Chapter 33
Clint sat down with his cup of coffee and considered his limited options for breakfast. Doughnut or candy bar.
He’d made a trip to the Sack the uncertainty in her movements made him want to stay in the shadows of the barn and just watch. He doubted she would come out here. She would look around the yard, take a few steps from the driveway, maybe call his name, and then she’d leave.
If he was smart, he’d let that course play out.
Evidently he wasn’t so smart. He stepped out of the shadows, allowing her to see him. Some part of him was drawn to her that way, always had been.
Her gaze collided with his and he felt that connection as surely as if he’d grabbed hold of a live wire. Clint steeled himself. Judging by the fragile expression on her face, he wasn’t sure he could deal with whatever she had to say.
Even he had his limits, or so he’d learned recently.
“I need to ask you a question.”
No hello, no good morning, just straight to the point. The stupid side of his brain that had deep down hoped she’d come to tell him that she’d been wrong all along sent a ripple of disappointment through him.
Clint called upon every ounce of the hard, bitter strength he’d found doing ten years in prison. “So ask.” His voice was sharp and challenging. He couldn’t afford to feel these crazy emotions.
“Will you tell me the whole truth about what happened that night? Don’t leave anything out.”
She had to be kidding. “What’s the point?” That she would even ask annoyed him unreasonably.
“I need to know.”
The pain in her eyes told him she wasn’t playing.
He gestured to the interior of the barn behind him. “You’ll want to sit down for this.”
She followed him into the shadows of the barn but didn’t sit. “I’d prefer to stand.”
“Whatever.” He rolled his rigid shoulders to relax them, and decided the abbreviated version was the best route to take.
“Fairgate told me to take Jenkins’ car for leverage.
I waited until well after dark, dressed to fit in, and went to do my job.
” He pressed her with a look that showed he didn’t care if she judged him. “It was what I did, and I did it well.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
A flare of surprise that she would admit as much caught him off guard.
He looked away from her. “I heard screaming from your house and I did what I had to do.” Biggest mistake of my fucking life.
“I picked the lock on the front door and rushed through the house until I found your room. I knew which end of the house it was on, so I—”
“How did you know?”
He blinked, startled again at her reaction. “What do you mean?”
“How could you be sure about where my room was?”
The way his mouth dehydrated forced him to lick his lips. She watched the movement and wet her own. That his entire body reacted didn’t help his ability to focus.
“I’d driven by your house a thousand times.” He shrugged. Sounded mental. So what?
“Why?”
His pulse started to hammer, making it hard to catch his breath.
“Because I was stupid,” he snapped, hoping to clear his head.
“I wanted to get a glimpse of you.” He exhaled a lungful of frustration.
“I saw you and Heather climbing out that window one night.” The memories were as vivid in his mind as the night he’d watched them happen.
Summertime, hot like now. He would never forget the way Emily had looked in those pink shorts and tank top.
“The two of you sneaked to the next block and met up with more friends. I followed you to the theater.”
He’d kissed her that night. He’d been a class A jerk afterward. As tough as he was, she had been the one girl who’d scared him to death.
She took a step closer to him. He barely resisted the impulse to back away. Wariness joined the curiosity and rising tension. He didn’t know what was on her mind, but he was sure it wouldn’t be good for him. Nothing ever ended well for him that involved her no matter how badly he wanted it to.
“You knew where my room was, so you went there.”
This had gone far enough. “You know what happened next.”
“She was . . . bleeding,” Emily prompted. “You said you tried to help.”
He jerked his head in confirmation. “I tried to help. She was . . .” He swallowed again, but that tight feeling in his throat wasn’t going away. “. . . she was trying to speak. I needed to stop the bleeding, but I couldn’t.”
“The window was open when you came into the room?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know if it was open, but it was damn sure unlocked, because you came in that way. Did you open it or was it already open?”
Emily didn’t have to think about her answer. She hadn’t opened the window. It had already been wide open.
On some level she’d known that was wrong. Dear God, she’d made a terrible mistake. She fought back the emotions rising inside her so swiftly she could scarcely think.
Keep going. Get the whole story. “Why did you pick the lock on the front door?” she asked, that point suddenly poking at her. If he’d kicked the door in, his story would have been much more believable.
He looked at her funny. Even with so little light here in the barn, his every expression was stark and vivid. “Have you ever tried to kick in a door? It’s not as easy as it looks on TV. I was good at picking locks. I could do that way faster. Like,” he shrugged, “in seconds.”
She drew in a breath and moved to the next question. “Did you close and lock the door when you came in?” He must have; otherwise Principal Call wouldn’t have been beating on it when the police arrived.
“I don’t think so. I picked the lock and rushed in. I guess it could have closed behind me. I don’t know. I just figured the police lied about having to kick it in to discredit my story.”
The police had arrived and kicked in the door because it was locked—at least that was the testimony of the officers involved.
Ten years ago that one point along with Fairgate’s testimony had completely discredited Clint’s story.
But if the police were telling the truth, and knowing what Emily knew now, that meant there had to be something both she and Clint had missed.
“You didn’t see anyone or hear anything?” she pressed.