Chapter Twenty
Wade woke early on Sunday morning, blindly reaching across the bed.
Mary—no, Meredith—wasn’t there.
The sheets were tangled, and fragrant with the scent of her body.
He hugged the fabric to his chest and inhaled.
He’d managed to talk her into a third round, which had lasted longer than the first two, and left them both drowsy with satisfaction.
They’d snuggled for a few hours, spoon-style, with his arms wrapped around her waist and her naked bottom pressed to his groin.
The memory of the position brought him back to full salute.
He groaned, rolling over onto his back. He’d love to sleep in, or better yet, seek out his woman for another sensual interlude.
Instead, he had to report to work. Then he’d promised to go to the bar with his mother.
He rose with reluctance, dragging on the same jeans he’d worn the night before.
His muscles felt pleasantly well-used from lifting rocks in the creek, in addition to other activities.
He went in search of coffee and Meredith.
She was already awake and making breakfast. Her pajamas consisted of his old T-shirt and a pair of her own leggings.
The glance she sent him over her shoulder didn’t invite contact.
He was used to her overcautious manner, so he ignored it.
He wrapped his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair.
“Did you sleep well?” he murmured.
“No.”
“You should have stayed with me.”
“Would that have helped?”
He chuckled at her answer, holding her closer.
His head swam with erotic images from last night.
He nuzzled Meredith’s ear and felt his body react in its usual manner.
He calculated the minutes before he had to be on the road.
It wasn’t enough time. With a sigh, he backed away from her and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Meredith scooped a mixture of eggs and bacon onto two plates. “Did you make plans with Wynona?”
“Yes.”
She brought the plates to the table. “What time are you off work?”
“Around three,” he said, studying her face. She was beautiful, even with tired eyes and sleep-mussed hair. She took his breath away. “I told my mother I’d go to the bar with her.”
Meredith didn’t comment on this choice. “I was going to bake a cake, for Billy.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t think it will upset her?”
“It might. She hasn’t come to terms with his death.”
“Have you?”
He shrugged, uncertain. He’d never been close to Billy.
They’d grown up in separate households. Wade had considered his little brother a crybaby and a mama’s boy.
Billy hadn’t been good at school or sports.
They’d had nothing in common. After Wade left for college, they’d drifted even further apart.
Perhaps because of their weak connection, Wade’s grief had felt shallow and incomplete.
He’d been more disturbed by the bloody crime scene, and the shameful cover-up, than the actual loss.
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Watch over her today.”
“She’s going to a spa with Patty.”
Wade finished his plate and rose to his feet.
He imagined the two women guzzling wine while young men gave them massages.
Shaking his head, he poured himself a cup of coffee for the road.
He was worried about his mother, and he was worried about Meredith.
She hadn’t promised not to leave without saying goodbye.
Instead of starting another argument, he left the subject alone. She was like a skittish colt. If he got too aggressive, she’d bolt.
He leaned down to kiss her soft lips. “See you later.”
“Later,” she agreed, but didn’t meet his eyes.
Wade walked away with an uneasy feeling.
They’d had amazing sex yesterday, but things were still up in the air between them.
She wasn’t his girlfriend. They hadn’t made a commitment to each other.
Maybe he hadn’t done enough to sway her or said the right words.
He was frustrated by the lack of control he felt over their relationship.
The problems of his life seemed to be compounding, and overlapping, instead of resolving.
He drove toward Lost Lake on a lonely highway.
Weekend traffic was light, and his mind whirled with future plans.
He needed to convince his mother to go to rehab and convince Meredith to stay.
He needed to win over Sheriff Nava and identify the skeletal remains.
These goals seemed outside his grasp at the moment, but they weren’t unattainable.
Wade’s spirits lifted at the thought. He’d always been a fighter, on the sports field and everywhere else.
He worked hard and played hard. He was willing to go the extra mile to get what he wanted. Meredith was worth the effort.
As he approached the station, he found himself singing along with the radio, tapping his palm against the steering wheel.
She was a Plainville rose from a Midwest town,
Lost her mama young, wore her daddy down.
Poison rose, poison rose…
Wade suddenly remembered Meredith’s reaction to this song. She’d turned the radio off abruptly, as if the words pained her. A strange feeling came over him, and he cranked up the volume to listen to the rest.
Soft petal skin, and those hazel eyes,
She drew me in, yeah, she told me lies.
Poison rose, poison rose.
“Oh my God,” he said over the chorus, because he recognized every detail. It was her. She was Poison Rose. She’d lost her mother young. She was from the Midwest. The last name on her prescription bottle was, quite literally, Rose.
Heart full of thorns, on a twisted vine,
She cut me deep, man, she bled me dry,
Poison rose, poison rose.
Wade pulled over to the side of the road in a squeal of tires.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, raking a hand through his hair.
