Blood and Sympathy Read online

  "My bad. He didn't tell you?"

  "Go fuck yourself, Alistair!" I screamed and started jogging back to Braden's.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Braden Sayer

  "No, Braden. Son, this is bad. You need to talk to the sheriff, tell him everything you know," Uncle Jeb insisted. The color drained from his tired face.

  I stared at my feet. I knew he was right. "What if they take me back to juvie for obstructing justice or something?"

  "I don't know what's going to happen, but you need to tell Sheriff Thirtyacre. Tell him about the tattoo, everything." He put his hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eyes. "Did you know they found my boat anchor weighing down the body?"

  "What?"

  "Come on, I'll go with you. He's probably still down at the lake. Sheriff Thirtyacre's a fair man."

  I turned to look in the direction of the trailer, torn between doing what was right and doing what was easy. I nodded. "Okay, let's get this over with."

  He was right; Sheriff Thirtyacre was still at the lake. He was sitting in the front seat of his air conditioned squad car filling out some paperwork. He tipped his hat back on his head and smiled wearily as we approached.

  "What can I do for you two?"

  "Sheriff Thirtyacre, can I have a word with you?" I asked. I shoved my hands into my pockets. "It's about Olivia Copeland's murder."

  His forehead creased, and he said, "Certainly, Braden. Have a seat." He nodded to the passenger seat.

  I waved at Uncle Jeb. "Go on home, Uncle Jeb." I swallowed nervously at the thought of getting into the squad car.

  I walked around, opened the door, and got inside. "I'm not sure where to begin, but I'll start with what I know. Some of it's speculation. Some of it's fact."

  "Just spit it out," he said. He lifted his hat and wiped his brow. "It's already been a helluva long day, and I've about had my fill. So whatever it is, Braden, just tell me what you know, son."

  "The tattoo Claire described? It belongs to Brogan. He got it at Sun and Moon Tattoo a few weeks ago."

  "You mind telling me how you know that?"

  "Claire and I were there. The woman mistook me for my brother. The tattoo, the saying, it was something Brogan always used to say when we were kids."

  "What else?" He shifted in his seat, giving me his full attention.

  "I think he was the one who broke into the marina. If he did that, then he stole the boat anchor. I think he killed Olivia."

  "Any particular reason why you think he would do something like that?"

  I stared out the window at the dark clouds rolling in over the lake. "I think he was trying to get back at me. I think when he grabbed Olivia, he thought it was Claire, and when he realized he messed up, he came back to get her."

  "Any idea where he is now?"

  I exhaled and my shoulders sagged in defeat. "I don't have a clue."

  "Tell me something, Braden. Why did you wait so long to come forward with all this? Seems to me a whole lot of grief could have been spared if you had spoken up as soon as you suspected something."

  "I don't know, sir."

  "I'm going to need you to come down to the station with me." His eyes drifted in my direction. "Fasten your seat belt."

  Telling Sheriff Thirtyacre was a piece of cake compared to having to tell Claire. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to do that. She'd end up hating me, and I'd rather die than lose her.

  The station was crawling with activity, and maybe that was in my favor. The sheriff was too distracted to spend much time with me. After I signed my statement, I heard someone shout something about an APB. I called Uncle Jeb to come pick me up.

  The ride back to the marina was both too short, and too long. I clasped my fingers behind my neck and stared out the window. "What am I going to tell Claire?" I asked him. The heaviness in my chest was unbearable.

  "Just tell her the truth, Braden. That's all you can do."

  There was a light on in the trailer when Jeb dropped me off. She was sitting on the couch when I walked through the door.

  "Hey, pretty girl." My tone was light--much lighter than I felt with the ton of bricks sitting on my shoulders. She sat with her arms folded across her chest, watching me through narrowed eyes. "Claire?"

  "How long have you known?"

  My mouth opened but nothing came out.

