Share No Secrets (39 page)

Then, suddenly, Bruce turned and pinned Gavin with his clear, laser-blue eyes. “So, Gavin my man, why haven’t you come forward with what you know about Julianna’s death?” he asked loudly. “Because I believe you
know
who killed her.”

Gavin felt as if he were plunging through icy water, unable to breathe, to see, to move. He felt his mouth open slightly, then close again. Was it his imagination, or had the bar gone entirely silent, every ear trained on what words would next come out of his dry mouth? At last, he was able to draw a shallow breath, enough to utter a weak, “What makes you believe I know who killed Julianna?”

“Studying people. Watching people.
Knowing
people.” Bruce no longer sounded even slightly drunk. “I’m very good at that because I’m also good at playing the fool, so people don’t take me seriously and they let their guard down around me. I’ve been watching you all summer, Gavin. Watching you at those parties at Philip Hamilton’s house. Watching you drool over Julianna. Watching
you follow
her around town. You had to know exactly what was going on in her life, and that means that you probably also know who killed her. If you didn’t do it yourself out of jealousy, that is.”

Gavin sat blinking at the arrogant, good-looking young man sneering into his face. Bruce Allard couldn’t have been more proud of himself than if he’d just forced Gavin to confess to every murder and act of violence committed during the past few hideous days. And Bruce had done it because he thought he could get away with it, because everyone believed Gavin Kirkwood had no backbone, no spirit, no manhood left in him.

Slowly, a white-hot anger built within Gavin. It started in the pit of his stomach, worked its way into his chest, making him feel as if his lungs were going to explode, and finally it reached his eyes. Bruce still stared at him intently, triumphantly. And then, as the fury began to show in Gavin’s gaze, Brace’s wavered. So did his smile. He pulled back fractionally, unwilling to retreat, but somehow realizing the impossible—that he’d miscalculated, he’d gone too far, he might be in trouble.

A wave of victory surged through Gavin as he saw the kid’s uncertainty. Gavin had not experienced anything like victory for a very long time, and he felt wonderful. Exhilarated. Invincible.

Holding fiercely to his fury, to the sharp-edged look he knew lingered in his eyes, his slid off the barstool and leaned close to Brace.

“If you were as smart as you think you are, young man, you would have kept your mouth shut,” he said in a low, dangerously affable voice. “After all, if you think I’ve murdered once, even twice or three times to protect myself if you count Claude Duncan and Margaret Taylor, then what’s to stop me from doing it a fourth time?”

Gavin couldn’t believe it. His damned car wouldn’t start. He sat in the parking lot of The Iron Gate in his one-year-old $70,000 Jaguar XK, turning the key again and again only to hear
click, click, click.
The battery was dead. Or maybe the alternator was shot. He opened the hood, but he really didn’t know what he was looking at. He got back in the car and thought. All the local garages were closed at night. He could probably get Ralph from R & R Auto Repair to help him out but he didn’t have his cell phone with him, and he wasn’t about to slink back into the restaurant after his dramatic departure to make a call. Finally, he decided the car would be safe in the parking lot until tomorrow, and he would walk back to the house only four blocks away.

Although Ellen had retreated to her bed at seven o’clock with a migraine, Gavin had intended to be home by nine. Instead, he’d lingered at the bar until quarter to ten. Now he’d be even later because of the car trouble and the walk. He wasn’t sure if Ellen would still be awake and angry that he’d deserted her, although when she had one of her headaches, she claimed just talking made her feel worse, and she banished him to a guest room for the night. Still, she usually wanted to know that he was in the house, fretting over her. Yes, if she were awake, she would be furious with him. But for once, he didn’t care if she was furious, didn’t dread a scene, had no intention of even checking up on her when he got in.

The night had a dark velvety feel, soft and warm and caressing. A light breeze occasionally sent gauzy clouds skittering across the moon and whispered in the leaves of large, old trees lining the sidewalk. Normally, an evening like this would have stirred a romantic nostalgia in Gavin, a memory of his youth when he still hoped that someday the love of a glorious woman would turn him into a glorious man. Julianna had revived that wonderful hope, but it had ended too soon and too horribly for him to even think about without feeling like a blade had pierced his stomach.

