long moments of silence.

Lacy ordered her heart to slow. She had to stay calm. “You already know the answer to that—you came by the hospital when we were with Melinda.” That’s right, she told herself, think rationally. Don’t let him trick you into saying anything you’ll regret. “You know we’re always there for each other. Not one of us has ever let the others down.”

He shifted from his intent study of the barrage of family photographs, and his penetrating gray gaze collided with hers. “He beat her pretty badly, didn’t he?”

Panic broadsided Lacy. She clenched her jaw to hold back the shudder that followed. “What are you talking about? It was an accident. Melinda fell down the stairs.” That was the story Melinda had told. She’d always covered up her husband’s abuse. Just another aspect of the past that haunted Lacy.

Rick moved toward her, one step, then another. “We both know that’s not the way it happened. He’s dead, why pretend now? I can just imagine how angry it made you—all of you—to find out he’d hurt her that way. Who knows how many other times she’d suffered at his hand.”

Lacy shook her head and held his regard, as difficult as that proved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

An insanely sexy half smile tilted his full mouth. Dammit, she didn’t want to notice that. Another step disappeared between then. Lacy stiffened in an effort to lock down her responses, but her defenses were no match for the chemistry still volatile between them.

“You can’t fool me, Lacy. Charles Ashland, Junior, was a bastard. Admit it.”

He was too close, and coming closer. “Melinda loved him,” Lacy insisted in a firm voice. A tremble vibrated through her, threatening her shaky bravado. “He was a good father.”

“But he was a lousy husband.”

Rick stood toe to toe with her now, his broad chest close enough to lay her cheek there. Lacy lifted her head and unwanted heat roared through her. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t married to him.”

Another wicked tilt of his lips. “You won’t win, Lace. I’m not that easygoing good old boy I used to be. I’ve got your number. You and your friends are in this up to your pretty necks. Tell me what you know and I’ll find a way to protect you.”

Fury swept through her, banishing her fear. Lacy crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at him. Protect her. What about the others? “Go to hell, Rick.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to get nasty.” He massaged his beard-darkened chin, the sound rasping over her nerve endings, making her shiver with new awareness despite the anger rising inside her.

“I’m only giving you the opportunity to come clean with me. What are you so afraid of? Charles is dead—he sure as hell can’t hurt you. In my opinion he got what he deserved.”

Something snapped inside Lacy then. “You’re right,” she said, her voice too calm, and so low that she barely recognized it as her own. “He’s dead. And I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish he’d died sooner.” A new surge of fury streaked through her. For the first time in ten years, she felt liberated. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Chief?”

The scant inch of space between them sizzled with heat and visceral desire. Lacy refused to visibly acknowledge it. Instead she stared directly at him, her own eyes purposely void of the emotions whirling inside her. Let him take his best shot. She was tired, physically and mentally. She’d had enough.

He looked away first. “Dammit, Lacy, you can’t go around telling people you wanted him to die.” He swore again then glowered at her, his expression dark with anger and something else she couldn’t readily identify. “That single statement is motive.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she pressed. “Didn’t you come here tonight to finagle a confession from me?”

He plowed a hand through his short dark hair. “Hell no.” A muscle started to tic in his square jaw. “I came here to get you to come clean with me about what you know. You’re hiding something from me, Lacy, I know it. The four of you have a secret, and I’m damned well going to find out what it is and how it plays into Ashland’s murder.”

He was angry now, almost as angry as she was. “We all signed statements ten years ago as to our whereabouts that day. Check your records, I’m sure you’ll find them.” She spun away. This conversation was over. “It’s late. You should—”

Long fingers curled around her arm and swung her back to face him before she took her second step. His expression was savage, intimidating. A new kind of fear shimmered through her. “I will get the answers I need, Lacy, one way or another.” He yanked her a few inches nearer, his full mouth close. “I won’t stop until I do.”

“Is that a threat?” Hard as she tried not to, she trembled.

He released her abruptly, but that fierce gaze held her a moment longer. “It’s a promise.”

Without looking back, Rick stormed out. She heard the front door close behind him. Lacy brought one shaky hand to her mouth and choked back the sob that swelled in her throat. Oh, God. She had to call Cassidy. He might not have any evidence, but his instincts had hit right on the money. Forcing herself to breathe, breathe deeply, Lacy made her way to the telephone. Before she could pick up the receiver, it rang. She frowned. Her parents? Cassidy?

Fear snaking around her chest once more, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello.” She had to calm down. She closed her eyes and cursed her loss of control.

“Lacy Jane Oliver?”

The slow, barely audible whisper tightened the strong hold of fear clutching at her, paralyzing her. Lacy opened her eyes, then blinked. Her mind raced to identify the strangely terrifying voice, but it was no use. She didn’t recognize it. Couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. “Yes,” she breathed the simple response.

“You should be very, very afraid.”

Adrenaline fired through her veins. “Who is this?”

“I know your secret.”

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