You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,128

a breast pocket of his work shirt for a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“Why would he want to injure himself?” James asked, thinking of Leon Palleja’s earlier comments along the same lines.

“Who knows? It’s just what I heard.”

“From who?”

“Oscar Aaronsen,” Bobby admitted with a scowl. “He, Oscar, I mean, was working the skill saw, not far from where Gus was cuttin’ tile, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gus adjust a tile, obviously at the wrong angle, and then what does he do? Close his eyes and ram the tile at the wrong angle so that the blade goes right between his fingers and he starts screamin’ and cussin’ and . . . oh, well, like I said, it’s freakin’ nuts. Just a rumor.”

Was it?

“Forget I said anything. It’s gossip. That’s all,” Bobby said, and he took off, but James wondered. He felt as if he were at the vortex of some strange whirlpool where nothing was as it seemed and reality was blurred.

He stared through the windows to the shop, where work went on as usual: Carpenters, electricians, and plumbers milled around the houses being constructed; saws screamed; and rock music thudded. It all appeared the same, but it was different. Vastly so. Now beneath the calm exterior of a normal workday lurked the presence of something darker, something where people went missing or worse, or men risked life and limb to intentionally mutilate themselves.

Why?

Of course, no answer came to him. He switched on the small television mounted over a file cabinet, the volume just loud enough to mute some of the noise from the shop, and turned to the stack of invoices on his desk.

The invoices swam in front of his eyes, however, and he found concentration impossible. He rubbed his jaw, felt the tracks of the claw marks on his cheek beneath his beard, and wondered about Megan. Guilt tore at him. His actions, taking up with Sophia, had been the spark for her anger, the reason she’d attacked him, the impetus for her driving out of Riggs Crossing to who-knew-where. He hadn’t physically assaulted her, but his actions had propelled her out of his door and into the night. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened. Was there something more?

And now Rebecca was in his life again.

No—that was wrong. She’d made that pretty clear. The damned thing of it was, he wanted to see her again—despite all the mess of their lives, of . . . and that’s when he heard her voice.

For a second, he thought he was imagining it. He glanced up sharply and focused on the small television screen, and there she was, standing on the steps of the sheriff ’s office and asking for help in finding Megan, even offering up a reward. Snatching up the remote, he increased the volume, then kicked back his chair and rounded his desk to plant himself in front of the small screen. His chest constricted at the sight of her in a long coat and boots, wind pulling at her hair as she spoke, flanked by cops.

For a second, he lost his concentration—the boots, the hair at her nape, the . . . and then whatever wayward thought had pulled his attention away disappeared, and he was caught up in watching Rebecca, chin angled, eyes direct, pleading for the safety of Megan. His heart twisted painfully.

Megan had betrayed her.

He had betrayed her.

But there she was, standing strong, fighting tears. As she quit speaking, a short woman cop took over, asking the public’s assistance in locating Megan, whose picture suddenly filled the screen: straight, near-blond hair that fell to her shoulders, blue eyes twinkling, an easy smile, and a smattering of freckles visible over her short, straight nose.

Again, his thoughts were broken, and there was something in the picture that tugged at him, teased at his memory, and gave him pause. Something important that was too elusive to catch, when the screen split, and half the image was of a black 2010 Toyota Corolla and the license plate number for Megan’s car.

He ignored the invoices that he’d been working on. Leaning his hips against the edge of his desk, James tried to conjure up the thought that had been teasing him—something that had caught his attention while staring at Rebecca on the stairs of the Sheriff ’s Department, then again when Megan’s picture had flashed onto the screen. What was it? He squinted as he thought. It hadn’t been