After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 111

But now there was a tiny gleam in his eye, the hint of sexuality that stirred a response in her. It wasn’t the sex itself that scared her, it was the emotional devastation that was sure to follow any intimacy.

It had happened before.

“I think I’ll stay down here.”

His lopsided grin became more pronounced, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Suit yourself.” He found the sleeping bag and pillow in the front closet again and tossed them onto the leather couch. “Hud will keep you company. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He pushed away from the doorjamb, walked to the front hallway and locked the door, then headed up the stairs, his boots ringing on each step and echoing in her heart. Should she just quit fighting it? Follow him up the stairs? Forget about all the pain of their short marriage? Actually start over as he’d suggested?

Biting her lip, she eyed the leather couch and the sleeping bag and pillow lying on the cold cushions. The rain was beating a soft tattoo against the windowpanes and she told herself she was just being stubborn. A night in Trent’s bed did not a commitment make. Nor would it compromise any of her moral standards, whatever they may be. Sleeping with Trent’s body curled next to hers wasn’t some kind of sin or sign of weakness. It didn’t mean that she’d decided to throw out all of her convictions or suspicions. It wasn’t as if they were in a battle and he’d won.

It was just comfort.

Well, and sexual attraction.

She glanced over at the sleeping dog. Though Hud didn’t appear to open his eyes, he thumped his tail. “Sorry, Buddy,” she said, heading for the stairs where she intended to follow her husband. “You’re on your own tonight.”

She was on the third step when her cell phone beeped, indicating she had a text. Pausing, she saw that the text was from Brandon McNary and that her battery life was low. She couldn’t remember when she’d charged it last or if she’d even packed her charger in her hurry to leave LA.

.ru in PDX?

She considered not answering and didn’t respond immediately. Another text came through.

need to see u. ASAP! info on AK

Cassie’s pulse jumped. Information on Allie? Now? Bullshit. But she didn’t want to just brush him off. He was the last man Allie was involved with, and maybe he knew something he hadn’t imparted earlier.

She replied: coffee tomorrow am?

The response: now. Important.

She typed: I’m in Falls Crossing. Then she added: With Trent.

McNary replied quickly: come alone.

Cassie: What is this?

McNary: if you want the info meet me at Orson’s at 11:30

Cassie: Sorry. No cloak and dagger cryptic crap for me.

McNary: You’re the only 1 who can help.

Cassie: I’m not.

McNary: guess what she said about u was true all go no show. She knew u didn’t care about her

Cassie: Not true

McNary: prove it

Cassie: Don’t have to.

She waited for the next text but it didn’t come. Agitated, she stood on the third step and contemplated heading upstairs. To Trent. To safety. To . . . oh, hell, who was she kidding? She couldn’t just go to bed and pretend McNary hadn’t tried to reach out to her.

But why?

Late at night, it didn’t make any sense.

But then, what had in the disappearance of her sister? Nothing. At least McNary was willing to talk to her. Unlike Little Bea or Dean Arnette or a lot of people associated with Dead Heat and Allie.

She looked up the remaining steps of the staircase and at the dark floor above. Knowing she was giving in to emotions over judgment, she started typing. What if he was on the up and up? What if Allie needed her? What if, for some unknown reason, it was imperative that Cassie go alone? I’ll be there, but if this is some kind of sick joke, Brandon, I swear, I’ll kill you!

For a second she considered hurrying up the rest of the flight and telling Trent about her plans, but she knew what his response would be, what any sane person’s responses would be.

Something along the lines of: “You’re not going alone.”

Or: “Why don’t you just call the police?”

Or maybe: “This sounds like big trouble or a twisted prank. I don’t care what he said, I’m coming with you.”