The Best Man to Trust

CHAPTER Fourteen



Tom was up early the next morning. He’d had too much running through his head to let him get much sleep. Too many vivid memories of Haley and Jess, as they’d looked in life—and death. Too many questions and too few answers. Too many doubts about the people around him, both the strangers and his old friends.

Too many thoughts of Meredith, peering up at him, vulnerable and lovely and brave.

Meredith, looking terrified as the murderer moved in on her for the kill—

It was the last thought that finally forced him out of bed. He would sleep when this was over, when they were safe.

A check out his window confirmed that the snow seemed to have slowed down. The flurries weren’t coming down nearly as hard or fast as they had been the past two days. Unfortunately, he still got no signal on his phone. Pulling on his boots and warmest clothes, Tom took his coat with him when he left his room. He wasn’t sure when Rick would want to get started on digging out to the garage, but he wanted to be prepared. The sooner they got the process started, the better.

There was no answer at Meredith’s door when he knocked. Fighting the nervousness clawing up his spine, he told himself she must have gotten up already and gone downstairs. A burst of anger rose from the pit of his stomach at the idea of her wandering around alone, even though he had no right to tell her what to do. This was her house. That didn’t mean he had to like it. Frustration burned in his gut.

The only person in the kitchen when he walked in was Ellen. She looked up from the counter at his entrance, a distinct wariness in her eyes as they flew toward the door.

Doing his best to squelch his disappointment at finding her alone, Tom forced a smile he wasn’t close to feeling, hoping to put the woman at ease. “Good morning.”

She managed to return the gesture with a small, polite smile of her own before quickly lowering her eyes to the counter. “Morning.”

“Have you seen Meredith?”

“She and Rick went to get some supplies they thought you both might need to get to the garage.”

His first instinct was to ask where exactly they’d gone, so he could go there, so he could see her. Swallowing the words, Tom drew in a slow breath. Meredith was fine. He’d see her soon enough.

He slowly realized that, in the meantime, this was the first opportunity he’d had to be alone with the cook. The woman remained a mystery to him, probably more so than anyone in this place. And if he was inclined to believe Rick wasn’t the killer, that meant Ellen was the most likely option.

She started to turn toward the stove. Tom didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t put her back to him entirely as she worked, keeping him in front of her the whole time. Because she didn’t trust him, or because she was pretending not to?

“So, Ellen,” he said, doing his best to sound casual. “How long have you been a cook?”

He saw an unexpected spark of amusement enter her eyes. “You sure you’re not a reporter, too?”

He had to grin at that. “I’m sure.”

Her lips quirking, she shook her head. “All my life, really. But only a few years now as a job.”

“What’d your family think about you taking a job here? They must be worried that they haven’t heard from you in a while.”

The look she shot him said she knew full well he was fishing. Still she answered. “I don’t have any. Not anymore,” she added after a beat.

“I’m sorry.”

Ellen shrugged. “I’m not. Sometimes you’re better off. I used to have a husband, until he found a pretty young thing he liked better and took off. It was a lousy thing to do, but I know I’m better off without him.”

He eyed her carefully. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re pretty cynical about marriage after that. You didn’t have any doubts about working here and cooking for weddings?”

“A job’s a job. And I’m not that cynical. Certainly not cynical enough to start killing bridesmaids, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Okay, so he’d been grasping at straws. Damn, he needed some answers.

Ellen shook her head. “I’ve had enough tough times in my life to learn that all you can do is pick yourself up and move on.” She paused just long enough to send him one more, rather pointed look. “You’d be surprised how much a woman can overcome. Especially if she has the right person to help her.”

The words seemed loaded with meaning, and Tom wasn’t sure at first how to interpret them. Who had she had to help her? And what was her purpose in telling him...

Then in a flash he understood.

She wasn’t talking about herself. She was talking about Meredith.

And him.

He suddenly remembered the way she’d looked at him and Meredith yesterday, that gleam in her eye. Was she simply imagining things, or had she sensed something between them?

He had to admit, if she had sensed something, she wasn’t imagining it. There was something between him and Meredith, a connection he never would have expected, especially not now, not under these circumstances, when there were so many more important things to think about, when people were dying and lives were on the line.

Or maybe that was exactly the time to see things, feel things, so much more clearly. They were surrounded by so much uncertainty, there was little time to waste questioning feelings or wondering about emotions. They were fighting for survival, relying on their guts and instincts to get them through.

And every instinct he had was pointing him toward Meredith.

The door suddenly swung open. A moment later Meredith stepped through.

At the sight of her, his lungs relaxed slightly, easing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding in his chest. She looked over at him and smiled.

Damned if something didn’t clutch in his chest all over again.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

“You ready?” Rick asked, having followed Meredith into the room. The handyman was obviously prepared to go, his gloves and hat already in place.

“Absolutely,” Tom said.

