You Betrayed Me (The Cahills #3) - Lisa Jackson Page 0,39

the first drink. “And you want to know why? Everyone in this damned town, including you, seems to think I’m, at the very least, a kidnapper and, at the worst . . . God, I don’t want to think.” He poured himself another shot.

“Wow. Slow down.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I just want to find out the truth.”

“And nail me to the cross,” he said, eyeing her.

She wanted to lie but didn’t, and at that moment headlights washed over the windows as a battered old pickup pulled into the lot. More guests?

“Must be the calvary,” he said.

“You mean cavalry.”

“Either way.” He then knocked back the liquor that had been in the second glass just as footsteps sounded on the porch. Ralph shot to his feet and trotted to the front door.

“You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Hope never dies.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “But I don’t think so. Not today. Not from a couple of drinks.”

“It’s your funeral.” Footsteps on the porch. Who? she wondered. Not wanting to get caught in another awkward conversation and explanation about what she was doing here, she hovered to one side. She just needed to get out. “I’ve got to go.”

“We’ll take you to your car.”

“Who’s we? I don’t need a ride. It’s a short walk.”

“That’s Bobby. Coming to take me to the inn.”

The man who at that moment pushed in the front door was small and wiry, with a cap pulled low over his eyes, the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to him. He gazed hard at Rebecca. “Well, I’ll be. Ralph was on to something.”

“That he was. This is Rebecca. Megan’s sister. My foreman, Bobby.”

Bobby asked, “What’re you doin’ here?”

“She thought she might find something that would help her locate her sister.”

“So she broke in?” Bobby asked, scowling. “I locked the place myself.”

“Something like that. Long story. The upshot is that she’s parked her car at the hotel, so we’re giving her a ride back.”

He looked about to argue. Instead, he just squared his cap on his head. “All right,” he said shortly.

“Look. Really. I can walk,” Rebecca declined. “It’s not that far. You’re hurt, and I doubt there’s much room in the truck.”

James was heading for the door. “Bobby’s truck’s got a bench seat.”

The thought of being wedged tight between the two men even for a short distance was daunting.

“I don’t think—”

“There’s no use arguing with him,” Bobby said. “Let’s just get on with it. Cyn—that’s my wife—she’s been texting me like crazy. I need to get home.”

“Let me grab a hat,” James said and disappeared down a hallway to return wearing a black cowboy hat that partially covered his bandaged head. “Let’s go.”

Rebecca didn’t like it, but she was hustled out of the house and to the Silverado and, along with the dog, crammed inside. Bobby was behind the wheel and James against the passenger window, Ralph curled at their feet, his dark eyes never leaving Rebecca’s face.

You can get through this, she thought, ignoring the fact that the length of the outside of her leg was pressed tight against James’s, that he was so close. Memories of being with him flooded her mind. He might not recall their short time together, but she did—in all too vivid detail. Seattle had never seemed so vibrant, so alive than in the short few months she’d spent with James. Nor, she realized, had she. His betrayal had been bitter.

With her own damned sister.

And then he’d done the same to Megan.

She should have felt some satisfaction in that, she supposed, but didn’t. With an effort, she closed her mind to all those ridiculous thoughts and even more ridiculous feelings. The past was the past, and apparently it hadn’t made enough of a lasting impression on James that he could feel even a twinge of emotion about it.

They jostled on the ride in the close, warm cabin of the truck, and the smell of smoke and liquor enveloped her. Thankfully, the drive was short, less than five minutes that somehow felt like eons of staring silently through the windshield while watching the wipers slap away the snow.

At the inn, Bobby found a parking slot close to the entrance, pulled in, and cut the engine. Almost before the truck had stopped, James opened the passenger door and climbed out, as if he were as anxious as she was to avoid the close contact.

Good.

She too needed to break the intimacy of the closed space.

Keys in hand, she slid across the bench, stepped outside and into the sharp