He crossed the space between them and planted himself in front of Sarah. His body was wiry, but she could sense the power of it. The pent-up tension in his hard muscles.

Sarah’s heart pounded and her palms began to sweat. It was foolish to have come out here alone. Crazy to be standing here talking to a man who could probably snap her like a twig. She wasn’t that fearless thirteen-year-old who refused to be intimidated by an old legend. Or by her father’s contempt.

And yet something about Derrick Fears, about his anger, intrigued her.

He pointed to a scar on his right temple. “See this? Courtesy of Sheriff Clay’s brass knuckles. And these?” He turned over his arms to show her the circular scars dotting his skin. “Cigar burns. Got ’em on my legs and all over my back. However much some people in this town wanted to believe I killed your sister, this is how bad the sheriff wanted to prove it.”

“Sheriff Clay did that to you?” Sarah stared in horrified fascination at the scars.

“Hell, yeah, he did it. Kinda scary, ain’t it, when you figure I’m probably not the one who took the brunt of his anger.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was one mean son of a bitch and a guy like that can’t just turn it off when he goes home at night. I reckon he and your daddy both had secrets they didn’t want dug up.”

“You keep implying you know something about my father. Why don’t you just say it?”

“Because I doubt I’d be telling you anything you don’t already know.” He circled Sarah now like a predator. “Besides, you’ve got a few secrets of your own, don’t you, Suicide Sarah? You were here when it happened. You know who killed your sister, don’t you?”

“No!”

“Oh, that’s right. You lost your memory, didn’t you?” His smile was grim and cruel as he kept circling. “That’s what you claim, but maybe you’re just flat-out lying. Maybe you saw something you’ve been keeping to yourself all these years.” He stopped and stared down at her. His breath was hot on her cold face. “But let’s say you really can’t remember. Maybe seeing all those old bloodstains would jog something loose for you. I bet if you tried real hard, it’d all come back to you. You might even remember the screams. Think about it. She must have been carrying on something fierce when the cutting started. You’re telling me you don’t remember that? I don’t see how you could forget it.”

An icy dread pumped through Sarah’s veins. She tried to back away from him, but his hand shot out and closed around her arm, trapping her. “People always wonder what it feels like to be cut like that, how much it must hurt and all, but I bet what really gets you is the sound. That wet noise the blade makes when it sinks through all that muscle and tissue and fat. You ever heard that sound, Sarah?”

“Take your hand off my arm,” she said.

He grinned down at her, and for an instant his grip tightened. Then he glanced over her shoulder and something flickered across his face before he released her. He reached up and drew a finger across her throat before she could pull free.

A moment later he was gone.

* * *

Sarah watched as a squad car bumped along the gravel lane. It pulled to a stop at the edge of the yard and a man in a pressed uniform got out and came toward her.

No wonder Derrick had taken off so abruptly, Sarah thought. He must have spotted the car before she heard the engine.

The officer walked toward her through the tall weeds. Sarah was facing the sun and she put up a hand to shade her eyes.

“Was that Derrick Fears I just saw?” His voice held more than a hint of contempt.

“Yeah, that was him,” Sarah said.

He stared down at her from behind dark glasses. “He’s a pretty nasty customer. He didn’t bother you, did he?”

“Put it this way. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Well, I guess that’s something. Still, he’s got no business being out here. Nobody does.”

“Why? Who owns this place?” Sarah could feel the strength of his gaze through the mirrored lenses, and she found herself shivering in the cold breeze.

“The county’s owned it for years, ever since the Duncan heirs stopped paying the taxes. And it’s my job to run off trespassers.”

“Meaning me?”

“Unless you’ve got official business out here, and I can’t think what that would be.”

Sarah glanced at the house. “I guess curiosity wouldn’t be classified as official. I grew up around here. I just wanted to see what the old place looked like these days.”

“Yeah, we get that a lot.” He stood like a statue, watching her. “Believe it or not, people still come out here to search for the footprints.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

He peeled off his sunglasses and she saw that his eyes were darker than she expected. Cold and piercing. The intense focus was more than a little unnerving.

“If you didn’t come to look for the footprints, then you must be here about the murder,” he said.

A ghost drifted past Sarah. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that’s the other reason people make the trip out here. They still want to see where it happened, even after all these years.”

“It’s personal for me. I knew the victim.”

“It’s a small town. Almost everyone knew her.” For the first time, his gaze moved from Sarah and he stood staring at the house, a breeze ruffling his brown hair. “My father was the county sheriff when it happened. He headed up the investigation and the fact that he never could close the case really did a number on him. He was a proud man and a failure like that ate at him. I wasn’t around toward the last, but I’m told he was obsessed with solving that murder right up until the day he died.”

“Now I know who you are,” Sarah said in surprise. “You’re the new police chief, right? I’ve heard about you.”

A faint smile touched his lips, reminding her of Derrick Fears’s taunting smirk. “Well, you know what they say. You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“I’m Sarah DeLaune.” She held out her hand.

