“Married, middle-aged men never have affairs with younger women.”
They both leaned back while Rebecca piled food on the table. When she was gone, Nick went on. “Why are you so convinced Lauren’s lover was John Huggins?”
She reached into her purse, handed a page across the table. Nick set down his fork and unfolded it.
“Holy shit,” he said. It was a pencil sketch of a male figure, all angles and planes and broken lines, with the distinct feeling of angst. Disjointed arms and legs, an oversized penis, eyes contorted and angry. The only hints of color in the picture were two dabs of watercolor bleeding over the lines around the irises: one blue, one green.
“Did you give this to the police?”
“Yes. And to the DA and to Justin’s attorney. But there were dozens of other pictures. Lauren was an aspiring artist and these were all products of an artist’s imagination. They said that even if this
was
John Huggins, she could have just known him from his wife’s art studio, and that even if she’d had an affair with him, it didn’t mean he’d shot her.”
“All good points.” Nick gestured for her to eat. “Did you ever consider that Justin could have done it?”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you ever, just for one minute, thought he
could
have done it.”
“Of course not. Never. I’m his sister. Why would I think that?”
Nick eyed her over his food and Shakespeare came to mind.
The lady doth protest too much.
He took another stab at it. “In the trial transcripts, there’s reference to testimony from a court-appointed counselor, but the judge ordered it suppressed. What was that?”
Sims bristled and a flicker of emotion crossed her features. “It was irrelevant. That’s why it was suppressed.”
Nick watched her eyes, trying to put a name on what he saw there. It was the same expression she’d smothered at his cabin when they talked about the car that had tried to run her down. The same look he’d seen in the doorway of her motel room an hour ago.
Fear. She may have tried to disguise it with something bolder, but it was fear, nonetheless. And it was justified. Some son of a bitch had threatened her. Not just in Florida but in Hopewell.
Nick rubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to take a step back. Dangerous waters, here. Erin Sims was earnestness and fire, but the hint of vulnerability that whispered above it all caught him off guard. She was probably wrong about her brother’s innocence, but she wasn’t lying: She believed everything she said. And no matter how much Nick would have liked to pin the motel room vandalism on her and send her back to Miami, every instinct told him she’d had nothing to do with that. The cold fear in her eyes couldn’t be faked.
Not here. Not on my watch.
A wave of protectiveness washed over him. And another wave of something not nearly so noble. His blood altered its course and against all sane judgment, he tapped her naked ring finger. “What happened to the husband?”
She blinked. “David? He had dreams of a political career. He was hobnobbing with bigwigs, eating caviar…” She pulled a face. “Having a wife out leading an ugly public crusade against a senator was bad for his image.”
“You mean he didn’t stay around to support you and Justin.”
She winced and something tugged in Nick’s chest. A man was supposed to be there when his wife needed him, not leave her to handle things herself. God knows, he’d made that mistake once, too, but it wasn’t because he’d been promoting his career.
Well, yes. It was exactly that.
The taste of tequila rose in his throat. Christ, he was just getting ready to make crazy promises to Erin Sims,and yet he was the last person she should depend on. Just ask Allison.
That thought was the one that cleared his brain. He had enough responsibility. He had Hannah to think about, not to mention a town counting on him. Erin Sims was trouble, and she’d be even
They both leaned back while Rebecca piled food on the table. When she was gone, Nick went on. “Why are you so convinced Lauren’s lover was John Huggins?”
She reached into her purse, handed a page across the table. Nick set down his fork and unfolded it.
“Holy shit,” he said. It was a pencil sketch of a male figure, all angles and planes and broken lines, with the distinct feeling of angst. Disjointed arms and legs, an oversized penis, eyes contorted and angry. The only hints of color in the picture were two dabs of watercolor bleeding over the lines around the irises: one blue, one green.
“Did you give this to the police?”
“Yes. And to the DA and to Justin’s attorney. But there were dozens of other pictures. Lauren was an aspiring artist and these were all products of an artist’s imagination. They said that even if this
was
John Huggins, she could have just known him from his wife’s art studio, and that even if she’d had an affair with him, it didn’t mean he’d shot her.”
“All good points.” Nick gestured for her to eat. “Did you ever consider that Justin could have done it?”
“He didn’t.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you ever, just for one minute, thought he
could
have done it.”
“Of course not. Never. I’m his sister. Why would I think that?”
Nick eyed her over his food and Shakespeare came to mind.
The lady doth protest too much.
He took another stab at it. “In the trial transcripts, there’s reference to testimony from a court-appointed counselor, but the judge ordered it suppressed. What was that?”
Sims bristled and a flicker of emotion crossed her features. “It was irrelevant. That’s why it was suppressed.”
Nick watched her eyes, trying to put a name on what he saw there. It was the same expression she’d smothered at his cabin when they talked about the car that had tried to run her down. The same look he’d seen in the doorway of her motel room an hour ago.
Fear. She may have tried to disguise it with something bolder, but it was fear, nonetheless. And it was justified. Some son of a bitch had threatened her. Not just in Florida but in Hopewell.
Nick rubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to take a step back. Dangerous waters, here. Erin Sims was earnestness and fire, but the hint of vulnerability that whispered above it all caught him off guard. She was probably wrong about her brother’s innocence, but she wasn’t lying: She believed everything she said. And no matter how much Nick would have liked to pin the motel room vandalism on her and send her back to Miami, every instinct told him she’d had nothing to do with that. The cold fear in her eyes couldn’t be faked.
Not here. Not on my watch.
A wave of protectiveness washed over him. And another wave of something not nearly so noble. His blood altered its course and against all sane judgment, he tapped her naked ring finger. “What happened to the husband?”
She blinked. “David? He had dreams of a political career. He was hobnobbing with bigwigs, eating caviar…” She pulled a face. “Having a wife out leading an ugly public crusade against a senator was bad for his image.”
“You mean he didn’t stay around to support you and Justin.”
She winced and something tugged in Nick’s chest. A man was supposed to be there when his wife needed him, not leave her to handle things herself. God knows, he’d made that mistake once, too, but it wasn’t because he’d been promoting his career.
Well, yes. It was exactly that.
The taste of tequila rose in his throat. Christ, he was just getting ready to make crazy promises to Erin Sims,and yet he was the last person she should depend on. Just ask Allison.
That thought was the one that cleared his brain. He had enough responsibility. He had Hannah to think about, not to mention a town counting on him. Erin Sims was trouble, and she’d be even
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