anything about it. You can tell Bob and the rest of the town that I said so.”
Giving them a final, hard look, she opened the door to the storeroom, stepped through, and pulled it shut behind her.
She stared at the storeroom contents, unseeing. Her impromptu speech had been brash and impulsive. She choked back a bitter laugh at the thought; brash and impulsive seemed to be a pattern with her when it came to Zane.
Slipping onto one of the metal stools at Maggie’s worktable, she propped her elbows on the scarred table and cradled her head in her hands. What in the hell was she doing, jumping to Zane’s defense? She might have known him once, but she’d been gone ten years. She and Zane weren’t the same people anymore. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe Zane’s resentment toward the town had festered, turning him ugly and cold. Turning him into a killer.
Something deep inside her rebelled at the image. That wasn’t Zane, and she knew it. The young man she’d known ten years ago had been deeply wounded by the crimes his father and brother had committed, and by the distrust of everyone in town. So wounded and withdrawn, she’d been curious to know what lay beneath. To her surprise, she’d found a sensitive, caring man, a man who’d barely finished high school yet stashed battered, dog-eared copies of Hemingway and Faulkner in the trunk of his car. A man who’d been screwed by the system that should have saved him, but had survived anyway. A man who’d seen the insecurities in her heart and held her safe in his arms.
That man couldn’t just disappear. Not even after the callous way he’d taken her virginity then ridiculed her academic ambitions, called her a snob, and accepted her leaving without so much as a backward glance. He might be a prick when it came to relationships, but he wasn’t a killer. She wouldn’t believe it, no matter what people said.
And she couldn’t stand by and say nothing while the whole town decided he was guilty.
She got up just as Maggie came through the door from the shop. “I’m sorry. I know Carol’s not the most tactful person, but she’s got a point. Zane Thorson isn’t someone you should be — Wait, where are you going?”
“To fix something.” She hurried to the back door, then paused before opening it. “And don’t start in about Zane, Maggie. I’m telling you, he didn’t have anything to do with that girl.”
She flung the door open and strode outside. Before it closed, she heard Maggie yell after her, “There’s a lot about Zane Thorson you don’t know!”
Zane watched yet another official car drive through the gates and onto the field next to the equipment barn. How many people had to take a look at that plot of ground, anyway? Half of them spoke to someone, then turned around to look at him, too. He met their stares with cold eyes and crossed arms until they looked away again.
A team had searched the barn and the office, and another team was bringing in cadaver dogs to search the whole property. He allowed it, knowing cooperation counted for something, but that didn’t mean he trusted them. He followed them around with a small video camera, recording their lack of results along with the pointed glares he got in return. He figured the videotaping alone would have shot him right to the top of their suspect list if not for the fact that he already owned that spot.
He’d lost more than half a day’s work and it looked like he might lose some tomorrow, too. He couldn’t afford that.
“Thorson.”
He turned, frowning at the cop striding toward him. Losing the “Mister” didn’t bode well.
“That your white pickup over there?” the cop asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll be needing the keys. You own any other vehicles?”
He took several seconds to bite back the fury that could only get him deeper in shit. “Just the heavy equipment.”
“Yeah, we’ll be needing the keys to that old dump truck, too.”
He gritted his teeth and asked, even though
Giving them a final, hard look, she opened the door to the storeroom, stepped through, and pulled it shut behind her.
She stared at the storeroom contents, unseeing. Her impromptu speech had been brash and impulsive. She choked back a bitter laugh at the thought; brash and impulsive seemed to be a pattern with her when it came to Zane.
Slipping onto one of the metal stools at Maggie’s worktable, she propped her elbows on the scarred table and cradled her head in her hands. What in the hell was she doing, jumping to Zane’s defense? She might have known him once, but she’d been gone ten years. She and Zane weren’t the same people anymore. Maybe Carol was right. Maybe Zane’s resentment toward the town had festered, turning him ugly and cold. Turning him into a killer.
Something deep inside her rebelled at the image. That wasn’t Zane, and she knew it. The young man she’d known ten years ago had been deeply wounded by the crimes his father and brother had committed, and by the distrust of everyone in town. So wounded and withdrawn, she’d been curious to know what lay beneath. To her surprise, she’d found a sensitive, caring man, a man who’d barely finished high school yet stashed battered, dog-eared copies of Hemingway and Faulkner in the trunk of his car. A man who’d been screwed by the system that should have saved him, but had survived anyway. A man who’d seen the insecurities in her heart and held her safe in his arms.
That man couldn’t just disappear. Not even after the callous way he’d taken her virginity then ridiculed her academic ambitions, called her a snob, and accepted her leaving without so much as a backward glance. He might be a prick when it came to relationships, but he wasn’t a killer. She wouldn’t believe it, no matter what people said.
And she couldn’t stand by and say nothing while the whole town decided he was guilty.
She got up just as Maggie came through the door from the shop. “I’m sorry. I know Carol’s not the most tactful person, but she’s got a point. Zane Thorson isn’t someone you should be — Wait, where are you going?”
“To fix something.” She hurried to the back door, then paused before opening it. “And don’t start in about Zane, Maggie. I’m telling you, he didn’t have anything to do with that girl.”
She flung the door open and strode outside. Before it closed, she heard Maggie yell after her, “There’s a lot about Zane Thorson you don’t know!”
Zane watched yet another official car drive through the gates and onto the field next to the equipment barn. How many people had to take a look at that plot of ground, anyway? Half of them spoke to someone, then turned around to look at him, too. He met their stares with cold eyes and crossed arms until they looked away again.
A team had searched the barn and the office, and another team was bringing in cadaver dogs to search the whole property. He allowed it, knowing cooperation counted for something, but that didn’t mean he trusted them. He followed them around with a small video camera, recording their lack of results along with the pointed glares he got in return. He figured the videotaping alone would have shot him right to the top of their suspect list if not for the fact that he already owned that spot.
He’d lost more than half a day’s work and it looked like he might lose some tomorrow, too. He couldn’t afford that.
“Thorson.”
He turned, frowning at the cop striding toward him. Losing the “Mister” didn’t bode well.
“That your white pickup over there?” the cop asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll be needing the keys. You own any other vehicles?”
He took several seconds to bite back the fury that could only get him deeper in shit. “Just the heavy equipment.”
“Yeah, we’ll be needing the keys to that old dump truck, too.”
He gritted his teeth and asked, even though
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