His expression was unreadable. He didn’t move a muscle. Was he feeling the same distinct shock she was?
“Megan showed me pictures of you with him.”
“So?”
“They don’t lie, Rebecca. You were with him. Together.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “I went to dinner with him and Megan once,” she said. “And . . .” And then she got it. “Are you trying to tell me that while Megan went to the bathroom she actually took pictures of Michael and me together? Like we were on a date or something?” she said, staring at him. “And you believed it? Didn’t even come to me to ask me about it?”
When he didn’t respond immediately, she glared at him. “Are you kidding me?” Her heart hardened. “You believed Megan. Never asked me about it?”
His brows pinched together.
“Really . . . You believed Megan! Oh, I see. It was easier. It was the easy way out. You wanted to believe it.”
He looked about to argue, but thankfully didn’t. Because when push came to shove, it didn’t matter. Water under the bridge and all that. She reminded herself the only reason that she was here was to find Megan.
“Okay. So I’m a dick,” he finally admitted.
She didn’t say a word.
“You could at least argue the point,” he suggested.
“I could.” She waited, all the while aware of his gaze lingering on hers. She didn’t back down, just stared back at him. “But I’m not going to.”
“Fair enough.” He seemed to want to say something else. She could tell he was still processing.
“I don’t want to talk about could have beens,” she preempted.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she snapped back.
His eyes held hers for a second too long. “I . . . should’ve tried harder.”
“Yes. You should’ve.” She wouldn’t bend. If she bent, she’d break. “Let’s move on.”
“You got it.” He drained his glass and signaled for another.
“You were telling me what happened,” she reminded him, forcing the conversation to the situation at hand, refusing to notice the hard line of his jaw, masked a bit by the beard growth, nor the breadth of his shoulders, nor the way his hair, where it hadn’t been shaved, curled behind his ear.
Nor would she admit that her heartbeat was ticking a little faster. “You said she attacked you.”
“She did.”
“And you couldn’t defend yourself? From a woman who doesn’t weigh a hundred and fifteen pounds?”
“She surprised me, and I didn’t want to hurt her. She was out of her mind. So damned angry, so furious. She came at me teeth bared, nails slashing. I tried to sidestep her as she lunged, but we went down together. I remember that.” He rubbed a hand over his chin as the waitress picked up his empty glass and left a full one in front of him.
“And you hit your head.”
He nodded.
“And then you blacked out.”
“Yes.”
“And woke up in the hospital with amnesia.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. What the hell was she doing here, listening to this BS? She was sick of it. “So what happened to her—to Megan?” She took a swallow from her drink, barely tasting it, realizing it had grown cold. Her gaze was fastened to him, searching for any kind of reaction.
“I heard she drove away from the house. Bobby thinks he saw her car leaving when he was on his way back to the house and, from what the cops told me, she was on her way to your house, but didn’t make it.”
Square One all over again.
“Where do you think she is?”
The question surprised her. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
“But you must have a theory.” He looked at her over the rim of his glass as he took another swallow.
“I don’t know. She said she was on her way. Called me. Upset. And I waited.”
“But she didn’t show.”
“Right.”
“And you have no idea what happened to her.”
“Of course not.”
One of his dark eyebrows arched.
“You think I know something I’m not saying?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time sisters got together.”
“Oh, come on. To what? Frame you?” she said, her voice rising. “Is that where you’re going?”
“You both have your reasons.”
“Are you kidding?” she growled. “What part of hell do your thoughts come from? Why would I come all this way and stay here indefinitely if I knew?”
“Good question. One maybe you could answer.”
She leapt to her feet, torn between fury and disbelief.
“How would it look if you hadn’t shown up, hadn’t started demanding answers of the police?” he pointed out.
“You don’t really believe that.”
She saw, then, that his mood had lightened somewhat, that he was enjoying baiting her a bit. That pissed her off. “Let’s get this straight, okay? I did not drive over here to ‘look’ legit . . . to—to throw the police off the scent or whatever it is you’re getting at.” She felt her eyes narrow as she leaned across the table so that her nose was nearly touching his. “Don’t do this, James. Don’t try to put this on me. I came here to help find Megan. That is the single reason I’m here.”
His eyes held hers as he asked softly, “Is it?”
In a split second, she remembered making love to him, the stretch of his skin over taut, corded muscles, the pressure of his mouth on hers. Her breath caught in her throat. “You are a first-class bastard,” she said, the fact that her words were a whisper taking away none of their power. And with that she walked away from the booth and through the sawdust and peanut shells to the door, letting him worry about the tab.
He could damn well afford it.
CHAPTER 27
San Francisco, California
December 7
She’d been stood up.
On the night after she had been unceremoniously hauled away from Lenora Travers’s town house, Charity, fuming, had waited at the waterfront, the night closing
