After She's Gone (West Coast #3)

After She's Gone (West Coast #3) Page 134

“And then before anyone became suspicious or put two and two together, you took off for California.”

“The first chance I got.”

Rubbing his chin, his gaze still fastened on her, Trent said, “So when we were together, here in Falls Crossing, before you took off for California?”

“The blackouts were a big reason I had to leave. It scared the hell out of me to be so involved with you when I was barely over Josh and what happened to him. I was afraid that I was rebounding.” Sighing, she looked straight at him. “You scared me. How hard I fell for you? I didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust myself and I didn’t want you to find out. So I left.”

“And when I followed you?”

She glanced out the window to the dark clouds scudding overhead, and decided the time for secrets was over. This was it, confession time. First with Trent, then later with Detective Nash. “When I saw you in LA I wanted to avoid you. I didn’t think starting up with you again was smart, but well . . .” She smiled sadly into her cup. “I kind of find you irresistible.”

He made a sound of disbelief. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Maybe finding someone irresistible isn’t such a good thing. It can be dangerous.”

“I know,” he admitted. “Boy, do I know.”

Rather than stare at him and wonder if he really did feel as deeply for her, as emotionally strung out with her as she was with him, she ignored the implications, didn’t want to consider the odds of their marriage surviving. “I thought that if I left this town, where all the trauma happened, the blackouts would go away. But they didn’t. They happened in LA, too.” She sent him a quick glance. “Looks like I was wrong. Again.” A final gulp of coffee, then she tossed the dregs into the sink. “It’s getting to be a habit with me.”

He scraped back his chair to get to his feet. “This isn’t good, Cass.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He slung an arm over her shoulder. “But it’s worse that you blacked out last night, considering that you were in Portland when Brandi Potts was killed.”

Horrified, she whispered, “You don’t believe me!”

“I do,” he said with conviction, “I do. But it’s not me you have to worry about.”

She shook her head and felt her anger ramping up again. “The police are going to think I had something to do with the poor woman’s death, aren’t they? I didn’t know Brandi Potts. Why in heaven’s name would I want to kill her or Holly or anyone!”

“Cass, I’m just telling you—”

“I get it, Trent. Truly,” she cut in bitterly. “You’re just trying to make sure I understand what’s going on here, what the cops will think, what some of the supposed circumstantial evidence suggests. They probably think I’ve got Allie stashed away somewhere. Maybe I stuffed her body in a closet . . . maybe one of yours. We’d better check.”

“You’re forgetting I’m on your side.”

“Are you?” she threw back at him. “Sometimes I wonder!” She tossed her hair over her shoulder, glared at him a second, then suddenly felt suffocated. Squeezed. Like she was in a room with no doors and the walls were slowly moving closer. “I need some air.” Without further explanation she stormed out of the kitchen, out the back door, and down the steps.

Hud was right on her heels, sneaking through the open door before it banged shut. Even the shepherd’s enthusiasm, as he bounded in front of her, did nothing to quell the storm of emotions raging inside. She stalked to the fence, her boots sinking into the soggy grass, and felt the cool air against her skin. The horses were scattered in the fields, mares with heavy bellies, tails and manes caught in the breeze as they grazed. Without a care in the world. The frigid air smelled fresh and if she closed her eyes maybe she could pretend that all this trauma would go away.

Fat chance.

She heard the door of the house open and close, then the sound of steady footsteps on the gravel.

She set her jaw. She didn’t want to talk to Trent until she calmed down, until she could make some sense of what was going on. Deep down, she understood he was just trying to help, but damn it, she knew the cops had her at the top of their suspect list. She knew that oh-so-calm Detective Nash considered Cassie a prime suspect in her sister’s disappearance and probably the murders. She knew things looked bad, and in the back of her mind she wondered again if she was being used, a pawn in some macabre chess game, easily sacrificed, but for what? Why would anyone do that? And who would know where she would be at any given minute? For the love of God, even she didn’t have a clue sometimes when the blackouts happened.