her that way. Who knows how many other times she’d suffered at his hand.”
Lacy shook her head and held his regard, as difficult as that proved. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
An insanely sexy half smile tilted his full mouth. Dammit, she didn’t want to notice that. Another step disappeared between then. Lacy stiffened in an effort to lock down her responses, but her defenses were no match for the chemistry still volatile between them.
“You can’t fool me, Lacy. Charles Ashland, Junior, was a bastard. Admit it.”
He was too close, and coming closer. “Melinda loved him,” Lacy insisted in a firm voice. A tremble vibrated through her, threatening her shaky bravado. “He was a good father.”
“But he was a lousy husband.”
Rick stood toe to toe with her now, his broad chest close enough to lay her cheek there. Lacy lifted her head and unwanted heat roared through her. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice cracking. “I wasn’t married to him.”
Another wicked tilt of his lips. “You won’t win, Lace. I’m not that easygoing good old boy I used to be. I’ve got your number. You and your friends are in this up to your pretty necks. Tell me what you know and I’ll find a way to protect you.”
Fury swept through her, banishing her fear. Lacy crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at him. Protect her. What about the others? “Go to hell, Rick.”
“Now, now, there’s no need to get nasty.” He massaged his beard-darkened chin, the sound rasping over her nerve endings, making her shiver with new awareness despite the anger rising inside her.
“I’m only giving you the opportunity to come clean with me. What are you so afraid of? Charles is dead—he sure as hell can’t hurt you. In my opinion he got what he deserved.”
Something snapped inside Lacy then. “You’re right,” she said, her voice too calm, and so low that she barely recognized it as her own. “He’s dead. And I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish he’d died sooner.” A new surge of fury streaked through her. For the first time in ten years, she felt liberated. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Chief?”
The scant inch of space between them sizzled with heat and visceral desire. Lacy refused to visibly acknowledge it. Instead she stared directly at him, her own eyes purposely void of the emotions whirling inside her. Let him take his best shot. She was tired, physically and mentally. She’d had enough.
He looked away first. “Dammit, Lacy, you can’t go around telling people you wanted him to die.” He swore again then glowered at her, his expression dark with anger and something else she couldn’t readily identify. “That single statement is motive.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” she pressed. “Didn’t you come here tonight to finagle a confession from me?”
He plowed a hand through his short dark hair. “Hell no.” A muscle started to tic in his square jaw. “I came here to get you to come clean with me about what you know. You’re hiding something from me, Lacy, I know it. The four of you have a secret, and I’m damned well going to find out what it is and how it plays into Ashland’s murder.”
He was angry now, almost as angry as she was. “We all signed statements ten years ago as to our whereabouts that day. Check your records, I’m sure you’ll find them.” She spun away. This conversation was over. “It’s late. You should—”
Long fingers curled around her arm and swung her back to face him before she took her second step. His expression was savage, intimidating. A new kind of fear shimmered through her. “I will get the answers I need, Lacy, one way or another.” He yanked her a few inches nearer, his full mouth close. “I won’t stop until I do.”
“Is that a threat?” Hard as she tried not to, she trembled.
He released her abruptly, but that fierce gaze held her a moment longer. “It’s a promise.”
Without looking back, Rick stormed out. She heard the front door close behind him. Lacy brought one shaky hand to her mouth and choked back the sob that swelled in her throat. Oh, God. She had to call Cassidy. He might not have any evidence, but his instincts had hit right on the money. Forcing herself to breathe, breathe deeply, Lacy made her way to the telephone. Before she could pick up the receiver, it rang. She frowned. Her parents? Cassidy?
Fear snaking around her chest once more, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello.” She had to calm down. She closed her eyes and cursed her loss of control.
“Lacy Jane Oliver?”
The slow, barely audible whisper tightened the strong hold of fear clutching at her, paralyzing her. Lacy opened her eyes, then blinked. Her mind raced to identify the strangely terrifying voice, but it was no use. She didn’t recognize it. Couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. “Yes,” she breathed the simple response.
“You should be very, very afraid.”
Adrenaline fired through her veins. “Who is this?”
“I know your secret.”
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