Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [80]
It was just as well, she rationalized as she washed her face in the bathroom sink. She’d been feeling increasingly uneasy, almost claustrophobic, since they got off the plane in Tucson. She’d done her best to mask her unrest from Adam because there were so many emotions at war within her.
The memories of the trial and her mother’s difficulty getting through it.
They’d sat day after day in the courtroom, not only hoping to see justice served, but hoping against hope that, before the trial ended, the accused would break down and tell where he’d left the bodies. By the time the trial had ended, all Elisa Smith had wanted was to bring her son home and bury him next to his father.
But Webster had never admitted his guilt, and Elisa and Kendra had returned to New Jersey with aching hearts that would never heal.
And then there was the matter of her aunt’s death.
Kendra slipped into a nightshirt, as she tried to decide how she really felt about that. Her last living blood relative had died a year before her mother had, and they hadn’t known. What might she have done if she had? What might Elisa have done?
“Nothing,” she whispered to the room as she turned out the lights. “I don’t think we would have done a damned thing.”
That Kendra still harbored animosity toward her aunt had much to do with the fact that her mother had gone to her grave blaming Sierra for what happened to the boys. Between her drug use and her apparent inattention to her son’s activities, Sierra had, in Kendra’s own opinion, left the door wide open for disaster. And when disaster had occurred, Sierra had merely shrugged and told Ian’s grieving mother and sister that “sometimes these things happen.”
Kendra felt the tide of bitterness rise within her again, and let guilt flow over her as she realized the truth: She could not mourn for Sierra Smith.
It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask the sheriff if he knew where they’d buried her.
Chapter
Sixteen
He sat in the worn, overstuffed chair, restlessly punching at the remote control with his thumb, skimming past daytime dramas, quiz shows, and reruns of old detective shows. He hadn’t missed a news broadcast or a newspaper in days, yet there’d been no comment about his sly little reference to Kendra. And surely someone had noticed, for heaven’s sake. This was the FBI he was dealing with, wasn’t it? You’d think that someone would have noticed by now that all of his ladies had one thing or another in common with Kendra.
He wondered if she appreciated all the trouble he’d gone to, getting all those little mementos exactly right. He sincerely hoped she did.
After all, imitation was the sincerest form of flattery.
Funny there’d been no mention, though. He frowned.
And then there was the matter of last night’s press conference. Kendra hadn’t been there. Nor had Adam Stark. The only member of the team he recognized was that tall dark-haired Agent Cahill. Now there, he smiled broadly, was a dish fit for a king.
He amused himself thinking about Miranda Cahill and wondering if he should add her to his list of potentials. He’d have to think about that. There just may come a time when he’d need to get the FBI’s attention in a way they couldn’t ignore.
And the way they were ignoring his little gestures on Kendra’s behalf was annoying. More than annoying. It was insulting. The more he thought about it, the more he knew for certain that it hadn’t been overlooked. They had chosen not to acknowledge it, and that in itself was an insult. It simply wasn’t fair play.
He searched his jacket pocket for a cigarette, then leaned over to tie his sneakers. He’d have to go outside to smoke. It was a rule. It was okay, though. He didn’t mind. If that was what Father Tim wanted, he didn’t mind at all.
Now, on the other hand, he played devil’s advocate to himself as he walked through the peaceful gardens, wasn’t there always the chance that maybe no one had caught on yet?
Nah, he rejected that thought as he blew a long trail of smoke from one side of his mouth. How could