them, came first.
The truck slowed down, and they bumped up the driveway leading to the Poes’—or rather William Poe’s—house. She still hadn’t gotten over her friend’s death. Every time she thought of Monica, she had to remind herself that she was gone. It was surreal. So many times over the last few days, she had lifted her phone to text her friend, only to remember that she was gone.
Though everything had changed in her world, the Poes’ house hadn’t. The siding was the same gray it had been a few months ago, and the garage stood apart from the house, filled with William’s collection of cars, its walls adorned with Sports Illustrated posters of scantily clad women.
She’d never liked stepping foot in the garage, and she had liked William even less—especially after Monica had told her about his private habits, which mostly centered on getting himself between the legs of as many women as humanly possible. How Monica had put up with it was still a mystery to her, but she’d always supported her friend. It wasn’t her place to judge her, but only to stand by her side.
Monica’s car was parked outside, like now that she was dead, there wasn’t a place in William’s home for any of his wife’s leftovers.
“You okay?” Waylon asked as she noticed him glancing over at her.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just made it a habit over the years not to hang out here. Monica was good about it—she normally let me meet her somewhere else.”
“You were friends with Monica? The lady your sister...” He stopped, like he was afraid that the words your sister killed would break her once again.
She couldn’t deny the fact he might have been right in his assumption. Even the thought of what her sister had done to her friend, and her reasons behind it, made a feeling of sickness rise up from her belly.
“Yeah. Monica is a cool—I mean, was a cool chick. She loved to ride horses. We’d spend hours riding the trails around the ranch. Honestly, looking back, I think it was just an excuse for her not to be around her husband.”
Waylon chuckled. “It’s funny how hindsight is always twenty-twenty.”
“Is that how you feel when you look back at your marriage with my sister?”
His face pinched slightly at the question, like he wished she hadn’t gone there. Lucky for him, as they pulled to a stop in front of William’s house, the man in question came out the door. William grimaced as he caught sight of them, and Christina would have sworn she could see him mouth a long line of curse words.
Instead of answering her question, Waylon jumped out of the truck like he would rather face the cussing county tax appraiser than talk any more about his failed marriage.
She couldn’t blame him. Relationships, and what came of them, were a tricky thing—especially in their case. Even as she thought about their confusing circumstances, she couldn’t help but watch as Waylon strode toward William.
His jeans had to have been made especially for him. There was no way something that fit that well around the curves of his ass could have simply come off a rack.
She giggled as she thought about the many web articles she had read about men who didn’t wash their jeans so they could get them to fit that way. Was Waylon among the no-wash crew? It was a random thought, but in a way it made her like him even more. It was almost as if the thought of him standing over his jeans at night and deciding whether or not they should be cleaned made him more human and less the imposing MP who had literally landed on her doorstep. More than anything, it made him real. Human. Attainable. But was he someone she really wanted to be with?
Waylon turned around and waved for her to come out of the truck.
She’d much rather have stayed—she had nothing to say to William Poe that she hadn’t already said. They’d had their moment together at Monica’s funeral. He had barely spoken to her or looked at her as they had stood at the cemetery, watching as people threw handfuls of dirt onto his wife’s casket. Yet, afterward, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, he’d made his position clear when he’d leaned in and said a few simple but inflammatory words: “This is all your fault.”
At the time, she hadn’t understood his thought process. How could he have possibly thought she had anything to do with his wife’s death? Sure, she had ties to all involved, but that didn’t mean she had taken a role in anything. On the other hand, she wasn’t completely innocent—there had been the night in the office when she had been talking about William and his actions with Monica. Alli had been just outside the door, listening to their conversation. No doubt that night she had drawn her sister’s crosshairs onto Monica’s back, but William couldn’t have known.
He was just angry, and she had been his easiest and closest target. Maybe because he couldn’t go after her sister, he had simply decided to come after her. Regardless, she hated him and how his choices had been an atomic bomb in all of their lives. If he had just kept himself in his pants, lives could have been saved and Alli would have never disappeared. He was like this town’s Helen of Troy, but instead of his face launching a thousand ships, his manhood had launched a thousand hours of tragedy.
She clomped out of the truck and made her way over to the two men. William gave her the same look of disgust he had given her at Monica’s funeral, like he had bitten into a wormy apple. The only worm here was him.
“I believe I answered all the questions when your brother brought me in, Waylon.” As William spoke, a small dark-haired woman walked out of the house. William, noticing the woman, turned and pointed toward the door. “Get back inside, Lisa.”
“Why are they here?” The woman pointed toward her with a shaking finger. “Did they find Alli?”
“Shut up and listen to me, Lisa. Go inside.”
Lisa looked taken aback, but she hurried inside.
“Who was that?” Christina asked.
William waved her off. “She is none of your business.”
Was the woman just another in his long line of conquests?
“You people have no right to be stepping on my property, and you have no right to be asking me any questions,” William continued.
“You’re right. You’re under no real obligation. Nothing you tell me would be admissible in court,” Waylon said, in an almost jovial tone, as if he could win the slimeball’s favor by acting like a friend. “However, I would think you would want to bring your wife’s murderer to justice.”
“You don’t want justice,” William said with a snort. “You just want to find Alli. You think if you can get to her first, maybe you can get her a lighter sentence when the crap rains down. But here’s the deal...” William pointed at Waylon, the move aggressive and escalating. It was the move of a politician. “Even if you find her, she’s going to pay for what she did. She’ll get the full weight of justice upon her. I will make sure of it.”
“Even if? What, do you think there’s a chance we aren’t going to find my sister?” Christina asked, enraged by the man’s tone. “What did you do to her?”
“Better yet,” Waylon interrupted, “what didn’t you tell my brother about what you know?”
William waved them off. “You and your screwed-up
