direction again, he decided it was worth a reminder that the presence of a child indicated there was a father around somewhere. Not that he had any intention of letting a pair of big dark eyes and those pretty legs with their lickable knees divert him from who she was. A few wrong words from Esmée could hurt Demi, and Brayden wasn’t going to add to his sister’s problems.
With that thought in his mind, he glanced at his cell phone. He had gotten into the habit of willing Demi to get in touch, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Brayden didn’t have much of a relationship with any of his half siblings; they’d all been raised by different mothers. They were all close in age, and had lived nearby when they were growing up—he and his older sister, Quinn, had even been in the same class at school—but their mothers had instilled a sense of distrust in them that had lasted into adulthood. Brayden, Quinn and Shane didn’t dislike each other. They just had nothing in common and no reason to get to know each other.
Demi was different. They weren’t exactly friends, but their shared love of the outdoors had brought them together when they were growing up and a bond had developed between them because of events that had come their way. It was the reason Brayden was certain his sister wasn’t a killer. It was also how he knew she wouldn’t contact him. Strong-willed, stubborn and feisty, Demi was also fiercely loyal. She wouldn’t put Brayden in a position where he had to choose between her and his job.
He just wished she would get in touch with someone to let them know she was okay. Those rumors were swirling around town that Demi was pregnant with Bo Gage’s baby. Her critics were claiming it as further proof of her guilt. Bo dumped her and was marrying someone else while she was carrying his child, so she killed him? Brayden shook his head. Demi had a temper, but she was more likely to confront Bo and land a punch on him that would break his nose. And the idea that Demi had then continued killing other bridegrooms? Jack Parkowski was the fourth victim. Fourth. Brayden just didn’t buy into the idea that his sister was out somewhere close by, stalking and killing engaged men.
Even so, the evidence against Demi wasn’t good. A search of her house had revealed photos and love letters to Demi from Bo, with big Xs across them and the word Liar scrawled in marker across one letter. No matter how bad things seemed, if she would just give herself up, Brayden was sure they could clear her name.
The K-9 demonstration was over and Brayden looked in Esmée’s direction once more. She was chasing Rhys in a circle around their picnic rug, letting him stay just ahead of her. Almost as if she sensed him watching, she looked up and stared back at Brayden across the distance between them. Hurriedly, he turned away to help Danica dismantle the agility equipment.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and alcohol fumes greeted him as he turned his head. Brayden resisted the temptation to groan.
“Saw you talking to that pretty little reporter a while ago, son.” His father, Rusty, only ever called Brayden “son” when he wanted to borrow money from him.
“She’s not a reporter.”
“Whatever she is, that would be one mighty fine way to spend an afternoon.” Rusty winked and elbowed Brayden in the ribs. “Maybe I’ll invite her over to the Pour House. Tell her my side of the story while we, uh...relax.”
Brayden had given up on wishing Rusty would treat women with respect. Usually, he called his father out on the worst of his comments without much hope that he would be listened to. For the first time ever, real anger blazed through him at his father’s attitude. The thought of Rusty leering at Esmée infuriated him almost as much as the idea that he would contemplate discussing Demi’s situation with a stranger. A stranger who was here to make a documentary. To expose every aspect of their lives to the world.
“Stay away from her.” The words came out harder than he’d intended.
“Whatever you say.” Rusty held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Look, I have a problem—”
“How much?” Brayden didn’t want to hear the latest inventive reason why Rusty needed cash.
“Fifty should do it.”
Brayden handed him the money and Rusty stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He stooped to pat Echo before wandering away, whistling tunelessly. Despite telling himself he wouldn’t, Brayden turned once more to look at Esmée.
She’d gone. He already had plenty of reasons of his own to stay away from her. The fact that he was more disappointed than relieved that she was no longer around added about a dozen more.
Two days had passed since the dog show and Esmée congratulated herself that she hadn’t contacted Brayden during that time. The temptation had been almost overwhelming, but she had resisted for a number of reasons.
The first was that he had made it clear he didn’t wish to speak to her. The man had to be dealing with a world of pain right now. She had caught some of that in his expression before he lowered his shades. She had also heard it in his voice. The last thing he needed was for her to disrespect his wishes and trample roughly over his feelings. Esmée hadn’t given up on her desire to talk to him, but she worked within a strong code of ethics. She wasn’t going to try to coerce him into it.
Her hope was that, once he saw other people opening up to her and became aware that she was treating his sister’s story with sensitivity, he would change his mind. If he didn’t? She would take her research in another direction. She’d done it before. A documentary of this kind took a long time to make and there would be many twists and turns along the way. Right now, it felt like Brayden was her starting point, but that could change.
An approach to the subscription TV company that had bought the documentary about the murders in the Welsh farming community of Glanrafon had proved promising. They were keen to work with her again and loved the Red Ridge idea. Viewing figures for What Remains had been phenomenal and it had won several prestigious awards. Esmée’s terms were simple—a good price and total artistic control over her work.
Her second reason for keeping her distance from Brayden was more personal. Rhys was talking. She wanted to hold her breath every time he spoke in case he stopped again. The remarkable thing was that he was good at it. All that listening to Esmée must have paid off. He was speaking in simple sentences, his vocabulary was good and he could pronounce most words well.
Esmée had called both his speech therapist and psychologist to discuss this new development. The speech therapist had been encouraging.
“You know what to do as well as I do. Give him a context to talk. Keep modeling what to do. Ask him questions. This is the turning point—it will all move forward from here.”
The psychologist, while also optimistic, had added a word of caution. “You say this started with a dog? Make sure Rhys doesn’t develop a reliance on the animal.”
“He’s been talking just fine without Echo,” Esmée had explained as she watched Rhys eating the cookie he had asked for. Not signed. Not gestured. Asked.
“Just something to be aware of.”
While Esmée had no doubt that Echo had been the trigger for Rhys to start talking, she didn’t believe that his continuing recovery depended on the dog. Even so, he had several times asked the same question.
“See Ko?”
“Echo is