  She got up and approached me until we were standing face to face. "I asked you a question. How long have you known your brother escaped from juvie?"

  The bottom of my stomach dropped out, and the blood drained out of my head. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. "Sheriff Thirtyacre told us right away."

  "And you didn't think that news was something you should share with your girlfriend?"

  "I figured he'd get caught, and they'd take him back. I didn't think it was anything to worry you about."

  She fisted her hands and pounded them against my chest, pushing me back three steps. I barely had time to steady myself before she smacked me again and again. "You fuck. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're the reason Olivia's dead? How does that make you feel right now?"

  I held up my hands to deflect her punches. "I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry?" She laughed bitterly. "My sister's dead, and if I hadn't gotten away from that sick son of a bitch, I'd probably be dead, too. And all you have to say is 'I'm sorry'?"

  Tears streamed down her cheeks. From anger, sadness, or from loathing, I couldn't say for sure, but all that emotion was directed at me with such force that I stepped back.

  "Claire, I didn't..."

  She held up her hand. "Just shut up." She turned and bent to retrieve her duffel bag. "I can't even look at you right now without wanting to hurt you and physically pound you through the damn floor."

  "Don't go. Please, Claire, don't leave me."

  "You make me sick." She shook her head. "How the fuck do you think you're any better than he is? As far as I'm concerned, you're one in the same. I have so much hate and disgust for him that I may never be able to look at you again and not see his face."

  She moved past me and I reached out to grab her hand. "Claire. Please."

  "Get your filthy, murdering hands off me. I hate you so much right now."

  I dropped her hand. I kept my back to her. I couldn't watch her leave, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. She was right, and I fucking knew it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Brogan Sayer

  We'd been driving for several hours, heading west into Arkansas. Aja was quiet, and I sure as fuck didn't have anything to say. I found myself looking in the side mirror every few minutes.

  "Nobody's following us, if that's what you're worried about."

  I jerked my head in her direction. "I ain't worried about nothing."

  "Yeah, sure, whatever."

  That was the extent of our conversation. I pulled the gun from the waistband of my pants and put it in the glove compartment. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. When I woke up, we were stopped at a rest area somewhere along I-40. "Why did we stop?"

  "Because I have to pee." She looked at me like I was a frigging moron. "Get out, stretch your legs."

  I walked toward the bathrooms, and she lagged behind a few minutes before climbing out and going around to the trunk. When I got back, she wasn't there, and the car was locked. I folded my arms across my chest and waited.

  She returned several minutes later and smirked at me before she unlocked the door. I climbed into the passenger seat as she walked in front of the car and got behind the wheel, but made no move to start the car so we could get back on the road.

  "What the hell we waiting for?" When I turned to look at her, I was staring down the barrel of a gun. "What the fuck?"

  She was dangling a cell phone in her left hand. "Claire Copeland."

  I narrowed my eyes at her. "What about her?"

  "This is her cell phone. Suppose you tell me what Claire Copeland's cell phone was doing
in the trunk of my car."

  "How the fuck should I know?"

  "What the hell did you do, Brogan?"

  "Don't worry about it. It's all good."

  "I'm not the one you need to convince." She twisted her mouth and ducked her head to look in the mirror. She thumbed over her shoulder. "Tell it to them."

  I spun around in the seat in time to see the highway patrol car speeding toward us. "You called the cops? You fucking called the cops?"

  "Get out of my car." I hesitated, and she shook the damn gun in my face. "Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now."

  "Crazy bitch," I mumbled, and opened the car door to climb out with my hands in the air.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Claire Copeland

  It was late, and I didn't know where to go, but I'd sleep in a ditch before I went back to my dad's. Thunder rumbled overhead and flashes of lightning lit up the humid night. It hadn't rained all summer, and now that I didn't have any shelter, it was going to storm.

  Alistair's cabin was the only place reasonably close that I could think to go. Raindrops the size of oranges started pelting me, and I took off running. Icy blades stabbed my skin, but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as my heart.

