Secrets in a Small Town. Kimberly Meter Van
Owen Garrett. She’d overlook the part where she’d used extortion to get it.
By the time she reached her house, she already had a list of questions zooming through her head. Piper grabbed a notepad—she always had extras lying around for when her brain kicked in and couldn’t wait—and jotted down her erratic and fevered thoughts.
How much did he remember from that day, she wondered. He’d been a kid. But sometimes a traumatic event seared itself into a person’s brain, clarifying and crystallizing the event until it was impossible to forget. She figured watching your father get gunned down in a hail of bullets was enough to traumatize an adult, let alone an eleven-year-old boy.
She tried to imagine Owen as a kid, a serious, tow-headed child with solemn eyes and a mischievous glint that flashed now and then when he thought no one would notice, and her mouth flirted with a smile. He’d probably been a damn cute little kid. Figures, because he’d grown into a pretty good-looking adult.
And why didn’t such an eligible bachelor have a missus attached to him? There had to be something wrong with him, possibly something deep and dark and maybe, perverted.
She toyed with the idea. Owen a pervert? She supposed it was possible. But even as she bandied the idea about, testing the theory, she discarded it with distaste. No. He may be a lot of things but she didn’t get the pervie vibe from him.
No, she got a distinctly different vibe from him and it made her shudder and made her think of topics that were inappropriate—and highly unlikely—given their current relationship.
She wondered what he looked like without a shirt. He had the build of a man accustomed to hard work. Big, strong hands, roughened from handling axes, saws and power tools. She moistened her lips and noted her heart rate had kicked up a bit. Oh, goody. Attraction. She recognized it for what it was. She grew up with two professors of anthropology. Dissecting human emotion was something they used to do over dinner. So why did she feel warm and fuzzy and just a bit uncomfortable?
Because she was on the threshold of something big, she reasoned. Finally, she was going to sit down and pick his brain.
And she might just be able to find the clue she needed to bust the case wide-open like never before.
And yes, grandiose music played in the theater of her mind as she envisioned that particular dream.
She laughed, her mood lightened considerably, and she almost skipped to bed, eager for the morning.
IF PIPER DRIFTED TO SLEEP with a smile, Owen did the exact opposite.
Now he had two problems. By agreeing to talk with Piper, he was opening himself to a whole new world of grief. There was no telling as to her true agenda. She played a good game about hearing his side of things but he didn’t trust the way her eyes had glittered with barely contained excitement when he’d agreed. It’d put him on edge, worse than he already was. And if that weren’t bad enough, the situation with Gretchen had him in knots.
The cops still hadn’t located that worthless SOB, which meant Gretchen was still unaccounted for. He had a scared little girl camped out on his couch and there was nothing he could offer her for comfort aside from a cup of warm milk. Hell, he didn’t even have any chocolate powder he could mix in. His house wasn’t made for guests. It was a space where he washed his clothes, sometimes ate and, most times, crashed when he was too tired to keep his eyes open a minute longer.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling each and every year of his life weighing down on him. That sick feeling in his stomach intensified when he thought of how much worse the situation could have been if Quinn had been taken, too.
That sick bastard. Who kicks a pregnant woman in the stomach, much less the woman carrying your child? He couldn’t even fathom. In the eyes of the law, his father was scum, not worth the price of the bullet that ended his life, but to him, he’d been a fabulous father and one of the things he’d always taught Owen was to treat women kindly.
“Son, you always got to watch out for the welfare of your woman. She’s the weaker sex and the Bible tells us we have to protect them,” his father had said one day when he’d gotten his tail chewed for throwing a rock in the general direction of an obnoxious little girl named Patty living on the compound with them.
“Even colored girls?” he’d asked, wiping at his nose and glowering in Patty’s direction because she’d started the fight and then run to her daddy when he’d fought back.
His father, leader of the Aryan Coalition, had straightened, glanced around before answering in a lowered voice so only Owen could hear. “Even colored girls, son. A man isn’t a man the minute he hits a woman. You got that?”
“Yessir,” he’d answered glumly, still angry but not about to go against his father. “Don’t seem fair that she started it, though,” he’d added, glancing up at his dad.
Ty Garrett had smiled. “Never is, son. It never is. Don’t change a thing.”
Owen roused himself from the memory. It was hard to reconcile that image of his father with the one everyone else harbored. He shook off his melancholy. No sense in crying over the past. Not right now, anyway. He had bigger problems.
“Gretchen…” he muttered to himself, checking one last time on Quinn, who was fast asleep. “If you manage to make it through the night, you’d better promise me you’ll break up with this bastard.”
He turned off the lights and resigned himself to a restless night.
OWEN GOT THE CALL AT 3:00 A.M. that Gretchen had been found alongside the road, bruised and bloody, unconscious from a vicious blow to the head.
But she was alive.
He listened as the police officer gave him as much information as he knew, which wasn’t a lot aside from the fact that she’d been beaten and left for dead like roadkill.
“Danny Mathers did this,” he said in a low tone so as not to wake Quinn.
“We’ll find him,” the officer assured him. “You can see her tomorrow if the doctor thinks she can have visitors. Is her daughter all right with you for a few days?”
He glanced over at Quinn, a small bundle curled on his lumpy sofa, and he nodded. “Yeah. No problem.”
“Good. If you change your mind, we can call social services but since you’re her emergency contact, we figured the girl was safe with you for the time being.”
“What about the baby?” he asked, his throat tight, almost afraid to know.
There was a long pause and then the officer said, “It doesn’t look good.” He rattled off a case number for reference in case Owen needed it later and hung up.
Returning to his bedroom, he fell back into bed and wondered how the hell he was going to run a business without Gretchen at the office and with Quinn at his heels.
Ah, hell, he thought just as his eyes fluttered shut.
That reporter was coming tomorrow.
Shit. The day had just officially gone from bad to worse.
PIPER TOOK GREAT CARE in choosing her wardrobe that morning. She’d bounced from bed five minutes before the alarm went off, the spring in her step mirroring her excitement, and after enjoying a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon—God, how she loved bacon—she showered and donned her most professional attire. She wanted her outfit to reflect her drive and ambition and she wanted to appear confident and smart, a sharp-witted shark accustomed to swimming in a pool filled with other maneaters. Except, it took her five outfits to achieve that look and even as she stood before the mirror, she wasn’t sure if another change was in order.
She twisted to stare at her backside, fretting that the powder-blue pencil skirt wasn’t aggressive enough of a color and it made her butt look enormous. But it had a matching jacket, she lamented to herself even as she prepared to shrug out of it. Black, she thought, seizing her favorite slacks and blazer. Too austere? She