But now he wasn’t thinking about the beauty of the night. He wasn’t thinking about when he was young and there’d been a lovely dark-haired girl he’d thought might be the One. He wasn’t even thinking about the hassle of getting his car out of the restaurant parking lot and finding someone to fix it as soon as possible. He was only thinking of that little ferret, Bruce Allard.

Gavin was astonished by how he had let that spoiled nitwit lead him, fool him,
bait
him. He couldn’t have helped having Bruce sit down beside him, but he could have quickly finished his own drink and left, not sat there allowing himself to be manipulated by an arrogant young jerk who thought he was smart and cagey, but who didn’t know a damned thing.

Except how to adroitly lure me right into that outburst, Gavin thought glumly. By tomorrow, half the town would have heard an exaggerated version of the scene that had

Gavin Kirkwood clearly, undeniably, viciously
threatening
Bruce Allard’s life! A little groan escaped Gavin. What would be the repercussions of that rumor? What would be the repercussions of there having been an altercation at all? Exactly how sick was he of always worrying about
any
repercussions?

Around one hundred feet ahead and across the street, Gavin saw with relief the carriage lamps glowing atop brick columns that marked the entrance to his driveway. The four drinks he’d had at the bar had finally kicked in, slowing his walk, causing him to take the overly careful steps of an old man. And he felt dizzy. Only a bit, but enough to be a nuisance like a mosquito buzzing in his ear. He should have eaten dinner. Instead, he’d drunk all that whiskey on an empty stomach. Maybe having a sandwich when he got home would help. A hearty sandwich, two aspirins, and a B complex vitamin. Hadn’t he read that B complex helped with hangovers? And a big glass of water. Water with lots of ice …

He stepped off the curb and began meandering across the quiet residential street, his thoughts consumed with the makeshift meal he’d soon fix for himself, his gaze focused on his feet that he couldn’t seem to stop lifting too high.

Headlights snapped on, sending beams down the street, catching him directly in their glare. Gavin blinked and turned away his face. Dammit, didn’t the driver realize he had on his high beams? Gavin picked up speed to get out of the idiot’s way, then suddenly realized the idiot was picking up speed, too. An engine throbbed louder with growing momentum, and tires spun relentlessly over smooth concrete.

Gavin looked back just in time to see a dark form behind the wheel—almost leaning
over
the wheel as if in anticipation—before the front bumper hit his lower legs, and the grill crashed into his thighs. For a moment he felt as if he were flying then careening downward, his left hip striking the car’s hood, his shoulder smashing against the windshield. The car never slowed and Gavin lay splayed across the front of it for nearly forty feet before a piece of his shirt that had tangled on a windshield wiper tore loose, allowing him to roll off and have his right ankle snapped by a steel-belted radial tire.

The car sped on, leaving Gavin lying limp in the street as the velvety, romantic night closed around him.

“My God, Kit, that’s terrible!” Adrienne exclaimed. “How badly is Gavin hurt?”

“Broken hip, broken ribs, broken collarbone, shattered ankle. He had a concussion and the vision in his right eye is blurry. At least the doctor expects that to clear up fairly quickly. The rest of the stuff …” She sighed. “He’s in bad shape.”

Kit sounded almost, no, definitely upset. And the circles around her eyes said she’d been up all night. Adrienne was astounded not only that Gavin Kirkwood had been nearly killed by a hit-and-run driver, but also that his longtime nemesis Kit seemed to care so much. She’d arrived at Adrienne’s ten minutes ago dressed hurriedly in jeans and a blue satin blouse, and requested a quick chat and a cup of “real” coffee before she had to go back to the hospital.

“How is Ellen taking it?” Adrienne asked as she poured Kit’s second cup of coffee and also handed her a blueberry muffin, which Adrienne was starting to consider her piece de resistance in the kitchen. “Mother was home with a headache when it happened,” Kit said through a mouth full of muffin. “Adrienne, this is delicious! I might start having you make some for the restaurant. Anyway, Mother had taken her migraine medicine and no one could rouse her. I used my house key to get in. She was too groggy to understand at first” She paused. “I’ll need another muffin.”

