unwilling to send him away, unwilling to invite him in.
“Rachel?”
She suspected that he saw her, or at least her shadow, but still she hesitated. How could she open the door to this man who had told her one lie after another, all in the name of doing his job?
“Rachel, please. Let’s just talk.”
She switched on the outside light, and there he stood on the back porch, looking tall and dependable, like a man she could lean on if she had a problem.
In her dreams.
“I’m sorry you got fired this morning.”
“Nothing travels faster than bad news.” The fact she had almost forgotten about that surprised her. Of course, that was no longer the worst thing that had happened today.
He stared at her through the screen door, holding his Stetson in front of him like a shield. With a sigh, she unlatched the door. “Come in.”
He slipped past her, and though she wanted to be angry at him for his past actions, at the moment, all that was insignificant. Annoyed with the feelings feathering through her chest—like relief…hope—she watched him, wishing this man had truly been the friend he had once seemed to be. But she knew better than anyone how futile wishes were.
She went to the refrigerator and retrieved a pitcher of iced tea. “Tell me why you really came back.”
He looked at her sharply, then away, as though deciding what he should say.
“You always do that.” With more force than necessary, she clunked several ice cubes into one glass, then another. “Thinking. Weighing. It’s like you’re trying to remember which lie you told and how to tell another without getting caught.”
“I suppose that’s how it must seem to you,” he said, setting his hat on the table.
“Lies by omission,” she said, “are still lies. No evasions this time, Micah. Why did you come back? And don’t tell me it was to apologize. The time for that was months ago.” Despite her best intentions to be unemotional, her voice caught when she added, “I might have forgiven you then.”
“I am sorry.” He took a step toward her, then abruptly stopped when she held up her palm. “And you do deserve the truth, all of it.” He raked an impatient hand through his hair. “It’s just that the truth is never quite as black and white as it should be.”
“You mean like Angela going to prison and her drug-dealing boyfriend getting off scot-free.”
Micah nodded. “And like you getting caught in someone else’s mess. I’m sorry for that, Rachel. All of it.” This time, he tucked his fingers into the top of his jeans pockets and faced her square on, his chin lifted, as though he was facing a firing squad. “Most of all, I’m sorry for lying to you.”
She held a glass filled with tea. “And that’s why you came back.”
His gaze at once skittered away from hers.
That simple thing ignited her temper all over again, and she slammed her glass onto the counter. “Get out.” She marched across the kitchen and picked up his hat, the felt absurdly soft against her fingertips. “Take your hat and go. I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to be glad you came here tonight. What in the world was I thinking? I’m not going to put up with you pondering every single thing you say because whatever comes out of your mouth will be a lie. And if its not a lie, it certainly won’t be the truth.”
For an instant, she caught his gaze, then looked away.
The months of frustration continued to pour out of her. “It’s been the worst day ever. Somebody threatened me and my kids tonight, and then there you are at my door and I think, great. The hero in the white hat has finally shown up.” She thrust his taupe-colored hat into his hands. “Well, wrong again.”
Hating her burst of temper, she held open the back door and motioned for him to leave. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, though, planted as solidly as the old pine tree in the middle of the yard.
“What do you mean, someone threatened you tonight?” he asked, the question cutting to the heart of the fear swamping her.
“It doesn’t concern you.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Does this have anything to do with the money?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Angela called me after you came to visit her,” Micah said. “She was worried about you.” He paused, and when Rachel’s jaw tightened, he said, “Because she thinks she knows who might be behind the threat.”
“She told me she didn’t know.” Rachel dropped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She lied again.”
“To protect you.”
“And how does not telling me protect me?” she asked, her temper again at the surface. “More importantly, how does it protect my kids?” She plunged a hand into the pocket of her long swirling skirt, and withdrew a crumpled photograph that she held out to him. “My family is everything to me.”
“I know that.” Micah looked from her to the images on the picture. Her father. Andy. Sarah. All of them unaware they had been photographed. “You didn’t take this picture?”
She shook her head.
“Who gave this to you?” His intuition told him that this was a huge breakthrough, and as a DEA agent he felt the thrill of the chase. But as the man who loved Rachel, he wanted her to deny it all the same, hating the idea of Rachel in danger, hating that she might have come face-to-face with the ultimate villain.
“First tell me what you know.”
He took a step toward her. “This isn’t a game, Rachel.”
Her mouth tightened, and for a moment he didn’t think she would tell him
She held his eyes in a challenge. “Simon Graden.”
He wished she hadn’t just confirmed his suspicion—and his worst fear.
FOUR
Micah didn’t even pretend not to know who Rachel meant. The man—the kingpin—he had been after last spring. The one who was still in business while Rachel had paid too big a price for being a suspect.
Her eyes were on him, direct and clear and demanding the truth. Facts, he could give her. The truth was a lot harder. “Tell me what happened.”
“He threatened me.” She shook the crumpled photograph. “Worse, he threatened my children. And the scariest part is, it was all so polite. Courteous. He could repeat every single thing he said to me from a pulpit and the meaning would seem innocent to anyone else.”
She shivered again, this time reaching for the sweater she’d left hanging over the back of a chair. Nerves, Micah knew, because his own were stretched thin. At the moment, he didn’t care about the investigation or the instructions from his superior that Graden be taken