“Lukas Clay.”

Sarah could sense his interest in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her hand a moment longer than was necessary. But she wasn’t on the market. She wasn’t over Sean yet, and she didn’t know if she ever would be. Which was why she found her jittery reaction to Lukas Clay so unsettling.

“I guess you do have a personal reason for coming out here.” His tone warmed. “I heard you’ve been by the station to see me a couple of times.”

“You were out. And no one else seemed able or willing to help me.”

“I understand you wanted to get a look at your sister’s case files.”

“That’s right. Is there any reason why I can’t see them?”

“No. But I guess I’m wondering why you’d want to.”

“I’m just trying to piece it all together,” she said with a shrug. “Trying to make some sense of what happened.”

He nodded. “I can understand how you wouldn’t be able to let something like that go. It’s hard for the family to move on when there’s no justice.”

“My motives may not be quite as altruistic as you seem to think,” Sarah said. “I’m not after justice. I’m just looking for a way to chase away the nightmares. My shrink tells me that making peace with my past may do wonders for my mental outlook.”

“Be careful. You can’t trust everything a shrink tells you.”

“What?”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Don’t you watch movies? The psychiatrist is always a twisted psychopath.”

What an odd thing to say, Sarah thought. “I’ll be sure and remember that.”

“In the meantime, come by the station first chance you get, and I’ll see that you get a look at those files.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading back in your direction,” he said. “Can I give you a lift?”

“My shoes are all muddy. I wouldn’t want to track up your car.”

“That’s what floor mats are for. Besides, with Fears out here traipsing about, I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me drive you.”

“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

They got in the car, and he backed down the gravel drive to the main road, then turned the car toward town. The interior smelled like peppermint and another scent that Sarah couldn’t identify.

He’d put the sunglasses back on, but Sarah could see his eyes through the corners as he watched the road.

“Has Miss Esme talked to you about what happened the other night?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Sarah said. “Is she okay?”

“As far as I know she is. She claims she saw someone on the roof of your house.”

“On the roof? Why on earth would someone be up on the roof?”

He shrugged. “That’s what I wondered. I chalked it up to her getting on in years and her eyesight not being what it once was. I figured she saw some branches whipping around in the wind. The thing is, though, someone was in the house when I went by there the next day. Whoever it was knocked me out cold before I could get a look at him.”

Sarah stared at him in shock. “Were you badly hurt?”

“Just a bump on the head. What concerns me is that I couldn’t find any sign of a break-in. I don’t know how he got in.” He pulled the car to the curb in front of her house and parked. “It’s possible he came through a window. Miss Esme says she comes over to air out the house every so often. She could have left one open.”

That didn’t sound like Esme. Sure, she was getting older, but her mind was still as sharp as ever.

“Was anything stolen?”

“I had Miss Esme go through the house and she couldn’t find anything missing.”

“So why was someone in there?”

He paused. “I think it was Fears. He denied it, but he wasn’t very convincing.”

Sarah thought about the way those dark eyes had mocked her earlier. “If he didn’t take anything, what was he after?”

“I don’t know yet. Even if it was him, I doubt he’ll be back. He knows I’m watching him now. But just to be on the safe side, make sure you keep all the doors and windows fastened. You should consider getting the locks changed, too.”

“I won’t be here long enough for that,” Sarah said. “But thanks for the advice. And the ride home.”

He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “You see anything suspicious, you give me a call—day or night. That’s what I’m here for.”

Sarah climbed out of the car and headed up the walkway without looking back. By the time she got inside, Lukas Clay had already driven away.

Chapter 22

The antiseptic smell of despair engulfed Sarah as she walked down the corridor to her father’s room. The sickly sweet scent was like no other, and every hospital she’d ever been in always had that same odor. Which was one of many reasons why she tried to avoid them.

The aversion was strange, she supposed, because she wasn’t usually squeamish about such things. The disinfectant they used at the studio didn’t bother her at all, nor did the sight of blood oozing from a fresh tattoo. She simply wiped it away, along with the excess ink, and that was that. Not a second thought.

Hospitals were different, though, and the end result of a trip here was never a beautiful piece of art on a living canvas.

Sarah paused outside her father’s room. She didn’t want to go inside. Facing him again was the very last thing she wanted to do. But he was still her flesh and blood, her only living relative, and she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy what the final stages of cancer had done to him. It was shocking to see him so feeble when he’d once been so vital.

Bracing herself, she pushed open the door and walked inside. He was lying on his back, sleeping. Or at least, his eyes were closed.

A man dressed in a dark suit and a clerical collar stood at his bedside gazing down at him.

Sarah’s breath caught. “Is he...?”

“No, no, he’s just sleeping.”

She put a hand to her chest. “When I saw you standing over him like that...” She gave a shaky little laugh. “A minister at my father’s bedside is about the last thing I expected to see.”

His smile was apologetic. “I’m sorry my being here upset you.”