“I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“My stomach thinks different Anyway, Mother seemed okay at first, then fainted when we got to the hospital. Her breathing was bad, her color was awful, so now there are two patients in the family. Mother is in the room next to Gavin’s. The only physical problem with her is strain put on her weak heart, but Gavin’s physical state has certainly knocked the emotional stuffing out of her. I don’t think she’s issued an order all day. She just stares at the television and says ‘It’s my fault'”

“Does she mean Gavin’s accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident”

“Okay, the attempt on his life. Why would someone trying to kill Gavin by running him down in the middle of town be her fault?”

Kit shrugged. “I don’t know. Anyway, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to come to the gala tonight”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. And you didn’t have to come here to explain. You look like you’ve been up all night.”

“I have, but I couldn’t sleep even if I had the time. After finding that photo of Trey yesterday morning, though, I wanted to check on you in person so I could really
see
if you’re all right”

“I am, considering all that’s been happening. So far, Lucas hasn’t been able to come up with any answers about the picture, though.”

“No one at police headquarters jumped up and confessed to raiding the files?”

“Not a soul, even though Lucas said he has an idea who might be responsible. He won’t tell me whom he suspects. Of course, he’s not in peak form with his injury. I know he’s in pain, although he won’t admit it” Adrienne closed her eyes briefly. “In the last two weeks, the world has turned bizarre, Kit I think I’m becoming almost numb to the shocks.”

“You’re far from numb, sweetie,” Kit said. “Where’s Skye, by the way?”

“At her friend Sherry Granger’s. I have to be at the French Art Colony in about an hour to help with preparations, and she didn’t want to spend the whole afternoon there. Since the Grangers are attending the gala tonight, Louise Granger suggested Skye spend the afternoon there and come with them. Considering all that’s been happening around me lately, I think my daughter is safer in other people’s company. And that’s a terrible thing to have to admit.”

Kit reached out and touched Adrienne’s hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection. “I know it is. Listen, Adrienne, I don’t want to spook you on your big night, but you’re right. You’re not out of danger and neither is your daughter. That’s why I think that after tonight, you should leave town. I know you’re worried about your job, but Mother has lots of influence. So does your brother-in-law, if just once he’d ever do anything for you instead of for himself.”

Adrienne glanced down. “You think I’ve been irresponsible for staying here so long.”

“You could have been killed at Lottie’s cabin,” Kit said softly. “Where would that have left Skye? Adrienne, you’re the best mother in the world. But you’ve gotten yourself into a panic over your job, over not having enough money to support your daughter, and that’s caused you to take risks. I’m partially to blame for not offering you the money to leave town, but I didn’t think you’d take it.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“You’re like Lottie and I respect your principles, but you have to accept help from someone—if not me, then Vicky—and stop being brave.”

“You mean being an ass.”

“Well … yes. What happened to Gavin wasn’t a random hit-and-run, which only proves this mess is far from over.” Kit’s grip tightened almost painfully on Adrienne’s hand. “So be careful, tonight, Adrienne, and then leave. Take your daughter and get out of this town for as long as it takes. If you don’t, you’re risking both your lives.”

“Thank heavens, I finally I got things under control in the restaurant,” Kit exclaimed as she rushed into her apartment, slamming the door behind her. “Now it’s back to the hospital for afternoon visiting hours. I’ll make my visit short, though. Then we can spend some time together.” She stopped. “What’s going on?”

Miles Shaw stood in front of her in the living room, a leather suitcase sitting beside him, a canvas tote slung over his shoulder. “I’m leaving tonight, Kit”

“Leaving?” she repeated slowly, then smiled in relief. “Oh, going back to your apartment That’s not necessary. You’re not crowding me.”

“I’m not going back to my apartment I’m leaving town.”

“Leaving town?” She blinked at him. “Where are you going? Why?’

“I can’t answer either one of those questions. You’ll just have to take my word for it that I have to go.” He smiled. “Kit I really appreciate you giving me sanctuary after Margaret got killed and the police were breathing down my neck, but—”

“Giving you sanctuary? Is that what this was about?”

“Ummm … mostly. I told you that when I asked if I could stay with you. Maybe I didn’t use those exact words …”