Cooper Vengeance. Пола Грейвс

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СКАЧАТЬ Maybe a cop, although being a sheriff’s deputy herself, she knew most of the lawmen in this area and he definitely wasn’t one of them.

      Out on the access road, a horn honked, making her jump. She turned her head toward the sound, laughing a little at herself for being so tightly strung.

      When she looked back at the stranger, he was gone.

      She scanned the graveyard until she spotted him walking briskly toward the other side of the cemetery. His long legs had covered a surprising amount of ground in the few seconds her attention had drifted toward the sound of the horn.

      Who was he?

      Stop it, she admonished herself silently. Stop seeing suspects everywhere you look. You know who killed your sister.

      The stranger was probably just an out-of-towner, here to visit the grave of a friend or relative. Out of curiosity, she crossed to the spot where he’d stood just a few moments earlier, growing more sure with each step that she’d find the explanation for his presence etched into the nearest marker.

      But when she reached the marker, it was an unlikely source of enlightenment. The gravestone marked the final resting place of Mary Beth Geddie, who’d died a week after birth nearly a hundred years earlier. Not exactly what she’d expected to find.

      She gazed toward the edge of the cemetery, where she spotted the large man walking through the front gates and straight toward a large black truck parked at the curb.

      Illegally parked, she thought. She could ticket him and see who he was and what he was up to.

      Her feet were moving before she finished the thought, pounding over the sun-baked ground of the graveyard. But by the time she neared the gates, the black truck was out of sight.

      She skidded to a stop and bent at the waist, breathing harder than she liked. She’d let her workouts go over the past two weeks while dealing with Carrie’s death and the aftermath. Between the piles of food the good folks of Terrebonne had brought by before the funeral and the stress-eating opportunities that were part and parcel of dealing with her parents, Natalie had probably gained five pounds in the two weeks.

      She had to get control of her life. Now.

      She trudged back to her sister’s grave, trying to feel something besides bitter anger and guilt. “I told you not to marry him,” she said softly to the stone.

      “I’m grateful she didn’t listen,” Hamilton Gray murmured, his voice equally soft.

      Natalie whirled around to face her brother-in-law, who had stepped from behind the sheltering tree. Had he lain in wait for her? “What are you doing here?”

      Hamilton’s voice hardened in an instant. “Visiting my wife’s grave.” His eyes narrowed, giving his lean face a feral aspect. “The one I paid for, if you insist on becoming territorial.”

      You haven’t paid yet, Natalie thought, seething at his tone. As if Carrie had been an object to cherish or discard at his whim.

      “I know you think I had something to do with her murder, but I can assure you I did not. As can the authorities, as you well know.” Hamilton’s voice grew more conciliatory. “Natalie, I loved your sister. She loved me. I may not like to share my feelings with the world, but they exist nonetheless.”

      There it was. That convincing air of sincerity he threw on and off like an overcoat. It seemed to fool everyone she knew, including her father, who prided himself on judgment and his knack for reading people. But Darden Becker had one enormous blind spot—money. And if there was any family in South Alabama richer than the Beckers, it was the Grays.

      “I don’t expect you’ll ever think of me as a friend, Natalie. You’re hard to impress and even harder to know.”

      Natalie tried not to bristle at his words, not because he was wrong but because he was right. She wasn’t easy to impress, and now that Carrie was dead, there probably wasn’t a soul in the world who really knew her at all.

      “I’ve accepted that you’ll never consider me part of your family. But I’d like to give you brotherly advice, nonetheless. You should start listening to your therapist.”

      “My therapist?” She knew what he was talking about; the Ridley County Sheriff’s Department had decreed that she see a therapist after her sister’s murder. A nice lady, Diana Sprayberry, who spoke in a soft, calm voice that reminded Natalie of her first grade teacher. Dr. Sprayberry was a big fan of the stages-of-grief theory.

      Natalie was not.

      She wasn’t in denial. She sure as hell wasn’t bargaining. And if she was stuck on anger, there was a damned good reason. A sick son of a bitch had murdered her sister and, so far, had gotten away with it.

      But how in the world had Hamilton learned about her private sessions with her therapist?

      “It’s not something that can stay secret in a town this small,” he said, answering the unspoken question. “I know about your sessions. I hope they’re helping.”

      She met Hamilton Gray’s gentle gaze and hated him for the contempt in his voice, masquerading as pity. But she wasn’t going to stand here like some sort of movie heroine and swear to God and anyone in earshot that she was going to bring him down for killing her sister no matter what it took.

      He was right when he said the authorities would affirm his innocence. He had an alibi, of sorts—he’d made a call from his cell phone the night of Carrie’s murder, and the cell tower signal showed he’d been three counties away. On business, or so he claimed. And since the sheriff’s department had no other evidence suggesting Hamilton had killed his wife, or even had a motive to do so, they’d moved on to other suspects. Thanks to her father’s business dealings, her family had plenty of enemies.

      Natalie hadn’t moved on, however. Even if they could prove to her satisfaction that Hamilton had been in Monroe County as he’d claimed, over an hour’s drive from Terrebonne and outside the timeframe of Carrie’s murder, it didn’t mean he hadn’t hired someone to kill his wife.

      “I don’t understand why you think I had a motive to kill your sister.” Hamilton’s plaintive comment tracked so closely to Natalie’s thoughts that a chill skittered up her spine. He had a way of looking at her, his dark eyes so focused and piercing, that she sometimes wondered if he could read her mind.

      Carrie had found his intensity exciting. Natalie had always found it disturbing.

      “You know why,” she answered in a voice strangled with barely contained fury.

      “I was not having an affair.”

      “You were always gone—”

      “On business.”

      “You didn’t pay the same amount of attention to her as before,” she added. “You were distant and brooding.”

      “And Carrie was spoiled and at times needy.” His tone suggested he found those traits charming rather than annoying. “But honeymoons have to end sometime, Natalie. The family business requires much of my attention. I couldn’t ignore it forever.” His voice dropped a notch. “Maybe if you ever marry, you’ll understand the situation better.”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