Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy #2)(36)
Author: Brenda Novak

He was pretty sure it was the way she treated him, as if he was good and not evil, that affected him so deeply. But she didn’t blanch or move. She seemed perfectly relaxed as she glared up at him.

"You don’t intimidate me," she said calmly.

"Then maybe you don’t know what’s good for you," he scoffed. "I bet no one’s even aware that you’re out here."

"Who would you have me tell?"

"Not your father, that’s for sure."

"Good. We’re in agreement there."

"So no one knows."

"Does it matter?"

"It could if I’m the monster everyone thinks I am."

Her expression turned thoughtful. "You’re not a monster, Clay. But that doesn’t mean you’re perfect."

"Do I have to be?"

She studied his face, but he glanced away before she could guess how badly he wanted her to accept him as he was. "For what?" she asked.

To atone for the past. But it was a pointless question. He already knew he could never be good enough. And that was his problem, not Allie’s. He was the one who had to live with his role in what had happened. "To get fed tonight," he said.

She jerked her head toward a small stack of firewood. "As soon as you build a fire, we’ll eat."

The flames cast a golden haze of moving shadows over Clay, softening the harsher angles of his face. Allie wished she could see him more clearly, but once she’d warmed the gumbo over the fire and poured it into the sourdough bowls she’d brought, he filled two wineglasses with Merlot and turned off the kerosene lamp.

She’d considered turning the lamp back on, but, in the end, decided that she liked the darkness. It encircled them like a protective shroud, evoking the kind of intimacy that set them apart from the concerns of everyday life. She thought that might help Clay loosen up and talk to her. But she was a little concerned that it might loosen her up, too.

They ate mostly in silence. Then, because the chairs were so hard, they carried their wine over to the bed. Allie lay on her stomach, cradling her glass in her hands; Clay leaned against the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him.

"I could get used to coming here," he said, gazing into the fire.

Allie had guessed he’d like the place, but she’d been surprised by how vocal he’d been about it. Clay wasn’t all that vocal about anything. "I’ll bring you again sometime."

He raised his glass to her in a mock toast. "Providing I have more secrets to share, eh?"

She grinned. "You must have something I want."

"I can play pool, remember?"

"And if I’m ever in the market for a 1950s Jag, I’ll know where to go."

He shook his head. "Wow, such enthusiasm. You really build a guy’s ego, don’t you?"

She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "I suspect your ego can withstand one less female swooning at your feet."

"Swooning?" He took another sip of wine. "I never dreamed someone so prim and proper could be such a smart-ass."

"Prim and proper?" she echoed. "What makes you think I’ve ever been prim and proper?"

"Maybe it’s the badge."

"Not everyone who wears a badge could be called prim and proper. Why would you describe me like that?"

"I guess it started with the long skirts you wore in high school. And the way you hugged your books to your chest and walked to class with such purpose."

"You remember that?" she said with a laugh. She hadn’t thought Clay had ever really noticed her.

"Along with the speech you delivered as valedictorian. What was it–‘Building on the Foundation of the Past’?"

"You just nailed the topic," she said, astonished.

"They printed it in the paper. It was a damn good speech. If you had a past worth building on."

"My parents made sure I had what I needed," she said. But she knew he hadn’t been nearly as lucky. Once his stepfather went missing, his mother had been forced to take whatever job she could, and it was a standing joke in town that she’d work for slave wages. She’d had to. No one in Stillwater had wanted to give the person they held responsible for the reverend’s disappearance any breaks.

Clay wore the same clothes to school for several days in a row and never ate lunch. He didn’t have the money. Like his mother, he worked at the farm and took whatever odd jobs he could find. Some days he showed up at school so ragged around the edges he could scarcely stay awake in class. But he always looked after his sisters, even his stepsister, Madeline. And he would’ve died before admitting that he was going without because he had to. He made it seem very cool and rebellious, as if he liked what he wore and wasn’t in need of anything at all.

Most of the kids actually bought in to the tough image he’d projected but, as an adult, Allie could see it for what it was–a young man’s sacrifice and pride.

"They care about you," he said. "You should listen to them."

"And stay away from you? Is that what you’re getting at?" she asked bluntly.

His eyes settled on the small amount of cle**age showing above her shirt. "For starters."

"Yeah, well, thanks for trying to protect me, but I’ll tell you what I told them. I’m a big girl.

I’ll think for myself."

"A big girl?" he scoffed. "Hardly."

"I’m big enough."

"For what?"

"To do whatever I want to."

His grin slanted to one side, as if he found what she’d said rather endearing, like a puppy barking at a much larger dog.

"Stop with the patronizing bullshit," she said irritably.

"Hey, I think you’re tough." He lifted his hands in a show of sincerity, but his grin had turned into a full-fledged smile. The kind you didn’t get very often from Clay Montgomery. As if he was enjoying himself. As if he liked her. "You carry a gun, don’t you?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Don’t make me shoot you."

He laughed softly. "Are all lady cops out to prove something? Or just the ones who weigh less than a hundred pounds?"

"I weigh a hundred and five pounds," she said. "Anyway, haven’t you ever heard that good things come in small packages?"

"I’m growing more convinced of that by the moment," he said, staring at her mouth.

Allie’s heart was now beating in her throat. She wanted to fill the silence but wasn’t sure she could speak. She felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the room.

Finally, he broke the tense silence. "What happened to your marriage?"

She scowled. "I thought I was the one who got to ask the uncomfortable questions."