Hunter leaned even closer. “Maybe they kept it quiet for your sake.”
“My sake?”
“You’d already lost your mother, Maddy. Learning that your father was…what we think he might have been would be worse than losing him to death. Have you thought of that?”
“No.” She hadn’t. She refused to. “My father was a preacher, not a predator. Irene didn’t kill him because she wouldn’t have had any reason to!”
The pity in his eyes made the pain worse. She’d been hoping he’d argue with her, give her a reason to fight for what she so desperately needed to believe. But he didn’t.
The bell jingled over the door. When Hunter’s eyes went to the entrance and stayed focused there, Madeline turned to see what he was staring at.
Clay was crossing the restaurant, coming toward them. Her stepbrother nodded a greeting to her, then sat down in the booth beside her and slid a piece of paper toward Hunter.
“What’s this?” Hunter asked, obviously startled that Clay was addressing him instead of her.
“Someone put this in my mailbox last night.”
“Someone?”
“Read it.”
“‘Stop her or I will,’” he said, then glanced up.
“I think this is talking about Madeline.” Clay slumped back against the seat, large and powerful and forever watchful.
Was it true, what Hunter believed? Madeline wondered. Was Clay protecting Irene? Had he been lying to her all these years, pretending to love her and to commiserate with her when he knew all along that he’d buried her father with his own shovel?
Madeline didn’t have those answers but she agreed that this note probably referred to her. She reached out to take the slip of paper.
“You have no idea who this came from?” Hunter asked Clay.
“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” her stepbrother said pointedly. “I wouldn’t need to be—because they’d no longer be capable of hurting her.”
“Why are you sharing this with me?” Hunter rested both elbows on the table and studied Clay intently.
“I have a family now.” Clay’s gaze softened as it landed on her, and Madeline’s heart twisted. God, how I love my big brother. Please, let Hunter be wrong. “I need you to help me keep her safe.”
“What about the police? Have you gone to them?” He gave Hunter a disbelieving look. “Why would I go to them?” Standing, he bent swiftly and kissed Madeline’s temple, but she shrank away from him.
His eyes—shockingly blue and far older than his years—met hers, showing hurt and surprise, but she glanced down. She didn’t know who to trust anymore.
Madeline couldn’t sleep—even though Hunter was spending the night in the room beside her own. Her arms and legs felt heavy, as did her heart, but her mind was overrun with chaos. Accusations that had proven empty. Sympathetic excuses for Irene, Clay, Grace—even her father. Snatches of memory that supported one view or another. Images of where her father might be buried at the farm. A churning fear that Hunter was completely credible in what he’d surmised so far. Brief flashes of hope that he was wrong…
She couldn’t relax and the harder she tried, the more uncomfortable she became. Even Sophie had given up on trying to sleep beside her.
The tension was bringing on a headache. She needed aspirin, but when she sat up to get it, she didn’t move right away. There was a picture of her and Grace and Molly on her dresser that caught her attention. It was from way back, when they were girls.
“Grace,” she murmured, wishing she could simply talk to her sister, be reassured and go on with her life. But it was too late for that. Staring down her doubts had made them grow. Now she was even beginning to question her father. That suitcase had to come from somewhere. Was it really feasible that some drifter had put in there and sunk the car? Or that Mike had done it? He’d never molested anyone else. And he wasn’t the one who’d broken in last night.
With a frustrated groan, she flopped back onto the bed. Even if Grace knew the real story, she’d never tell. She’d stand by Clay. So would Irene and Molly. How could Madeline expect anything else? They were all related by blood. True sisters united with a true brother.
She, on the other hand, had no one. And she’d never felt that more deeply than now. She had no mother, no father, no stepfamily—not anymore.
Burying her head beneath the pillow, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the tears that were burning her throat. As terrifying as it was to confront her doubts and fears, to allow herself to question the love, loyalty and honesty of those closest to her, now that she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop.
If only her mother had lived. Eliza’s presence would’ve changed everything.
She was driving herself crazy. Kicking off the covers, she got out of bed. She didn’t care about the consequences; this was one night she wouldn’t spend alone.
Hunter heard the creak in the hall. He’d been lying awake, listening to the night sounds and straining to distinguish any noise that might not belong—a car in the drive or movement downstairs. For hours, everything had been quiet, still, peaceful. Except for the woman in the room next door. Even before Madeline got up, he could sense her restless tossing and had nearly gone to her a hundred times. After what they’d said in the restaurant, he’d been trying to keep his mind where it should be—on the case. But he couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t choose the guilty party in what had happened twenty years ago.
Some situations were unfortunate all the way around. Hunter was fairly sure this was one of them. Until a few hours ago, Clay had wanted him to go home, had been determined to eliminate the threat he posed. Yet, for Madeline’s sake, he’d appeared at the restaurant and all but asked Hunter to stay. That reversal was just one more indication of how much Madeline’s stepbrother cared about her. Clay hadn’t admitted the truth; he was still guarding his secrets. But what other choice did he have?
Madeline stood in the open doorway. Hunter could see her womanly shape in the moonlight drifting through the window. He’d left both the door and the draperies open, wanting to be more aware of everything that went on around him.
But he didn’t need to be more aware of her. That came without any help.
“You okay?” he asked, even though he knew she had to be feeling lost and alone and was probably seeking comfort. He liked the idea of having her even closer than the next room—as close as she could get.