The Best Man to Trust - By Kerry Connor Page 0,68

they were already watching out for each other. Meredith waited for one—or both—of them to make the point.

Neither did. They both remained silent, as she’d thought they might. The tension between them was too obvious. Being around the others instead of sequestered alone together might be a relief at this point.

This time she didn’t have to fake her smile. “Great,” she said. “Then it’s settled.”

This is going to work, she assured herself as the wedding party began to eat again. With everyone in the same room, she would be able to watch over them, and they would be able to protect each other, if the killer was foolish enough to try something with all of them there.

Or crazy enough, she amended. Because being together didn’t just mean she’d know where they all were. It meant the killer would be there, too. A killer who might not be willing to let anything stop him—or her—from completing whatever evil plan they had in mind.

And it was up to her most of all to make sure nothing happened.

* * *

BY NOON, MEREDITH was beginning to suspect the day would never end.

Once she’d gotten the group assembled in the living room, she’d built a roaring fire in the stone fireplace. Under different circumstances the room would have felt comfortable, cozy. Instead it was nearly unbearable, the air charged with tension, the silence absolute.

Looking up from her notepad, she scanned the group. They’d all moved to separate areas of the room, occupying themselves with various gadgets and types of reading material. No one had said much of anything to one another in hours. She’d thought she sensed a few stolen glances, but hadn’t been able to look fast enough to determine who they’d come from or been directed toward.

At least they were alive and safe, Meredith thought. For that, she would endure the oppressive quiet that blanketed the room and crackling uneasiness in the air. Besides, it would be lunch before long. That would offer a brief, much-needed reprieve.

She lowered her gaze back to the pad in her lap. As soon as she saw what was on the paper, she flinched slightly. She’d been drawing without really paying attention to what she’d been doing, the impulse instinctive, her thoughts focused elsewhere. On the multitude of questions in her head. On keeping an eye on the group. On how long it might take to clear the road and how soon the police might arrive...

All while her subconscious had been focused on something else. Or someone.

Tom’s face peered up at her from the paper.

It was a good likeness, she had to admit. As she took in the image, her heartbeat kicked up, almost as if she was looking at the man himself. It wasn’t just the face, but the expression on it, that was instantly recognizable.

It was how he’d looked last night, peering down at her. His eyes were softened, the look in them intimate and achingly tender.

The memories, the emotions, of what they’d shared came rushing back. She didn’t want to read too much into it, didn’t want to ruin one of the best memories she’d ever made by trying to make it into something it wasn’t. Whatever else happened, she just wanted to cherish it—and never forget.

Staring down at the image she’d drawn, she knew she never would.

Grateful no one could see the sketch, Meredith quickly closed the pad and set it aside.

Restless, she pushed to her feet and walked to the nearest window. There still wasn’t much to see, just an unending sea of white. She was hoping to get some glimmer of Tom and Rick. The path they dug from the garage would take them by this side of the house, but she hadn’t heard any signs of the plow and couldn’t see any hint of it from this vantage point.

Turning away from the window, her gaze fell on the bar a few feet away. She automatically moved toward it, thinking it might give her something to do. She might as well get started at clearing out the empty bottles. There was likely to be more than a few after Greg had made his way through the liquor over the past several days.

Stopping in front of the bar, she reached for the nearest bottle and started to pick it up, only to stop and frown at the weight in her hand.

The bottle was full.

Looking closer she saw the seal hadn’t even been broken. Evidently Greg wasn’t a fan of gin. Sliding the bottle