A Bad Boy is Good to Find(42)

All gone. Except the memories, and he’d sure tried to get rid of those. As shadows of the past crowded toward him, he stiffened his back, like a gladiator ready to fight for his life in the ring. He was angry as hell and done keeping quiet. If Lizzie didn’t like it she had no one but herself to blame.

She climbed out the Jeep and picked her way toward him. Her sandals sank into the dark mud.

“Home sweet home,” he said coolly.

She hugged herself. Smacked at a mosquito on her arm. Her trendy outfit left her exposed and her forehead creased into a pained expression that softened him. Almost.



What had she expected? Lizzie figured it would be a shack in a swamp and here they were, the remains of a shack in a swamp. She was relieved there were no actual people here, but she’d never really thought there would be.

So where was her thrill of victory?

Con walked toward what was left of the stilt foundation and she followed, stick-littered mud squishing under her feet.

“This was the house,” he said, scratching his head. He seemed to have regained his cool. “Up on stilts, ’cause as you can see, it gets wet around here. Two rooms.” He gave a grim little smile that felt like a stab in her gut. “This what you expected?”

She nodded. Bit her lip.

“The bayou’s right back there. You can see it if you’re up a bit higher. We used to get around by boat. Didn’t have a car except for one time when my dad won a few dollars in the lottery. Gone soon enough though.”

He rested his hand on the blackened wood stump of the one remaining stilt. Stared right at her, his eyes black and focused.

Cool? He’d turned cold as ice.

She shuddered.

Are you happy now? His angry stare demanded the question.

Shame heated her face and scattered her thoughts. Had she thought it would be funny that he came from what was—at least to her—grim poverty?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What for? It’s not your fault I grew up dirt-poor. That some days I didn’t eat. That my parents were alcoholics.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

After a long pause he looked down at the dark earth, then back up at her. “It’s not your fault that my dad killed my mom, beat her to death.”

Her blood froze.

Con stared, black eyes seeing right through her, into some horrible otherworld. “He said it was an accident, that she fell out of the boat. Drowned. But I saw him do it. I was right there the whole time. Watching. Just like you’re watching me now.”

Lizzie shuddered. Groped for words. For breath.

“And I lied. Lied for two goddam years. Kept his filthy secret and betrayed my mother’s memory. Scared of his fists. Scared of being alone. Scared to death and wishing I was dead.”

He hadn’t moved a muscle.

Her hands shook and her breath came in gulps.

“He may be out there right now, walking around with blood on his hands. But I’m done keeping his secret.” He stared at her, eyes fierce, voice low. “I’m done keeping his secret.”

She tried to speak, but no words came out.

Finally Con broke the stare, shook his head and blew out a blast of air.

“I told you it was a long story, but it’s not so long after all, is it? Just a few words.”

She struggled for air. “Let’s go. We’ll leave right now. Go back to New York.” Her voice was shaking.

“No. No, we won’t.” The resolve in his dark eyes stole her breath. “We’re here now. I’ve been running from this place half my life, and I’m not running anymore.”

At that moment the van carrying the rest of the crew rattled into view. Lizzie wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

She wanted to reach out to Con, but his rigid bearing dared her to try it, like she’d get an electric shock if she touched him. She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She realized Dino was still rolling, recording everything.

Maisie leaped out of the white van, clipboard in hands. “This the place?” She looked disapprovingly at the black stump next to Con. “Not much left, is there?”

“Um, Maisie.” Dino took the camera off his shoulder. “You need to see this.”

“See what? There isn’t anything to see.”

“The footage. Con just… um.” He looked at Con, then at Maisie. “You need to see it, that’s all.”

Maisie and Dino climbed into the van. Lizzie walked toward Con, slow, rigid and awkward. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Did you really want to know?” His voice was quiet, his face expressionless.

No. “Yes. Of course. How can you carry a secret like that?”

“By burying it down real deep and pretending it isn’t there.” He looked down at the black mud, his voice toneless.

“By pretending you’re someone else?” she whispered.

He met her gaze. “Yes.”

The back doors of the van exploded open. “What do you mean by turning off the camera?” screeched Maisie at Dino. “Keep filming and don’t stop until I tell you.”

Lizzie cringed as Maisie stalked up to them, pale eyes flashing.

“Conroy—” Maisie turned to make sure Dino was filming. “Conroy, you’ve just shared some very painful revelations.” She positioned herself so as not to block the camera’s view of either Con or Lizzie. “Is it a relief to get this dark secret off your chest?”

He just stared at her.

Maisie sucked in a breath. “Your father killed your mother, right here on this spot.”

“Yes.”

“How does that make you feel?”

Again he just looked at her, as if he didn’t understand the question.

“Do you feel angry?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel sad?”

“Yes.”

Leave him alone. Lizzie fought the urge to take his hand, which hung by his side only inches from hers. She still didn’t dare touch him. The whole situation seemed hotwired, explosive.

“Did your father ask you to lie for him?”

“There was no asking,” said Con, face composed. “He told us what to say, and we knew better than to cross him.”

“He used to beat you?”

“All the time.”

Maisie’s overdone expression of compassion made Lizzie’s hands clench into fists.

“You said us just now. Who else was there? Did you have brothers and sisters?”

A long pause drew out into a painful silence. Mosquitoes buzzed in the thick hot air, and Lizzie felt one sting her right ankle. She didn’t move.

“Yes. I have a brother.” Con’s voice was hoarse.

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Ten years ago.” His voice cracked. His bearing was still rigid, regal, hostile even. But Lizzie could feel something breaking inside him. Her hand itched to take hold of his.