  I was soaked to the bone by the time I pushed through the cabin's front door. Even the clothes inside my bag were drenched. Thankfully, the place was empty. One more encounter with someone who pissed me off, and I'd probably straight-up lose my shit.

  I peeled off my wet clothes and draped them over a kitchen chair. Hopefully, they'd be dry by morning since I didn't plan on hanging around here any longer than I had to. There wasn't much in the way of creature comforts; it was a fishing cabin, and not much more. I managed to find a couple towels--one to wrap around my hair and the other to cover myself--then I searched for something to help me sleep. Booze, weed, I didn't care. All I wanted was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

  One partial bottle of vodka--the cheap shit--wasn't exactly my sedative of choice, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I uncapped it and downed a few big gulps. On an empty stomach, it didn't take long for the liquor to spread warmth through my veins. I got up and propped a chair under the doorknob to help deter any unwanted visitors, and curled up on the sofa.

  There were a lot of decisions I needed to make. Summer was coming to an end, and for so long I'd fought against what I didn't want to do that I'd given little thought to what I did want.

  ***

  My eyes ached with a minor hangover. Good thing the bottle hadn't been full. The morning sun came up with a renewed intensity after yesterday's rain, and it didn't take long for the cabin to become stifling hot. As humid as it was, my clothes hadn't dried all that much, but it was time for me to get the hell out.

  Jeb pulled up alongside me as I walked toward town. He rolled down the window. "Claire?"

  "Yeah?" I kept walking, unable to look at him.

  "Can I give you a lift?"

  "No thanks, I've got it." Truth was, I wanted a ride in the worst way, but stubbornness kept me from accepting. If it had been anyone other than Jeb, I might have said yes.

  He opened the passenger door. "Come on, get in. I'm not taking no for an answer."

  I took a deep breath and puffed out my cheeks as I exhaled. We were clearly at an impasse. "Fine." I tossed my duffel bag into the bed of the pickup and climbed inside.

  "Where you want me to drop you off?"

  We drove down the main drag into Hensteeth. I had no real plans. I didn't know what I was looking for. Just as I hoped for an idea out of the blue, a sign to hit me over the head, Belle's and Whistles blue and white awning fluttered in the wind. "Here, let me off at the bakery."

  "I'm not one of those buttinsky types, but this is one time where I'm going to speak my piece."

  I glanced sideways at him and couldn't help but smile. "I kind of figured."

  "I ain't condoning what Braden did. I wish he would have told me everything from the beginning. I hate that he kept things from both of us."

  I stared at the dirty bandage on my hand and nodded.

  "He didn't intentionally set out to hurt anyone. That boy don't have it in him to be deceitful or hurtful. He's always wanted to see the best in everyone, including--no especially--his lowlife brother. Don't hate him for having hope, Claire."

  I reached for the door handle. "I'll keep that in mind, but right now I just don't think I can forgive him."

  "Everything happens for a reason, Claire." Jeb rested his hand on my arm and squeezed. "That's about as close to me being philosophical that you're ever going to hear."

  "You need to find someone else to work at the bait shop." I blinked several times and swallowed the painful ache in my throat. "Take care of yourself, Jeb."

  Belle was busy wiping down the display cases when I opened the bakery door. She looked up from her work. "How soon?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "How soon can you start?"

  I laughed. "Now?"

  "Now's good, but I'll give you until tomorrow."

  "I'll take as many hours as you can give me until classes start, but I'll need a place to stay. Just a room with a couch is fine." I needed much more than that but didn't want to overwhelm her.

  She pointed toward the ceiling. "The apartment upstairs is vacant."

  "I can't afford much." Translated, that meant I didn't have jack shit to spend.

  Her face grew serious, and I half expected her to tell me no. "Sugar, after everything you've been through this summer, don't you dare insult me like that. You don't have to pay me right now. Of course, after you see the dump, you may be asking me to pay you to live there."