“You haven’t had anything to eat yet,” Ellen protested.

Tom reached out and plucked a muffin from the plate she’d just placed on the countertop. “Done.” He turned to Rick. “Let’s do this.”

The sooner they got to work, the sooner they would be out of here, be safe.

He looked at Meredith, the urgency building in his gut.

All of them.

* * *

“I WONDER HOW it’s going out there,” Meredith murmured. She peered through the window above the kitchen sink at the world beyond. Not that what she was looking for would be visible outside the window anyway.

The snow hadn’t stopped entirely, but had thankfully tapered off enough that she could at least get a glimpse of the outside world through the flurries, even if most of what she could see was several towering feet of snow. Opening the front doors of Sutton Hall, Meredith had found the snowfall came up to her chest.

It had been hours since Tom and Rick had left, armed with two shovels and a plan to hollow out a path from the house to the garage. They hadn’t come back, hadn’t been heard from since.

“I’m sure we’ll hear soon enough,” Ellen said, rinsing off the dishes in the sink to prepare them for the dishwasher. “They’ll be wanting lunch pretty soon.”

Meredith would have thought they would have wanted it long ago. Lunchtime had passed over an hour ago. The rest of the wedding party had come and gone already.

She did her best to fight the anxiety churning in her belly. They were probably fine. They were busy, of course. The task they’d gone to accomplish wasn’t an easy one. It would take them several hours at least to make it to the garage. Or maybe they’d made it there and had started working on the plow, getting so caught up in it they’d forgotten about lunch.

Maybe...

“I should have gone with them,” Meredith said, mostly to herself. “It’s my job. I should have offered to help, too.”

“Only two shovels,” Ellen pointed out.

Meredith couldn’t argue with that. It didn’t make her feel better. At least if she was out there she would know if they were okay.

If Tom was okay...

She nearly shook herself. She knew she was being ridiculous. She had no reason to think anything had happened to them. Not that she thought Rick would do anything to Tom, even if he was the killer. It would be too obvious he was responsible.

Unless it looked like an accident...

Or the killer came up behind them unnoticed while they were busy working, striking before they could do anything about it—

Jerking upright, Meredith pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to go see if there’s any sign of them.”

One corner of her mouth twitching, Ellen sent her an all-too-knowing look before turning back to the dishes with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Meredith was already stepping away from the sink, heading for the door. Suddenly she stopped, reconsidering. Wandering through the house on her own still seemed like a risky idea. Spotting a rolling pin lying on the countertop nearby, she grabbed it, relishing the weight of it in her hand.

She hurried through the dining room, keeping a close eye on her surroundings. The garage was on the west side of the property, on the other side of the house. To find the shortest route there possible, Tom and Rick had left through a door in the back of the west wing. She’d have to use the same one.

Crossing through the main foyer, she made her way to the corridor running the length of the west wing. They weren’t using this side of the house as much, she reflected, taking in the row of closed doors. The east wing had been in better shape and less in need of restoration when they’d come here, so it had only made sense to start there. Not to mention the kitchen and dining room were there. They were finally almost done with the restorations over here. They just hadn’t decided what to do with these rooms yet.

If they would need to do anything with them, Meredith reflected. After this weekend, they weren’t likely to have any guests, so the rooms would likely—

She heard them a split second too late, the footsteps rushing up behind her. She automatically started to turn—

She never had the chance. Something hard and solid hit her upper back.

She flew forward, knocked straight off her feet. The rolling pin burst out of her hand before she could think to grab it tighter. The ground came rushing up at her. She barely had time to throw her arms out before she crashed into the ground.

She didn’t have time to recover, didn’t have time to move. Suddenly a hand fisted in her hair, yanking hard. Before she could cry out from the pain, from the fear, her head was slammed down into the floor. Every bone in her skull seemed to crash together. Stars exploded before her eyes, blurring her vision.

Dazed, she barely registered something tugging at her hip. No, her pocket...

She understood in a flash. Her keys. They were going for her keys.

Fighting the cloud of pain fogging her brain, she lashed out, kicking her legs, thrashing from side to side. Sucking in a breath, she threw her mouth open and yelled as loud as she could.

Even to her ears it sounded weak, a low moan instead of the scream she wanted—needed—to release.

Panicked, terrified, determined to fight them off, it took her a moment to realize the hands were no longer at her side. She couldn’t feel anyone’s presence nearby.

They were gone.

“Meredith?”

The voice came from farther down the hall ahead of her. Tom, she recognized, relief flooding through her.

“Meredith!”

Moments later she felt a hand on her shoulder. She instinctively flinched, until the gentleness of the touch registered.

“Hey,” he said, his voice again a balm on her nerves.

She slowly rolled onto her side, trying to ignore the throbbing in her head. She placed her hand on the floor to push herself up to an upright position.

