Dead Giveaway. Brenda Novak
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Allie flipped off the interior light and considered the quiet farm. Getting soaked seemed to be the only threat she faced. “No, I’ll take care of it. If you don’t hear from me in fifteen minutes or so, go ahead and rouse someone.”
“You got it.”
Adjusting the gun on her belt, Allie hung up and stepped out of the car. “Sit tight and lock the doors.”
“What will you tell Clay?” Beth Ann asked.
“Exactly what you told me.”
BethAnn stopped her from closing the door. “Why? He’ll just deny it.And you can’t trust someone with his reputation.”
Allie didn’t respond. She knew there’d be plenty of people willing and eager to put Clay away based on such flimsy testimony. But she wasn’t one of them. She wanted the truth. And she was going to use everything she’d ever learned about solving cold cases to find it.
Chapter 2
Clay took his time answering her knock. Allie knew he must have heard the siren when she pulled up, must have known that she and Beth Ann had been sitting in his driveway. And yet the only clue that he’d paid them any mind at all was the subtle movement of a curtain in the bedroom overlooking the front yard as she’d approached the house.
When he finally opened the door, he was dressed in a clean T-shirt, a pair of faded jeans that molded comfortably to his long legs, and work boots. If he was concerned or upset, he didn’t give himself away. But then, Clay Montgomery rarely revealed his emotions. He came across as brooding and uncommunicative, just like always.
Or maybe not always. According to the files, which included statements from everyone even remotely connected to Reverend Barker, Clay had once been a popular and fun-loving kid. Although Allie hadn’t become fully aware of his existence until the scandal broke, there were plenty of folks who remembered him from when he’d first come to town, right after the widowed reverend married Irene and moved her little family from neighboring Booneville to the farm. Those statements also said that Clay hadn’t changed into the very guarded person he was now until after his stepfather disappeared.
Which definitely left room for conjecture.
“What do you want?” he asked without preamble.
Allie had seen Clay around town once or twice since she’d been back, but he’d acted as if she didn’t exist. Not that she’d expected him to take special notice of her. Only five foot three and barely a hundred and five pounds, she had a small, compact body—a tomboy’s body—with dark hair that she’d recently cut into a very short style and brown eyes. Being athletic was a plus. But she had rather small breasts and wore a badge. She couldn’t imagine that was a lot to recommend her to a man like Clay Montgomery, who socialized with bombshells like Beth Ann and hated the police with a passion. Even minus the uniform, she doubted she’d ever turn his head. Despite his dubious past, he could have almost any woman he wanted. He possessed more sex appeal than a man had a right to. And he had a reputation for remaining just a hairbreadth out of reach.
For many, the challenge proved irresistible. But Allie knew better than to let anything about him appeal to her. Maybe other women liked moody men, but she’d already made the mistake of getting involved with one.
Still, she couldn’t help admiring the thick black hair that fell across Clay’s forehead, the nose that was, perhaps, a touch too wide, the prominent jaw. Every feature was intensely masculine, except his eyes. Fringed with the longest lashes she’d ever seen, they held a world of secrets. And, possibly, pain.
“I have a woman in the car who claims you assaulted her,” she said.
His gaze slid to the cruiser but he said nothing.
“You don’t have a response to that?”
The forbidding expression on his face madeAllie realize why most people chose to leave him alone. Beyond his impressive height and massive shoulders, he could shrivel a person with one glance. “Does she look like I assaulted her?”
“Tough to tell in the dark.”
“Then let me help you out—she’s lying.”
“So what are you saying? You didn’t touch her?”
Although she knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose, his muscles bulged conspicuously as he folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Is that a trick question, Officer?”
“Excuse me?”
He lifted one shoulder in a careless motion. “Sure, I touched her—in all the places she wanted me to touch her. We weren’t playing checkers. But I didn’t hurt her.”
Normally when a suspect made that kind of statement, it registered only in the cognitive part of Allie’s brain. She was good at gathering facts, reconstructing the circumstances surrounding a crime, solving puzzles. But working in her hometown where she knew almost everyone made police work so much more personal. Clay’s comment evoked images she’d rather not see.
Wetting her lips, she quickly steered her focus back where she needed it to be. Because of who Clay was, and the number of people in Stillwater who’d love to see him behind bars, this was a more sensitive situation than it would’ve been otherwise. She didn’t want to screw up—for his sake, more than anyone else’s, although she doubted he’d believe she had his best interests at heart.
“Is it true that you and Beth Ann argued about the baby?” she asked.
“What baby?”
Confederate jasimine scaled the lattice on both ends of his porch. Allie could smell its sweet scent despite the rain. “She didn’t tell you she’s pregnant?”
The word made him rock back as if she’d just landed a solid right hook. Even Clay had his limits, because he wasn’t able to prevent the abject terror that flooded his face. “What?”
“She said you demanded she get an abortion.”
“That’s bullshit!” he shouted, and if Allie hadn’t stepped in front of him, he probably would’ve charged out to the cruiser. “Bring her back here. She can’t be pregnant.”
Allie arched her eyebrows. “You weren’t playing checkers…”
“We might’ve had…but we never—” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell, what we did or didn’t do is none of your damn business. I’ll handle this.”
“I’m afraid it is my business,” she said, refusing to back down. “Beth Ann said—”
“She’s making it up!”
“Perhaps. But I have to investigate her story all the same.”
His nostrils flared, but he seemed to rethink his belligerent attitude. “Okay, how specific do you want me to get?” he asked. “She was on the Pill, and I’m religious about using a condom. But we didn’t always do it the conventional way. She liked it best when I used my mouth. Or sometimes I’d get her off by—”
“That’s enough,” Allie said, hating the blush she could feel creeping up her neck. She knew he’d been trying to singe her ears, to punish her for treading where she didn’t belong, and hated giving him visual proof that he’d succeeded. But she was human and not completely at ease discussing the sex habits of such a private—and virile—man.
“Would you say it’s possible she hasn’t been taking her pills?” Somehow Allie managed to maintain eye contact despite the extremely personal nature of her question.
“Maybe. But not likely. She wouldn’t get pregnant on purpose.”
He said that with absolute certainty, but Allie could tell his mind was frantically racing through possibilities. He seemed so panicked, she almost felt sorry for him. “Because…”
“Because