Paranoid(41)

“Exactly.” Her gaze met his. “And I got pregnant.”

“And it wasn’t the end of the world.” He let go.

“She’s only seventeen. I was older. But let’s not have her replay our mistakes, okay? She’s got a whole future ahead of her.”

“You’ve talked to her?” he asked.

“What? About sex? What do you think?” She shook her head, the auburn strands of her hair catching in the light cast through a nearby window. “From the time she was in sixth grade. Of course. Have you?”

“Not really.”

“What about Dylan?” she asked.

“He’s just—”

“Fifteen,” she shot back, her face in shadow. “How often did you think about sex at his age?”

Too often. All the time, in fact.

His face must’ve given him away.

“Yeah, I thought so. So there ya go,” she said.

“I will. I’ll talk to him. Tonight.”

“Good. I’ve already brought it up. We had a discussion. He hated it, of course, but it had to happen. Face it, Cade, we don’t just have to worry about our daughter. Right? Dylan could be sexually active for all we know.”

“God, I hope not.”

“Me too. But . . .” She let her voice trail off and he stared at her profile—narrow nose, big troubled eyes, dark lashes that brushed high cheekbones and lips that were now pursed in thought.

“Let’s take it down a notch, okay? Not go all parent-ballistic on them? Try to have a reasonable discussion.”

One dark eyebrow raised. “Is that what I’m doing? Going ‘parent-ballistic’?”

He actually felt his lips twitch. “Well, I wouldn’t say you were exactly the calm voice of reason.”

She didn’t seem amused by that. “Okay. Then that’s your role, okay? You be the super dad who talks things out and keeps his cool. That’s on you. But you might want to know that Dylan’s in trouble at school.”

“What?”

She told him about his son cutting class and trouble with an older kid who was bullying him over some bet not being paid.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Good. Do that. I’d prefer not to have Marlene Walsh on speed dial.” When he didn’t respond, she clarified, “She’s the vice principal.”

“Got it.” He paused, sensing there was something more. Something she was holding back. “What?”

She opened her mouth, hesitated, then said, “I’m just upset. Everybody”—she motioned toward the big house and the people inside—“all of us knew Violet and . . . well, it’s a shock.”

“I know.” In the half-light she appeared vulnerable, the girl he’d fallen in love with. Hurting. He thought about pulling her close, but knew she’d reject him. Thankfully, the door flew open.

“Everything okay out here?” Lila asked, stepping outside.

“Just dandy,” Rachel said, and for a second he thought she was going to let things lie. But that wasn’t Rachel. She tilted her head and said, “You could’ve told me Lucas had a friend over.”

Lila shrugged. “I did. When you first got here. Xander goes to school at Oregon, but practically lives here when he’s not in Eugene. Uses the apartment Charles has for out-of-town clients. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rachel shot back, then said, “Unless you mean everything.” And she swept into the house.

“Is she okay?” Lila whispered to Cade.

“Right as rain.” The lie was easy. He didn’t want anyone, especially not Stepmommy-Dearest, to know anything private about his kids or his ex-wife. Besides, he never had trusted Lila, not when she was pretending to be Rachel’s good friend and certainly not as his father’s second wife. There was just something about her that made Cade wary.

“We’re all . . . you know. Unnerved. Upset. Freaked out. Whatever you want to call it. About Violet.”

Rachel returned and swept past them. “If the kids need me—”

“They’ll call,” he said, but his ex-wife, purse and laptop tucked under her arm, keys in hand, was already down the steps and hurrying across the damp grass to her Explorer.

Lila’s eyes narrowed and she was about to ask him another question when he spied from the lights of the house Mercedes Pope beelining toward him.

“Hey,” she called. “I wanted to talk to you. About the Violet Sperry homicide. That’s what it is, right? A murder?”

“Yeah.” That much was out. There had already been a press conference. “Not my jurisdiction. You’ll have to talk to someone at the sheriff’s department.”

“Who? And don’t tell me the public information officer. I know that.”

“Then the officer in charge. Detective Kayleigh O’Meara.”





CHAPTER 13


Rachel was still fuming when she pulled into the carport and cut the engine. Her whole life seemed to be unraveling. She was divorced, out of a job, her son in trouble at school, her daughter rebelling with a boy she sensed was trouble.

And then there was Violet.

Dead.

No, murdered.