“Easy,” he said, reaching out to help her sit up. She looked up to find him kneeling beside her. “What happened?”

“Someone knocked me down,” she said, wincing at both the pain and the memory. “They hit me, slammed my head into the floor...” She swallowed, the memories rushing back.

It was all painfully familiar. The feeling of being pushed, of being struck, of someone on top of her, of her head being knocked into the floor—

The back of her eyes began to burn. She immediately closed them and lowered her head, refusing to let the tears come, to give into the emotion, to let Tom see.

He swore. “You could have been killed.”

Every instinct she had automatically rejected the idea. “No,” she said faintly. She thought back to what had happened. “I don’t think they were trying to kill me. I felt them fumbling for my pockets. They were trying to take my keys.”

“And they damn well could have killed you to get them.”

His voice was tight with anger, though not toward her, she knew. She was familiar with that sound.

She felt a finger touch lightly under her chin, prompting her to raise her head. She didn’t resist. The finger disappeared. Then, so softly she didn’t realize it at first, his hands were sliding against her cheeks, cradling her face.

“Look at me,” he ordered, the tone soft but firm. She raised her eyes to obey.

And found herself looking straight into his.

The breath caught in her throat. She peered, helplessly, into his eyes, into his face, until everything else in the world seemed to fade away. There was nothing but the man in front of her, looking back at her. The tightness that had been gripping her body gradually eased, her racing heartbeat slowing to a steady, even throb.

He really did have the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. It seemed as though she could get lost in them forever, drifting in a sea of deep, bottomless blue. Yet it was more than the color than pulled her in. It was the kindness she saw in them, the empathy, the humanity. In the back of her mind she recognized that she’d never seen such a look in Brad’s eyes. Not for her, not for anything. Because he hadn’t been a good man. And Tom Campbell was, deep in his core. She felt the unmistakable truth of it in hers.

The warmth of his hands on her cheeks, the softness of his skin, slowly sank into her system. The thumb of his right hand gently stroked over her skin. His gaze slowly lowered, drifting down her face. She finally realized where that thumb was placed, just above her upper lip. He focused there for an infinite moment, and she suddenly had the feeling that he was about to kiss her.

But he didn’t. The corner of his mouth quirking with what seemed like a trace of regret, he had raised his eyes to hers but moved no closer.

“Are you okay?” he asked, the low timbre of his voice seeming to vibrate right through her.

She managed a small nod. “I think so.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

As much as part of her couldn’t help but respond to hearing that sentiment from this man, it still grated. Meredith slowly leaned back, pulling out of his grasp, forcing him to let her go. “You’re not responsible for me. And I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I didn’t say you did,” he said. “But given everything that’s happened, we should have realized it wasn’t safe for anyone to be alone in this place.

“We had no reason to believe I was in danger. This all seemed to be centered around you and your friends.”

“There’s a killer on the loose. Everyone is in danger.”

At the moment she could hardly argue with that. “Why would somebody want my keys?”

He appeared to consider the question, his eyebrows drawing together. “Only two reasons I can think of. They’re afraid of someone else getting access to their room and want to get the keys before someone else can—”

“Or they’re the one who wants access to someone else’s room,” Meredith finished.

Tom nodded gravely. “And if that’s the case, that most likely means the killer has another intended victim.”

It certainly made the most sense. After what happened to Jessica, everyone was going to be far more cautious. The killer’s only chance of getting to another victim might be to break into their room.

She automatically placed her hand over her pocket, feeling the reassuring shape of the keys through the fabric. “At least they didn’t get them,” she murmured. “Unfortunately, I don’t think this is going to stop them from trying another way to get to whoever they want.”

“Or from trying to come after you again,” he suggested, his voice tight with anger. “Let’s go find out where everyone is right now. Maybe we can narrow down who could have done this. It might give us an idea who’s behind the murders.”

“All right,” she said, starting to push to her feet.

Tom immediately rose to his, bending to offer his hand to help her up.

She hesitated for a slightest instant, then slowly slid her hand onto his. The warmth of his skin sent a charge straight through her. She did her best to keep the reaction from showing on her face, even as her whole body seemed to buzz from the effects of it. Once she was on her feet, she quickly pulled her fingers from his. “Thanks.”

He let her lead the way to the front hall, following so close behind she could feel him there. By the time they reached the staircase, she was feeling better. Stronger.

Angrier.

She plunged up the stairs, ready to get some answers.

They were halfway up when a muffled cry of pain cut through the air.

They both froze for a split second. Meredith’s gut clenched painfully. Oh, God. No.

She took off in an instant, bursting up the remaining steps, Tom right by her side. Finally arriving at the second floor, she skidded to a stop, taking in the scene before them.

No!

The word was screaming in her mind, but Meredith couldn’t utter a sound.

Greg lay facedown in the hallway, the back of his head coated in blood.