Dead Giveaway

“Surely live ones are more fun.”

He was flirting again, but she could tell he didn’t mean anything by it. He was probably searching for a way to keep his mind off the indignity of being inspected like an animal.

“Maybe,” she said. “But they’re also a lot more threatening.”

His good humor slipped away. “I didn’t hurt her.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of threat.” She touched his arm to get him to turn around, but he wouldn’t budge.

“If I was beating a woman, and she was fending me off, the marks would be on my face, neck and chest,” he said.

She saw no evidence of a struggle. But his reluctance to show her his back made her curious to know the reason. “There are a few exceptions.” She gave his arm another tug.

“I’ve shown you enough,” he argued. But she insisted he turn around and when he complied, she saw what he hadn’t wanted her to see: several scratches, all of them fresh.

“I take it you got these tonight?” she asked.

He shot her a sullen glance over his shoulder. “Not from fighting.”

Right. Judging by the direction and angle of the scratches, Allie could easily guess what he and Beth Ann had been doing at the time. He’d already painted her a very vivid picture.

Relieved to be finished, she stepped away from him. “Thank you. If you’d like to meet me down at the station after I’m done with Beth Ann, I can take a few photographs, to show that you’re in great shape.” She blushed when she realized how her words could be interpreted, and hurried to clarify. “I mean, free from any injury that would show you’ve been in a fight.”

He didn’t acknowledge her slip. “Do you believe me?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m just going to document the facts. The district attorney will draw his own conclusions. If you’re willing to play the odds that my notes will be enough of a defense if Beth Ann doesn’t back down from her story, there’s no need to come to the station. Otherwise—”

“Allie.”

She blinked. She’d had no idea he knew her first name. “What?”

“I’ve never struck a woman. Do you believe me when I say I didn’t hit her?”

She stared up at him, weighing her instincts. She’d been trying not to make any judgments one way or the other, to simply do her job. But it was Beth Ann’s words that had rung false, not Clay’s. She thought maybe he needed to hear that from someone in uniform.

“I do,” she admitted. Then she walked out.

Clay sat at his kitchen table, listening to the clock tick above the stove while telling himself that he didn’t need to go down to the police station. BethAnn’s charges were completely unfounded. Allie McCormick had said she believed him. But he had little faith that she’d stick by her words if her father or anyone else read the facts differently. Why would she? Clay knew the night’s events couldn’t have reflected well on him. The hysterical woman calling from his house. The marks on his back. BethAnn’s assertion that she was pregnant and that he’d demanded she get an abortion.

It was humiliating. He was almost positive Beth Ann wasn’t pregnant, or she would’ve told him—to stop him from breaking off the relationship. She was manipulative enough to use that bargaining chip if she possessed it. But this scare convinced him that he wanted no more women in his life. He couldn’t even have casual relationships without regretting it.

“Shit,” he muttered and stood to collect his keys. He’d go down and let Officer McCormick take her damn photos. Stripping off his shirt and revealing Beth Ann’s nail marks couldn’t be any more demeaning the second time around. He owed it to his sisters and mother to clean up the mess he’d made.

Anything to deflect interest. Anything to make Beth Ann’s accusations fade away so he wouldn’t draw any more unwanted attention.

Anything to make up for the past.

Allie hadn’t expected Clay to show up, so she was more than a little surprised when he strode into the police station at nearly three o’clock in the morning. Beth Ann had left a few minutes earlier, and Hendricks had finally dragged his lazy butt out on patrol.

Which meant that, once again, she was alone with Clay.

“Mr. Montgomery.” She assumed he’d tell her to call him by his first name. They were nearly the same age, had gone to school together. But he didn’t.

“Officer McCormick.”

She’d been about to pour herself a cup of coffee, but set the pot aside instead. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You got your camera ready?” he asked.

“I do,” she said and retrieved it from her desk.

“Then let’s get this over with.”

She snapped photographs of his hands. Then he stripped off his T-shirt and she took several pictures of his face, chest and arms. When she purposely neglected to take pictures of his back, he raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“So…is this going to blow over?” he asked hopefully, pulling his T-shirt on over his head.

Even with Beth Ann no longer on-site, Allie felt reluctant to discuss his alleged murder confession with him. Mostly because, regardless of what Beth Ann had said, she wasn’t prepared to point a finger at Clay or anyone else. She needed proof, forensic proof, not circumstances and hearsay. And she was good enough to find it. Eventually.

But eventually wasn’t now, and it was only a matter of hours before he heard what Beth Ann had told her. Especially since Hendricks knew. The other officer had listened avidly to every word Beth Ann had said. If Allie didn’t tell Clay herself, he’d probably feel as if she’d duped him in some way, and she saw no reason to alienate anyone involved in the case. She’d learned long ago that help often came from unexpected places. “I don’t think there are grounds for an attempted murder charge, if that’s what you mean.”

She let him know by the tone of her voice that there was more, and he didn’t miss the inflection.

Standing with his legs spread a shoulder width apart, he folded his arms. “Somehow I’m getting the impression I’m not completely off the hook.”

Allie sat on the edge of her desk. “Not quite.”

The shuttered look returned to his face but not before Allie saw a hint of the underlying weariness she’d occasionally noticed before. “Feel free to explain anytime,” he said.

“She says you killed your stepfather.”

He seemed unaffected. “A lot of people say that.”

“She’s claiming you admitted it to her.” Allie clasped her hands together, knowing, if he was innocent, how terrible Beth Ann’s words must feel. “She just signed a statement to that effect,” she added gently.

Allie had thought he’d get angry and holler, as he had about the pregnancy that might or might not be real. But he just stared at her—or, more accurately, stared through her.

“I didn’t confess anything,” he told her at last.

“That doesn’t mean you’re innocent of the murder,” she said, to gauge his reaction.

His chest lifted and fell again. “It doesn’t prove the opposite, either.”

Allie’s question hadn’t rattled him into revealing more than he wanted to. She could tell by his response that he already knew Beth Ann’s statement wasn’t as incriminating as his enemies would like to think. So she played it straight. “What’s really going on? Is she out to get you?”

“Of course. And she’s not the only one.”