The Widow - Carla Neggers [66]
“You were just thirteen when Chris died,” Owen said. “That’s a tough age to be a part of something like that.”
“He was my friend.” Link blinked rapidly, keeping any tears at bay. “I remember the morning he was found. No one wanted to tell me. My father—he just said Chris was hurt. I didn’t find out for hours what’d really happened.”
“Who told you?”
“My dad, finally. Chris…” His voice cracked. “He believed in me. After he was killed, I learned I don’t need anyone to believe in me in order to believe in myself.”
“We all want someone to believe in us—”
“Wanting’s different from needing.”
“Maybe so.”
Linc brushed the back of his hand across his cheeks. “I should get back.”
Owen eyed the younger man. “Linc, you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything’s getting to me is all.”
They headed back along the path through the woods and out to the private drive. When they reached Owen’s house, Grace Cooper was on the deck, arms crossed on her chest as she paced, preoccupied, oblivious to her surroundings. She saw her brother and gave a small gasp of relief. “There you are. Your car’s at Ellis’s—”
“I know. I left it up there and walked down here. What difference does it make?”
“We were worried.”
Linc rolled his eyes. “We?”
“Yes, we. Father, Ellis.” She dropped her arms to her sides. She had on expensive-looking sailing clothes—white slacks, a navy-and-white top—that somehow made her look older than she was. “With this attack on Abigail, who knows what’s next.”
“I’m not afraid.” Linc sounded more belligerent than convincingly unafraid. “It wasn’t a random attack. Whoever went after her isn’t going to beat me over the head.”
Her brother’s confrontational tone didn’t seem to get to Grace. “That’s a good point. You don’t believe it was Mattie? The police are looking for him.”
“Doesn’t matter what I believe.”
She turned to Owen, her poise faltering slightly, but she managed a polite smile. “I don’t imagine you’re getting the rest you thought you would this week.”
“Not a problem.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be for you.” Her smile faded, offering a glimpse of the emotions she kept so tightly under wrap. “Everything’s a mess right now.”
“Her appointment,” Linc said, as if Owen couldn’t guess that was what she meant. “It’s all-important, you know.”
His sister swung around at him. “That’s not fair!”
He flushed. “I guess not. I’m sorry.” He shrugged, self-deprecating all of a sudden. “Being a jerk helps me not think about everything else.”
Grace nodded, instantly accepting her brother’s explanation. “It’s okay. Forget it. Owen—we’ll run along. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. I hope Abigail’s all right.”
As she and Linc headed off the deck and back to her car, DoyleAlden pulled into the driveway, Abigail in the front seat next to him. When they got out, they greeted the Coopers, who mumbled quick hellos before continuing on their way.
“Two of Lou’s guys are up at Ellis’s house,” Doyle said as he stepped up onto the deck. “They’ll be talking to Grace and Linc next. It’s Mattie’s day off. No reason for them to know where he is, I suppose.”
Abigail walked up to the deck, her limp less noticeable. She’d put on fresh clothes, but blood had seeped through her khaki pants where she’d been cut with the drywall saw. Not a lot, Owen noted, but enough. She paid no attention, taking in a deep breath. “We could hit eighty degrees today. Imagine that.”
Doyle frowned at her. “You look like shit, Abigail.”
“One of those days, Chief.”
“Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “I guess it is.”
“At least we found my car keys. Mattie threw them in the grass by the driveway. He must have thought better of stealing my car.”
“We don’t know it was Mattie.”
“You don’t. If I were in an official capacity, I wouldn’t, either. But I’m not.” With a slight wince of pain, she moved to the glass door. “I’m the one who forgot to lock her damn door.”
“Might not have made a difference,” Doyle said. “Easy enough to put a chair or a rock through a door or window, if someone’s determined to get in.”
They’d evidently been over that