Dead Giveaway (Stillwater Trilogy 2)

Did this late-night summons mean she'd told Clay about the two of them?

That thought alone made Dale's pulse race. Current circumstances were bad enough; he didn't need any more trouble. Although he was relieved not to be sneaking around anymore, he couldn't quit thinking about Irene, couldn't stop missing her. The mayor was breathing down his neck, threatening his job if he didn't charge someone with the death of Reverend Barker. And, according to the call he'd received from his wife, Allie and Whitney had moved out.

But he'd had to take a stand. He would not allow her to get mixed up with Clay Montgomery. What kind of husband would Clay make? He was standoffish at best. And if he ever went to prison, justifiably or not, where would that leave Allie and Whitney? Besides, considering his own past relationship with Irene, he'd be a fool to bring the two families together. In such proximity, the truth was bound to emerge. And he couldn't have that. He was taken with Irene, craved her, but he didn't love her the way he loved his wife.

Putting the transmission in gear, Dale pulled slowly into the gravel driveway, wondering how he'd let his life come to this. He'd never planned on having an affair. He'd just grown so infatuated with Irene--and it had all stemmed from seeing her so often at Two Sisters, where they both ate lunch.

He remembered making eye contact, the tentative smiles they'd exchanged and how they'd begun to time their exit so they could walk out together. Even after she'd slipped him her number, it had taken him a full two weeks to get up the nerve to call her. Part of him--the decent part, he supposed--hadn't wanted to break down. But in the end, he couldn't resist, despite her alleged involvement in the Barker case.

That case hadn't seemed so important back then. The investigation had stalled out years earlier, and Dale had never dreamed it would become such an issue again. Besides, the better he got to know Irene, the easier it was to ignore the whole Barker mess. The woman he knew would never purposely harm anyone.

But that didn't mean she wouldn't cover for Clay.... Maybe he'd shrugged off that possibility in the past, but he couldn't anymore. The mayor was pressing him too hard.

His cell phone rang. He took it from the seat, hoping it was Irene. She wasn't supposed to call him on his cell but whenever his phone rang he couldn't help wishing....

The number on the screen indicated that it was his wife.

Should he answer it or not? He wasn't cheating on her anymore, but he had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.

Maybe because of that disastrous scene with Allie...

He hit the Talk button. "Hello?"

"Dale?"

"What?"

"It's getting late. Where are you? Why haven't you called?"

"I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Paperwork."

"You usually let me know if you can't make it for dinner."

"I'm sorry. I was...distracted." Since Irene had broken off the relationship, he'd let down his guard, mostly because he felt fatalistic about the whole affair. If he put Clay in jail for Barker's murder, what would stop Irene from telling whoever she wanted? At that point, she'd have nothing to lose and would probably retaliate. Maybe in the past they'd purposely avoided mention of their respective families. But he knew how much Irene loved her son.

"I just called the station," Evelyn said. "They told me you left twenty minutes ago. I thought you'd be home by now."

"I'm out on patrol. I'll be there shortly."

"You said you were doing paperwork."

"I was."

There was a slight pause. "Have you tried calling Allie?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

He rubbed his temples, hoping to relieve the tension headache building behind his eyes. He felt terrible about what had happened. But he was doing Allie a favor. He didn't want to see his daughter hurt, and Clay was too dangerous for her--on many levels. "No."

"Why not?"

"She knows why."

"Dale--"

"I don't want to talk about it." If Allie could walk out on them that easily, for the likes of Clay Montgomery, she didn't deserve the help they'd offered her.

Evelyn hesitated, then backed off. He knew she'd bring it up later. No one could get around him like Evelyn. But he was grateful for the reprieve. "You sound tired," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he told her. But he wasn't fine at all. Besides being angry at Allie, he was disappointed in himself and lovesick for Irene. How had he let his obsession with another woman cloud his judgment so completely?

"Dinner's waiting," Evelyn said. "Hurry home, okay?"

He pictured the handful of peas and the miniature piece of fish he'd find on his plate and missed the candlelight steak dinners he'd once enjoyed, in a town several miles away, with Irene.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Hanging up, he got out of the car and approached the dark farmhouse as if it might spring to life and attack him. The shiny windows acted like mirrors beneath the moonlight. He couldn't see inside, but he imagined Clay looking out at him and shivered. Maybe Irene wasn't capable of intentionally harming anyone. But her son was. In Dale's opinion, Clay was capable of almost anything.

The door swung open before Dale could even reach it, and Irene's son appeared, his large form silhouetted in the light spilling from the hallway. The sound of a television resonated from some other room.

"Come in," Clay said.

"We'll talk here," Dale muttered. "What do you want?"

As Clay watched him, Dale tried to cover the fact that he was a little spooked. Clay had a way of putting people on edge. Maybe that was why most folks kept their distance. Most folks except the women who frequented his place--which now included Dale's own daughter.

"I want to make a deal," Clay said.

"I don't make deals."

"You'll be interested in this one."

"Why?"

Clay shoved his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so Dale couldn't see his injury. The way he moved didn't suggest he was in pain, but Clay was one tough son of a bitch. Dale could feel the younger man studying him, drawing conclusions Dale couldn't even guess at. "It has to do with Allie," he said at last.

The hair on Dale's arms stood up. He hated the thought of this man, who seemed so dark and mysterious, so dangerous, being intimately involved with his bright, attractive daughter. He hadn't invited Allie back to Stillwater for that. "What about her?" he said, his words clipped.

"Hire her back--"