The door opened and almost hit him before he could make himself move. Once he’d stepped aside, Sophia came in, but she was so busy staring at his face she didn’t seem to notice he’d dropped his only covering. He didn’t care, couldn’t care, about modesty or propriety. He couldn’t feel anything at all, except guilt. He wasn’t sure why. He’d had nothing to do with his half brother’s death. Was it just because he’d always hated Stuart? There were times when the depth of his hate made him feel capable of almost anything. Or maybe his return to Bordertown had in some way contributed….
He closed his eyes as the truth—the truth he’d refused to face—became clearer. He didn’t really hate Stuart. His feelings about Stuart were strong but they had more to do with jealousy than hate.
“You heard?” she murmured.
“Yeah.” He bent to reclaim the sheet. He had to get out of here. He didn’t want her to see how deeply this affected him. He’d acted so tough where Stuart and Patrick and his father were concerned. And now, somehow, he didn’t feel tough at all. He felt raw and vulnerable and as exposed emotionally as he was physically….
“Hey.” She put a hand on his bare back. Her fingers were cool, delicate. He could remember her threading them through his as he made love to her, remembered thinking that Stuart would give anything to be in his place for once.
God, he was screwed up. Was that why he’d stayed with her—to punish his half brother? “I gotta go.”
“Where?” she said.
He wasn’t sure. He wanted to leave town and pretend he’d never returned, wanted to ignore that Stuart’s death had ever happened, as if it didn’t relate to him in any way. His life in California was so far removed. He felt compelled to get back to it right away, to force down all the emotions that’d been dredged up since he drove into town, including his attraction to Sophia, which suddenly seemed as threatening as everything else.
But his father’s wail would stay with him forever. He knew that. Just as he knew Bruce had to be wondering if he’d killed Stuart. “I’ve gotta get some toiletries so I can at least brush my teeth and replace the clothes that were ruined in my motel room. Then I’ll get to work on the UDA murders.”
Folding her arms, she leaned against the wall as she watched him dress. “This could be related.”
“You can brief me on any similarities you find later.”
He had his shorts on and was reaching for his T-shirt when she came over and held it away from him. “Of course he thinks it’s you, Rod.” She didn’t have to say who “he” was. “As far as he knows, Stuart doesn’t have any other enemies. You come back to town, your motel room gets trashed, you go on the warpath searching for the person who was most likely responsible and that person winds up dead. It doesn’t look good, but it’s all circumstantial. So why don’t we go to the crime scene and find some evidence that proves otherwise?”
He didn’t want to see Stuart’s body, didn’t want to witness any more of Bruce’s heartbreak.
“Someone could be setting you up,” she went on. “You realize that.”
He hadn’t thought about it until this moment. He’d been dealing with the sudden panic.
“Why let them get away with it?” she pressed.
“I shouldn’t have come back here.” He grabbed his shirt from her.
She released it but didn’t back off. “Yet you did. And this happened. And now you have to make sure the right person gets punished.”
He didn’t know how to describe to her how it would feel to have his father blame him. Stuart’s murder would destroy the few ounces of pride Bruce was finally exhibiting in his bastard son, would make Bruce regret the overtures he’d made in recent years. And although Rod had told himself all along that he didn’t care whether his father was proud of him or not, that Bruce was wasting his time hoping for forgiveness, he knew now it wasn’t true. Maybe he’d rejected his father’s advances, but only because he was afraid to trust them. More than anything, he wanted to avoid feeling the way he’d felt as a child—worthless, unloved, less than his white half brothers.
“If I show up there, things could get ugly. I don’t want to wind up making this worse by hurting Bruce or Patrick.”
“They don’t even know where his body is yet. They may get word somehow and show up, but if that happens, you’ll just have to control yourself. Because if you take off, they’ll have one more reason to think you did it.”
She had a point. Now that he’d stopped reacting and started thinking, he knew he had to go to wherever Stuart had been shot. He wanted to go, wasn’t sure why he’d initially thought the opposite. He didn’t care about the Dunlaps. How could he have forgotten? Not caring was the only way to survive.
Setting his jaw, he found his flip-flops where she’d placed them neatly in her closet and put them on. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Sophia drove in silence. Rod sat in the passenger seat. He wouldn’t have a vehicle until they could get over to the tow yard to pick up the Hummer, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. It was just something to fixate on instead of thinking about the fact that Stuart Dunlap, a man she’d known her whole life, had been murdered. It was difficult enough to confront a crime scene involving complete strangers. Sophia had no idea how she was going to hold up while viewing Stuart—who’d been very much alive when she’d last seen him at the jail—gazing sightlessly up at her.
Despite the early hour, it was ninety degrees outside. She unfastened the top button of her uniform, then turned on the air-conditioning and stole a glance at Rod. He sat rigidly, staring straight ahead. A bruise blossomed on his left cheek, more purple than red now that some time had passed since the injury occurred. And there was a cut on his lip, which was still a little swollen. But those injuries hadn’t slowed him down last night, and she knew they weren’t bothering him now. He was dealing with something deeper.
Not that he’d be willing to share what was going on in his head. He’d completely withdrawn. As open and gentle, even funny, as he’d been last night, he connected her with his past, and when he couldn’t bear the pain associated with those years, he shut her out. She was a reminder of who he’d been, part of the town and everything he’d worked so hard to escape since he was sixteen.