The young Wendy had been powerless. Broken. Terrified. Sex would never have been her weapon of choice. The ensuing fifteen years couldn’t have wrought such changes.
So Remy had lied. His life depended on that lie.
Not true, Max, she had to admit. The only life in the balance at that moment had been her own.
Answers were scarce, questions endless. Arms filled with a grocery bag of garbage, Max hipped the side garage door open to dump the load. The wooden structure, built in the days of one-car families, was no longer usable for anything but storage. It was dark, damp, and cold. She shivered, thinking of Wendy’s closet.
With an elbow, she flicked the lid off the big plastic can. Someone had forgotten to roll the trash out last week, and the rancid odor burned her nostrils.
Gravel crunched beneath tires outside. A car door slammed. Footsteps approached the small garage, then stopped. Max shuddered. The walls closed in on her with the intensity of a nightmare. The closet wasn’t the only place Wendy used to hide.
Thirteen-year-old Wendy was still alive and well inside Max.
“I did what you wanted,” Max whispered. “I found out who murdered you. Why can’t you leave me alone?”
There’s more you have to do. Echoes of Cameron. God, she was demented, talking to herself the way her dead husband used to.
She yanked the garage door open.
Nick Drake stood outside in the bright morning, shades covered his eyes. The sun glinted off the windshield of a dusty, dented, red pickup behind him. He’d left the engine running.
Max didn’t know what to say. Wendy wanted to throw herself in his arms. Max moved to the left to go around him.
He stepped with her, blocked her, just as Wendy wanted him to. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, waved her hand in dismissal. “Look, it was just sex. No big deal.” Reminded of that final fight with Cameron, Max winced.
“That’s not what I was talking about.”
“For what then?”
“For leaving you alone when you needed me.”
“You should be saying that to Wendy.”
He had enough sensitivity to flush slightly. God, she’d wanted nothing more than to tell him to take a flying leap, but there were so many questions she still had about Wendy.
And why hadn’t she sought him out to get them?
Simple enough. Wendy had wanted him to come to her.
You know, if you’re living inside me, why can’t you just tell me it all at once instead of giving me this piece-meal crap?
Pissed, she glared at Nick. “So they released you. I thought they’d have to wait till Monday when a judge could sign the papers.” She hadn’t wanted to ask Witt. Too conspicuous.
“They never arrested me.”
“What?” Damn that Witt.
“The big guy didn’t believe my story, kept pointing out inconsistencies.”
Double-damn Witt. He’d led her on, used her to flush out the real killer.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Not out here.”
“You can’t come into my apartment.” She didn’t trust Wendy alone with him. Her skin felt flushed, her pulse skipped beats, and her nipples were taut against her T-shirt. It wasn’t because the damn thing was damp. Oh, no, she was the one who was damp. Inside and out.
“All right. We’ll skip your place and go for a drive.”
A drive. At least the truck had no back seat. She glanced at it, only to find that it had one helluva a big bench seat that would allow more than enough room for... “I don’t think so.”
He came at her, put his hands at her waist, and lifted her bodily to the driver’s side door.
When he let go, she almost crumpled to the ground at his feet.
She jumped away from his touch. “A drive? Fine. I’ll get in the other side.”
He opened the door with one hand while barring her from going anywhere with the other. With a sweeping gesture, “Ladies first.”
When she hesitated, he laughed harshly. “Don’t trust yourself to be alone with me?”
She didn’t trust Wendy. Max felt the woman inside her head like the buzz of a high-tension wire. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
She climbed up and would have scooted to the far side, but he clamped a powerful arm around her shoulders and held her close. He put the truck in gear and backed out with one hand.
He frowned. “You love to fight, don’t you?”
“It’s a defense mechanism,” she admitted freely.
“I’m sick to death of fighting. Let’s try a little honesty.”
“You’re a man. I’m a woman. Honesty’s not possible.”
He shook his head and went on. “I ran out on you Friday night when I realized my wife needed me more than you did.”
“That’s not honesty. It’s brutality.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“I’m not the one you should apologize to. Wendy is. As I recall, you did the same thing to her.”
He winced at the truth of her statement, then shook his head. “Jesus, you’re different. I’ve never met anyone so tough. So in control. You know what you want, and you go for it.”
She gave a half snort. “Who are you kidding?”