The Temptation of Savannah O'Neill. Molly O'Keefe
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“Are you?”
He’d shaken his head, sick to his stomach, which was good enough for the lawyers.
But his sickness had stayed.
Disgusted with himself he stood, but felt shaky, as if he might vomit. When had he last eaten? A day ago? He ordered pizza and spent the rest of the night focused on Savannah and her secrets until finally the sky was turned gray, pink at the edges, and a new day had come to save him from the night.
After grabbing a coffee at the bakery next door he drove toward the O’Neill house, but as he turned left onto the country road to the Manor, he slid on his glasses, because, in the distance, it appeared a police cruiser was parked out front.
With its lights on.
Was Vanessa back?
Were Savannah and Margot guilty of crimes like Vanessa?
A wicked anticipation and something painful bit into Matt’s stomach. Was this it? Was he going to arrive only to see Savannah and Margot being led away in chains?
The statute of limitations for the theft of the jewels was past, so they couldn’t be arrested for that.
Were they being arrested for something else?
Was this how Justice corrected her aim?
His foot pressed on the accelerator, dust flying up behind him in his rearview mirror.
The duality of it was perfect, though he had to admit there was something in him that balked at the idea of Savannah’s cool beauty in a hot desperate cell like his father’s.
But if it was what she deserved, then so be it.
Do the crime, do the time, as his father always said.
He braked to a hard stop just behind the cruiser and threw himself out the door. No press. No throngs of cops. Just one cruiser with its lights going and the old house, looking sadder in the bright morning sunlight.
Matt found everyone in the living room where it was still cool and dark, the windows shadowed by the veranda out front. The cops he expected to see leading the women away sat in spindly Queen Anne chairs, dropping sugar from their beignets onto the faded upholstery.
Margot stood beside a frayed velveteen couch, her hand gripping Savannah’s shoulder.
Savannah sat holding a little girl as if her whole life depended on it, the child’s red head buried in Savannah’s neck.
Matt rocked to a stop in the doorway.
A little girl?
How had he missed that in his investigation? Why hadn’t Savannah told him when he asked?
It shouldn’t change anything, but it did.
Seeing Savannah with a little girl clinging to her neck as if any moment she might be torn away opened up a giant hole in his chest.
He remembered holding on to his father’s neck the same way, as if the cancer might pounce and take his dad from him.
And suddenly he didn’t want to witness Savannah being led away in chains, not if it meant the girl had to witness it, as well.
“I don’t think it was high-schoolers,” Savannah said, staring daggers at the two cops with poor eating habits. “They’ve never tried to break into the house before.”
“Well,” one of the cops said, brushing his hands together and readjusting his girth in the small chair. “It was only a matter of time before some kid got bold enough to try it.”
“I’m sure it’s another prank,” the thin cop said.
“A prank!” Savannah nearly yelled. “You guys have looked the other way for years, and we’ve accepted that as part of the price of living here and being an O’Neill. But someone tried to break into my daughter’s room. It’s the hardest room to get to from the outside and it’s not even accessible from the back courtyard.”
The rage and fear in Savannah’s eyes were real and hot enough to bend steel.
“We’ve dusted for prints and we’ll see what it turns up,” Thin Cop said.
“And then?” Savannah asked, practically spitting fire. Matt could understand her ire. These men were not taking her seriously; their disdain was practically written on the walls. Suddenly, Margot’s comment about the O’Neills being a target around here took on painful ramifications.
“And then, if possible, we’ll make some arrests,” Thin Cop said.
“And what will you be doing in the meantime? To help protect us as citizens of Bonne Terre? Which, I can’t believe I need to remind you, is your job.”
“Look, if you want a man out front, you’re going to have to take that up with Chief Tremblant—”
“Which I will,” Savannah said, standing with the little girl clinging to her like a monkey. “Now, I’d—”
“We’d like to thank you gentlemen for your hard work.” Margot stepped in, like a gracious host or a bomb expert.
“You know,” Fat Cop said, his beady eyes glued to Savannah as if she were the one guilty of breaking into her daughter’s room, “word in town is you’ve hired some stranger to do work around here.”
Matt opened his mouth, but Savannah was there before him. “What are you getting at, Officer Jones?”
“If you don’t want trouble, don’t ask for it.” His tone oozed a sexual patronization that made Matt want to put his fist in the big man’s face. “Seems to me you O’Neills have had a hard time learning that lesson. Maybe that’s why we’re not bending over to make sure y’all are safe and sound. You could take better care your damn selves.”
Enough was enough, and Matt stepped out of the shadowed doorway.
“I’m not here to hurt these women,” he said and all eyes swung to him. He met the cops head-on and could feel Savannah staring at him with his whole body.
What he said, of course, wasn’t totally true, but Matt was living in the dark edges between truth and perception. But he wasn’t here to hurt them like this—scaring children and mothers in the middle of the night.
“Then you’ll have no problem telling me your whereabouts last night,” Fat Cop said.
“Room 3 at the Bonne Terre Inn. All night.”
“Any witnesses to that fact?”
“I ordered a pizza at midnight.”
“Break-in was at two.”
“I took my box out to the garbage around that time. I waved to Mrs. Adams at the front desk.” He put his fists on his hips to keep them from going to work on the guy’s nose and smug grin. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he reiterated, glancing sideways at Savannah to see if she got the message.
She stared at him, her eyes thick blue wells of anger and worry. For a moment, a millisecond, he saw the girlfriend of the man—boy, really—who’d died, whose blood was all over Matt’s hands.
The room dipped around him. Time collapsed and that point-seven seconds nearly got him.
“Come on, Jim,” Thin Cop said, putting a hand on his partner’s beefy shoulder. Matt focused on them as hard as he could, shoving away his memories of the girlfriend and her pain. “We’re going to find out it was Owen and his friends, we both know it. Let’s leave these people alone.”
Officer Jones gave Matt a long look then turned to Savannah. “You. Both of you—” he glanced at Margot, raking the two women with his eyes “—you’re just like Vanessa.”
Savannah went white and Matt didn’t think, he simply acted, stepping in between Savannah and the policeman.
“It’s