  I grinned. "Okay."

  She waved me over. "Come on, let's get you settled. There's an outside entrance, too, but this'll come in handy when you're coming down to work at the butt crack of dawn."

  We climbed the narrow flight of stairs. She flipped the light switch, and I looked around. "Please tell me there's air conditioning?"

  "There is." The front door buzzer rang downstairs and she sighed. "No rest for the wicked. You get settled in, come on down later if you feel up to it."

  "Okay. Thanks, Belle."

  It wasn't bad. Actually, it was pretty decent. It was clean and furnished. There was even a washer and dryer. Once I found the thermostat and the place started to cool off, I went to talk to Belle.

  "So what's the plan, honey?"

  "I thought maybe, if you'll let me, I could work mornings here and take some night classes at the community college."

  "Sounds like you've thought everything through except for wheels." She measured the flour into a mixing bowl and watched me pointedly.

  "Yeah, there is that minor problem." No one had ever told me what became of Olivia's car. It was time to find out. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back."

  I darted out the door on a mission to find out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Braden Sayer

  "Are you going to try and talk to her? Tell her your side of things?" Uncle Jeb hovered while I worked at trying to get an ancient lawnmower running.

  "Don't see much point. She made it pretty clear she hates me."

  "So you're just going to give up then?"

  I glared at him. I didn't want to talk about Claire. Not to him or anyone else. I'd fucked up and couldn't blame her if she never spoke to me again. "I reckon so."

  He shook his head and walked away, muttering under his breath.

  "Besides, I have no idea where she went or how to even find her." I reattached the sparkplug wire and wiped my hands on a grease rag.

  "Belle's and Whistles."

  The bakery. "I'll think about it."

  Sheriff Thirtyacre walked in, and I began sweating bullets. He nodded in my direction. "Your Uncle Jeb around?"

  "Yes, sir. He's in the office."

  "You're probably going to want to hear what I have to tell him." He smiled, and I felt a little better about his visit.

  Uncle Jeb looked surprised when I followed
the sheriff into the office. He stood up and shook his hand. "Sheriff, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

  Sheriff Thirtyacre's eyes shifted between Uncle Jeb and me. "Just thought you should know, we arrested Brogan early this morning. He confessed to murdering Olivia Copeland and kidnapping Claire."

  "What's going to happen to him now?" Not that I cared. I wanted to make sure we wouldn't have to worry about him surprising us with another visit to Hensteeth anytime soon.

  "He'll be going to Riverbend in Nashville for a long, long time."

  I'd heard everything I wanted to hear and walked back into the shop.

  At quitting time, Uncle Jeb came over and put his hand on my back. "Go on, Braden. Take my truck. Talk to her."

  I nodded and took his keys. "I'll try."

  The buzzer sounded when I opened the front door to the bakery and Belle smiled in my direction. "Well hello there, cupcake. What can I do you for?"

  "Is Claire around?"

  "She had something to do. She shouldn't be long, and if you want to wait, you're welcome to." She walked into the kitchen area.

  I stuck my fingers inside the collar of my t-shirt and tugged it away from my neck. I'd almost talked myself into getting back in my truck and going home when Claire came through the front door. The smile on her face stole my breath, but it faded the minute she saw me standing by the pastry case.

  "Why are you here, Braden?"

  "Claire, can I talk to you? Ten minutes. Please?" I was prepared to do anything to get her to hear me out.

  Her face hardened, her lips forming a thin white line, and my stomach clenched as tight as a fist. "Everything that needed to be said has been said already." She brushed past me. "Go the fuck away, Braden. I mean it."

  "I planned to tell you everything."

  She shot me a hateful look over her shoulder. "When, exactly? Before or after I went for a joyride in the trunk of that psycho's car?"

  Yeah. I had nothing. She was right.

  "Never mind, Braden. It's all water under the bridge now. Go home."

  I blinked and she was gone.