Tripp Gilley, country music superstar, was her abusive ex.
She’d called him Travis. This was unbelievable.
Wade listened to Gilley’s signature voice with a queasy stomach.
This bastard had put his hands on Meredith.
This best-selling, chart-topping, Grammy Award–winning bastard had abused her. He’d left scars on her beautiful face.
The worst thing was he might get away with it. She’d have to lawyer up to even make an allegation against him. She’d have to go public, and the press would crucify her. Tripp was a popular celebrity with a legion of supporters.
Wade did a quick search on his phone for Tripp Gilley.
According to his website, Gilley was performing at a concert in New Jersey.
Thumbs flying over the keys, Wade added Meredith’s name to the search.
The only result was a photograph of the two of them before Gilley got famous.
He had tousled dark hair and soulful eyes.
She wore a strapless silver dress that showed off her pale skin.
She looked thin, almost brittle. Although Gilley was a slim man, he towered over her.
His arm rested lightly on her shoulders.
Wade’s fury skyrocketed.
The caption read Tripp Gilley with Meredith Rose and offered no details about their relationship. She could have been anyone—a groupie, another artist, or his publicist. The photo had been taken more than five years ago.
Heart pounding with anger, Wade continued the search. He located the article about her disappearance, which didn’t mention Gilley or offer any new information. After scanning the text quickly, Wade tossed his phone aside.
Now what?
He took several deep breaths, trying to remain calm. He couldn’t fly to New Jersey and murder Tripp Gilley. Although he wanted to resort to physical violence, immediately and with extreme prejudice, that wasn’t the answer. Not right now, at least.
There was no easy solution to Meredith’s plight. Wade wished she’d trusted him enough to share the details herself, but he understood why she’d refused to name her ex, and why she found the situation hopeless.
Secrets keep people sick.
Meredith’s words were hypocritical but true. The secret about Billy’s death felt like a sickness inside him. He’d been keeping it to protect his professional reputation, and to save his father’s. These reasons seemed thin to him now.
Guilt overwhelmed him. He could have been a better role model for Billy.
His brother had needed guidance, and Wade hadn’t offered it.
Their dysfunctional parents had failed to set boundaries for him.
Billy had been a pawn between them, a tool they used to hurt each other.
Wade had stayed away, choosing the safe haven of sports.
Strenuous activity had always soothed his body and quieted his mind.
Wade shoved the family problems out of his mind, along with thoughts of Meredith, and entered the station.
He scanned his emails for a response from the coroner.
He’d promised to deliver a computerized sketch as soon as possible, but criminal investigations took priority over unknown remains from decades in the past. He buried himself in paperwork until lunchtime, when he rose from his desk and walked outside.
It was warm, like it had been at the swimming hole yesterday. There was a café on the corner that sold decent sandwiches. Wade headed that direction, in no hurry. He spotted a familiar white truck parked in the shade across the street.
The vehicle belonged to the man Jackson had questioned, Paul Murphy.
Wade lingered in the shade of an oak tree while Murphy exited the café.
He held a paper bag in his right hand. He kept his left arm close to his body, as if movement pained him, but he wasn’t wearing the sling.
His clothes were dusty and nondescript. A pale cowboy hat was pulled down low on his forehead.
If Wade hadn’t seen the truck, he might not have recognized the man.
And if Wade hadn’t gotten close to Meredith, he might not have noted anything amiss.
Cowboy hats and dusty clothes were common in Lost Lake.
Even so, Murphy looked like a man in disguise.
With his head down, and his face angled away from view, he appeared to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with strangers.
He scanned his surroundings from beneath the lowered brim of his hat as he strode forward.
Wade recognized it. The hyperalert vibe, the tension in his shoulders, the methodical search for threats.
He looked like a cop.
Charlie Franklin’s words from the other day floated back to him. He smells like gun oil and fabric starch.
Jackson suspected Murphy of being a criminal, and he was definitely a tough customer. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between seasoned thugs and off-duty cops. Men on both sides of the law had to stay fit, keep their wits about them, and be ready for physical attacks at any moment.
Wade watched as Murphy climbed behind the wheel of the truck and drove away. Wade considered calling Jackson to discuss his hunch. Instead, he decided to let sleeping dogs lie. He didn’t need to solve every mystery in Lost Lake.
Wade bought a sandwich and went back to work.
The hours dragged on as he completed an online training about radio codes.
Finally, it was time to go home. On impulse, he ducked into a gift shop to buy something for his mother.
Meredith was baking a cake, and he wanted to acknowledge the occasion.
None of the cards were appropriate for celebrating a dead person’s birthday.
Wade selected a bouquet of flowers in a bright mix of cheery colors.
He hoped it would soften the blow of a difficult conversation.
He wasn’t sure his mother could handle the truth, but it was time to tell it.