Hideaway - Page 90

“They were both connected to Caitlyn Sullivan’s kidnapping. As is Sheriff Buckman.” Michaela took a photo out of her folder, laid it on the table. “Recognize him?”

Sparks gave the photo a study, what appeared to be a serious one. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“He’s dead, too.” Red leaned over, watching Sparks’s face as he jabbed a finger on the photo. “So’s his friend after they tried to run me off the road, after they shot up my truck.”

“Well, holy shit. But again, what does it have to do with me? If you’re thinking this all goes back to the kidnapping, that just doesn’t make sense. That’s a long time ago.”

“Ever hear how revenge is a dish best served cold?” Michaela wondered.

He flashed a smile. “I like a hot meal myself.” Let it fade, widened his eyes. “Jesus, you think Charlotte’s doing this, like hiring people to kill? You think she’ll go for me?”

Michaela didn’t hide the smirk as she sat back. “Has anyone threatened you?”

“Not recently. Look, I keep my head down. I’m no Frank Denby. I work in the library, do the job, stay out of the heat. I do some coaching in the gym. You keep it cool, don’t cause trouble, stay out of it, and you get through. I’m going to say Charlotte had a cold streak, cold as they come, but she’s been making movies again, right? And she married that rich guy. The burger guy.”

“You keep informed,” Red commented.

“We get TV time in here. I don’t know why she’d want to go after any of us over something that was her own fucking idea, whatever the hell she said to get a light touch.”

“You didn’t get such a light touch, did you?”

He looked back at Red. “No, I did not. I fell for the bitch, okay? Mistake on top of mistake. I got caught up, thinking of taking off with her and a pot full of money. I’m paying for it. The last thing I want is to go back there.”

“Denby screwed things up. Scarpetti helped get Charlotte off with a handful of years. Sheriff Buckman made sure you’re sitting just where you’re sitting.”

Sparks leaned back as if the air had gone out of him. “You think I’m involved in this? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m sitting where I’m sitting inside a maximum-security prison, for Christ’s sake.”

“So was Denby.”

“That’s right. That’s right.” A little outrage now as Sparks jerked forward. “And you think they didn’t have a chat with me on that? Didn’t find out where I was when it went down? I don’t kill people, even assholes. I don’t know this fucker.” With a flick, Sparks tossed the photo across the table. “The lawyer didn’t have dick to do with me. You had me cold because I was an idiot over a woman.”

“The lawyer helped Charlotte put together statements that shoved you to the head of the train,” Red pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s right. Are you going to tell me I wouldn’t have done twenty otherwise? That’s bullshit. She got off light, but I’d have done the same time either way. What do I care?”

As if frustrated, Sparks threw his hands in the air, then dragged them through his hair. “Listen, for fuck’s sake, I’ve got under a year to go till I’m up for parole. I’ve got a lawyer working on getting me that parole. I could be out in a year. Out of here. Nothing’s worth more to me than that. No way I’d do anything to screw that up. And how the hell would I? What am I, Harry fucking Potter?”

“It doesn’t take magic to get one inmate to shank another. A favor for a favor. You’ve made a lot of connections inside, Sparks.”

“That’s right. Connections help keep you out of the infirmary, out of solitary, out of the goddamn morgue. I order books. I help some of the cons who can barely write their name write letters to family on the outside. I help train in the gym. Denby’s my past, and in here you’d better stay in the present.

“You think about this.” He jabbed a finger that shook just a little at both of them. “If you’ve got anything on all this, I’m in the fucking barrel. I’ve got to watch my back until I get out. You do your time without moaning about it, and it’s still not enough. It’s never enough.”

He looked back at the guard on the door. “I want to go back. I’m done here. I want to go back.”

Michaela slid the photo neatly into the folder as the guard led Sparks out. “He’s good.”

“He is.”

“It’s hard to argue with anything he said.”

“It made sense, right down the line.” Red rose, rubbed lightly at his wounded arm. “And he’s a sonofabitching liar.”

“Oh yeah. He is.”

PART IV

LOVE, DARK AND BRIGHT

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Love is blind.

—GEOFFREY CHAUCER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

April slid into May, and the world filled with poppies. They waved orange and fire red in warm breezes, blanketing hills, smothering fields in color. Bluebonnets sprang up, adding some sassy charm, and lilacs sweetened the air everywhere.

Mornings brought fog sliding, smoking, sometimes so thick it hung a curtain over the world until the sun cracked through, burned it away, and turned that world to sparkling.

Cate threw open all her windows, potted herbs—under Julia’s supervision—for her windowsill, set up a table out on her patio for breaks under the afternoon sun.

She watched the gardens surrounding her bloom and thrive, the crops at the ranch grow. The woods where she’d once run toward the light turned lush and green.

Of course the tourists came, and traffic on Highway 1 stalled like a clogged drain. But beauty had its price.

In the peaceful, blooming spring, she began to lean away from Michaela’s theory. Coincidences happened, and the connection was vague and old in any case. The second man in the stolen car turned out to be a cousin of the first. And neither had any connection to anyone else.

She had home. She had work. She had a man who made her happy. Why look for shadows when she could stand in the light?

With another audiobook on her slate, she spent her morning in the booth, broke at noon.

Time to take a walk, clear the head, give the throat a rest. She decided to walk up to the main house, sit in the peace of the walled garden with its climbing roses and impossibly blue clematis, all its pretty flowers and benches.

She could mooch some of Consuela’s excellent lemonade.

An hour break, she decided as she left the house. Another two hours in the booth. Three if she felt she had it in her. Plenty of time to fix herself up a bit before she drove to the ranch.

Dinner with Dillon, his ladies, and Red had become a weekly ritual, and a treat. And she’d stay at Dillon’s for the night. If she managed to get there a little early, she might catch him working with the horses.

God, she loved watching him with the horses.

She topped the rise, stopped, stared as Consuela rushed out of the house toward the woman holding a baby on her hip beside a Lexus SUV.

“Darlie!”

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