Buried Truth. Dana Mentink

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СКАЧАТЬ been watching her.

      She took a deep breath, starting violently when the phone rang again. After another look in the rearview, she pulled over. This time she checked the number and kept the engine running. With trembling fingers she answered, relieved when her editor’s voice boomed over the line.

      “Some vandalism up at Bill Cloudman’s property. Need you to check it out and write it up.”

      At the mention of Bill’s name, Heather felt an odd tightening in her stomach. “Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?”

      “Just one person and that’s you. Go take a picture before it gets dark. And add a bit to the webpage about it.”

      “But …”

      He’d already hung up.

      Heather disconnected. Vandalism wasn’t exactly a riveting subject and Bill’s property had been abandoned so long it was the perfect target for teenagers with nothing else to do. It was also remote.

      The stranger’s voice whispered through her memory.

       We have not had the pleasure of meeting.

       Yet.

      She considered calling someone to go along with her, but there was no one she could think of. Steeling her spine and saying another quick prayer, she drove along, ignoring the now-familiar knocking from her engine.

      Her phone remained silent for the rest of the drive. The road sloped upward, twining through stands of trees. Every small movement drew her attention, every dart of a lizard on the shoulder made her jump.

      “It was just a crazy crank caller, Heather. Relax and do your job before you lose this one, too.”

      As the miles ticked by, she realized for the first time how utterly remote this little corner of South Dakota was. Acres of dry grass and rock-strewn hills, with not a soul to be seen anywhere.

      Gritting her teeth, she continued on.

      When she finally pulled onto Bill’s property a half hour later, her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the bloodred paint defacing the house, or the sight of Bill Cloudman, his dark eyes filled with thunder, staring right at her.

      TWO

      Heather tried to plaster what she hoped was a professional look on her face. “I … I didn’t know you were here.”

      “Didn’t see a need to alert the press.” His face was expressionless, but his eyes kindled with emotion. “Aunt Jean told me you moved back and got a job with the paper.” He looked away. “I guess you didn’t get any of my calls or emails.”

      She felt a rush of shame. Maybe she should have handled things differently, but their last encounter was a messy tangle of humiliation and she’d wanted no part in reliving it then. Or now. Best to keep things professional. “I was told to come and write up the vandalism. Any ideas who messed up your property?”

      He shook his head. “No, and I don’t want it in the paper.”

      A big black dog charged out from the trees and raced over, immediately rolling over at Heather’s feet. She scratched his smooth belly. “Hello, Tank. Glad to be home?” She looked again at the garish paint. “It looks recent. Is somebody trying to tell you something?”

      He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not important. Don’t you have a bigger story to cover?”

      A bigger story? She flushed. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. “No, I don’t.”

      He blinked and looked away at the sun as it melted into the horizon. “There’s no story here,” he said in a softer tone.

      As much as she wanted to get right back into her car and drive away, she knew she had to face this moment, to stand straight and hold on to the new, stronger person she’d become. “I think there is, and I’ve been assigned to write it up.” She took out her camera and aimed it at the paint.

      He stepped in front of her, broad chest blocking her view.

      She glared at him. “One picture?”

      His lips tightened, but he didn’t move, muscled arms folded across his front.

      “Thanks anyway.” She would not beg. She’d done that before and her own cowardly pleas still rang in her ears. If he would not cooperate, at least she could leave. She wrenched open the Jeep door and jammed the key in the ignition. It took a few moments before she realized the engine was not cooperating. After two more tries, she slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Piece of junk,” she muttered.

      Bill walked to her window. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

      “No, thanks.” Riding next to him? Sitting beside the strong, silent man from whom she had run like a wounded animal? It was too much to bear. She shouldered her bag and got out. “I’ll walk.”

      He sighed. “I’m going to have to follow you in the truck to make sure you get home, and it’s gonna take all night.”

      “I can get home okay, Bill.” She felt flustered, embarrassed to be floundering in front of him, of all people. “I’m … I’m not the same person I was before.” She didn’t understand her need to tell him that she’d grown up, overcome her addiction. Most of all she hated the slight wobble in her own voice. Why should he believe her? Sometimes she didn’t even believe herself.

      “It’s too long a walk and too remote an area.” He walked to his truck and opened the passenger side. “Get in.”

      Forcing herself to take a breath, she tried to think rationally. He was right—it would take her hours to walk home and the strange phone call still bothered her. Surely she could handle sitting next to Bill Cloudman for the drive. It wasn’t as if the man would bore her with small talk. Just a few miles and it would be over. She looked into his dark eyes.

      “All right,” she said. With as much dignity as she could muster, she got in. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

      Bill grunted and took off at a good pace, but twice she caught him peering in the rearview mirror.

      “Looking for something?”

      “No.”

      “So you really have no idea who trashed your house?”

      He gave a noncommittal shrug. She shot him a stealthy look. There was a sprinkling of silver in his dark hair and he looked tired, more tired than she’d ever seen him. His broad shoulders seemed to carry some tension. She had the sudden urge to speak, in spite of herself.

      “I heard about Johnny. I’m sorry.”

      He blinked and the corners of his mouth softened for a moment. “Thanks. Me, too.”

      She should have called him, sent a note at least, but she hadn’t had the courage. Her own weakness pained her.

      They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. She was again struck by how much had changed in the time they’d СКАЧАТЬ