more practical than pretty.
Seeing her made him wonder what he looked like in turn. Had he changed in the past two years?
“Hi,” Kelli greeted him, sliding into the seat across from him without pause. Whatever was on her mind, it had her determined.
“Hi,” he responded. Mark didn’t know what to feel, seeing her so informally, as if they were old friends reconnecting. The only thing they shared was a tragedy. Did she feel the same self-loathing he did?
“Thanks for meeting me, by the way. I know it must be strange.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He cleared his throat. “So, how have you been?”
“Good. Busy, but good.”
Mark smiled. It was the same thing he’d said to Nikki the day before. He wondered if Kelli actually meant it.
In record time, the waitress popped over and took her drink order before they could dive in to their conversation. Kelli asked for beer and cracked a big smile. Mark couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at her expression.
“Sorry. I haven’t gotten out much since Grace.” She tamped her grin down a fraction. “And I certainly haven’t been to a bar and ordered beer. I almost feel like this is a minivacation.” Her smile instantly vanished, like a candle blown out. Silence followed as she dropped her gaze.
“Kelli, why did you want to meet?”
The blonde quirked her lips to one side as she concentrated. She was choosing her words carefully. Finally she found them.
“After the fire, the cops came. You told them you’d seen a man running from the house,” she started. This time she didn’t shy away from his gaze. “When they picked up Darwin McGregor—” she paused, eyes momentarily glazing over with emotion “—you said it wasn’t the same person. At the time I didn’t even think to question it—he admitted to setting the fire—but now...”
“But now?” he pressed.
“Well, I think I should have listened to you.”
Mark was an impassive man. He didn’t know if that was what had made him such a good bodyguard— before the fire—or if it had been the other way around. Sure, like anyone, he had emotions. He felt things like the next man. It was his ability to mask those feelings, those shifts in conversation that surprised him, that he had mastered through the years. However, as the words left Kelli Crane’s mouth, once again he had to struggle to keep from gaping.
Not so much at their meaning. It was the implication behind them.
“I don’t understand,” he said honestly.
Kelli’s drink arrived, but she didn’t touch it. Her minivacation was apparently over.
“The story Victor was working on at the cabin—did you ever read it?”
“No.” Mark didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to admit why he hadn’t. He’d tried before but even the headline had made his guilt expand. Reading the article was salt on the wound of not being able to save the man. If Kelli was offended, she didn’t show it.
“The Bowman Foundation, a charity, had been operating anonymously in Texas for a few years but decided to go public. Victor did an in-depth spotlight on them—what they had already accomplished, what they hoped to accomplish, that sort of thing.” She moved her hand to hover over her purse but paused before placing it back on the tabletop. “It was published a week after the funeral.” Her smile was weak at the word. “While I was packing—we’re moving to a new house— I found Victor’s journal with a copy of his notes about the story. Now I’ve read the published article over and over again. I’ve memorized every detail.”
“Okay...I’m not following.”
“The two don’t match up.” He could tell she was getting frustrated, but at what or whom, he wasn’t sure.
“The published story and the notes?” he asked.
Kelli nodded. “Names, not important in the grand scheme of the foundation.”
Mark took a drink of his beer. “So they got the facts wrong. What does this have to do with anything?”
Kelli’s fists balled slightly, a move that someone else might have missed entirely. Mark was suddenly aware of how aware he was of Kelli’s movements.
“I talked to the editor of the Scale. He says it was Victor who was wrong, but I don’t believe that. Victor was using that spotlight to show he was capable of writing more feature articles. He figured it would help him get local work so he wouldn’t have to travel as much when Grace came. He wouldn’t have made that many errors.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m still not following.”
When she continued, her voice was noticeably lower.
“I think Victor might have stumbled across something that he shouldn’t have...and was killed for it.”
* * *
MARK’S EYEBROWS STAYED STILL, and his lips remained in their detached frown, but Kelli saw a twinge of movement in his jaw. He was trying to pretend he didn’t have a reaction to her accusation, but she’d seen it clear as day. She thanked two years of people trying to hide their pity for the widowed mother. She’d seen that look so many times that she had learned to read when most people were trying to hide what they really felt.
Mark had a reaction, but she didn’t know what emotion was behind it.
“Do you have any evidence to back that up?” he asked, voice even. “Aside from the difference between notes.”
Kelli remembered Dennis Crawford’s sharp stare as his hand stayed firmly on the photocopies she’d brought to him.
“Have you ever had a gut feeling, Mark? One that starts out as a tiny doubt and then grows and grows until you can’t ignore it anymore?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But having a gut feeling can only take you so far. What you’re trying to say is someone targeted and killed Victor. You need more than a gut feeling to back that up.”
“But aren’t you convinced that Darwin didn’t start that fire? What about the man you saw running from the cabin that night?”
Mark took a long second before he said, “Darwin admitted to it. Why would he do that if he didn’t actually start it?”
“Maybe he was put up to it. Maybe he was threatened. Maybe—”
“Kelli.” Mark’s jaw definitely hardened, along with his tone. She must have reacted, because just as quickly he softened. “It was an accident.”
“But you—”
Mark’s set his beer down hard. “I was wrong, Kelli.” The women next to them glanced over. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with this.”
It was an unmistakable end to the conversation.
Just
