In Close (Bulletproof #3)(72)
Author: Brenda Novak

Claire had winced when he explained all that.

“I’m sorry.” That was hardly any comfort, but Isaac didn’t know what to say.

She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks.”

He watched her at the sink, staring out into the night. “Do you regret going after this?”

Shoulders hunched, she dropped her head in her hands. She’d been so physically exhausted when he arrived home, she could hardly get up off the couch, but now she seemed…pensive, unable to outrun the ghosts that were chasing her. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Do you think it’s possible that Roni was involved instead of my father? That maybe he…maybe he wrote that letter but never intended to hurt anybody? He threatens Joe, not my mother.”

It was far more plausible that the tension between Tug and Alana had erupted into a fight, one with a very sad ending. But Isaac didn’t know that had happened, so he didn’t insist on it. “I suppose it’s possible,” he allowed, trying to be gentle. “There’s nothing here to suggest Roni did it, but—”

“But I told you what April said,” she interrupted.

“April has no proof,” he reminded her.

“She knows something about Tug that very few people know. She and I might be the only two people left who are privy to that secret, other than his first wife.”

“Still not enough to convince a jury.”

Turning to face him, Claire gestured at the things she’d brought home with her. “But this is no better. It’s all circumstantial. It establishes an affair, but not murder. We don’t even have proof that my mother’s dead.”

“It creates motive.”

“For Roni as much as Tug. And then there’s what happened at the studio?”

“What about it?”

“The person who followed me there couldn’t have been him.”

Isaac cocked an eyebrow at her. “I thought you didn’t get a good look at the culprit.”

She seemed to be gaining hope as she built a case in support of her stepfather. “I didn’t, but…Tug’s not in his prime anymore. He couldn’t move that fast. And he would never hurt me.”

If he’d been the reason her mother went missing and David was shot, he already had. “You’re saying Roni could, or would?”

“No, the person at the cabin wasn’t Roni, either. There must be someone else.”

“Whoever pushed you didn’t mean to hurt you, Claire. I think he was spying on you and panicked when you came downstairs earlier than he expected.”

“I don’t care. It couldn’t have been Tug,” she said. “He was at the fireworks show with Leanne and Roni.”

But he could’ve claimed he had a headache and pretended he was going home early. Or said he was planning to meet a couple of friends for a beer. The culprit knew the back way to the studio, which Tug certainly did. “Have you asked them how long he stayed after you left?”

Sliding her hands in the pockets of her loose-fitting jeans, she smoothed the rug on the floor with one foot. “No. I never dreamed I’d need to.”

“Then we’ll check it out, okay? Hopefully, he has a foolproof alibi—for then and the night someone was at your place, rummaging through everything.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “He wouldn’t destroy my pictures of David. Or that painting of my mother’s.”

Isaac didn’t think so, either. That was the one thing that didn’t fit. He could see Tug finding his wife’s birth control pills and getting into an argument with her that quickly spun out of control. He could see Tug, if he was indeed guilty of murder, hiring someone to kill David to keep from being exposed. He had everything to lose—his money, his wife, his family, his standing in the community, his freedom. He could also see Tug following Claire to the studio to see if he had to worry about her resuming David’s search. Hell, Isaac could even see him rummaging through her house for those damn files.

But why the destruction? What he’d seen at her house indicated extreme hatred, and he believed Tug loved her. “I’m impressed that Joe was willing to come forward with this, considering the damage it could do to his marriage,” he said, hoping to change the subject.

“I’m bugged that he didn’t do it sooner,” she responded. “If he loved my mother, why wouldn’t he want her killer to be caught?”

“He had his family to think about.”

“He wasn’t thinking about them when he slept with her.”

“Maybe he kept telling himself that what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He was also afraid he’d wind up a suspect. Could be she tried to break off the relationship, and he killed her in the classic ‘if I can’t have you, no one can’ scenario. I’m actually surprised he came clean at all.”

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as she considered his comment. “He said he did it because he still loves her, even after all these years. He told me he wasn’t willing to sit back and let whatever happened to her happen to me.”

“I’m liking Joe more and more,” he said, and got up to cross over to her. “You ready for bed?”

She stepped into his arms and felt instantly better. “Yeah. I’m tired.”

It was a mess. Jeremy had never seen anything like it, except in some horror movie. Instead of shooting him, his father had raised the gun and squeezed off a round that went into the wall. Then, sobbing like a child, even though he said only pussies cried, he’d fallen onto his knees, muttered that he wasn’t worth shit if he couldn’t do what had to be done and put the barrel in his own mouth.

Before Jeremy could stop him, he fired again, and now his brains covered the couch and part of the wall behind it. The rest of him lay sprawled on the floor next to the gun.

Jeremy had been sitting nearby, rocking back and forth and staring at what was left of his father, for hours. He kept asking himself if he should call Hank. But Hank was working, and Hank would go to the police. Anyone would. Which was bad. Jeremy knew what would happen if the police came. They’d take his father’s body away, close up the house and put him in a strange place, a place that wasn’t exactly a house and wasn’t exactly a hospital in some town far away from here. His father had described it to him many times.

You’d better hope nothing ever happens to me.

He wouldn’t have his car. He wouldn’t have Hank, or his job. He wouldn’t have his bedroom. And he’d never see Claire again.